In Tropic of Capricorn, Henry Miller appears in a hallucinated monologue of a type on the fringes, of an outsider, a magnificent loser, rebellious, flayed alive, of a saturnal personality (O Verlaine!).
Miller retraces the life of his Brooklyn neighborhood as he first knew it as a child: his memories of his grandfather's little tailor shop and the smells of the businesses in his community - the Mephistopheles infection of tanner's skin with the irresistible scent of fresh bread and confectionery pastries. He thus becomes the saddened and revolted witness of the metamorphosis of this once so-familiar setting. Miller reveals himself, on the other hand, as a womanizer, sometimes violent with women, always broke but just as lavish, regularly "tapper" (one would say a scratcher nowadays ...), calculating and, above all, odiously cynical (or fiercely honest it depends ...). But he knows how to be tender, with a sad tenderness reminiscent of the forever bygone days of mischievous, naive, and generous youth. Or when it paints a portrait of his father, jovial and bon vivant, of a healthy anticlericalism. Who, diminished and weakened by illness, seized with remorse of conscience, becomes a late devotee, "elder of his congregation," To finally be extinguished in the emptiness left by the departure of his beloved pastor. The author also recounts his beginnings in a writer's career, the enthusiastic discovery of the Dada movement and surrealism from which he was, spiritually, apart across the Atlantic while ignoring. It seems, its existence. He professes his great admiration for Dostoyevsky and Elie Faure (author of monumental art history) and recounts Bergson's revelation by reading Creative Evolution.
We have spoken of the writer as lively-skinned, and this opus reflects this temperament. Miller belches in well-timed prose all his hatred (his wounded love? His modesty?), All his rage, his anger, destroyed the American dream. He pushes his diatribe against human stupidity, the ugliness of an absurd and frenzied American society, taken by an itch of movement so as not to have to think, cannibal, plagued by violence. His prose is a ferment of madness, an apology for dreams in reaction against a civilization unsurprisingly omnipresent with a harmful obsession for perfection.
It is impossible to ignore the main inconvenience of this work.
Sometimes, the text gets bogged down in delusions of surrealist descriptions, rantings (one of his favorite words), meaningless, and confusing; it becomes boring, almost illegible, and defies the limits of patience and goodwill. Several times, the book nearly fell out of my hands. And then, fiercely for the feminist cause, go your way or suffer the ulcer that will appear when reading the detailed and complacent accounts of the multiple exploits and sexual performances of a sacred hot rabbit.

yoooo character development for a sociopath sort of????

Prolix Hyperbolics by an Existentialist Sexaholic on His Manhattan Frolics

"Sex. In America, an obsession. In other parts of the world, a fact."
Marlene Dietrich.

Mainly, I read this to broaden my horizons and experience first-hand the text underlying the fuss that was made over Henry Miller when his two Tropic novels were finally published in the U.S. in 1961.

Tropic of Capricorn, a semi-autobiographical prequel to Tropic of Cancer (set in 1930s Paris), though published a few years after, is set mostly in Manhattan of the 1920s. It's not chronological; rather, it skips around to revisit Miller's hetero-development and sexual high jinks in the Big Apple, including his sexual relationship with his 30-year-old piano teacher when he was 15, and a blunt description of nearly every other first encounter with a very diverse legion of women.

n  The world of men and women are making merry in the cemetery grounds. They are having sexual intercourse, God bless them, and I am alone in the Land of Fuck.n

Call this brusque erotica with a literary bent, a pre-Crash lascivious bash, merit-worthy filth for those of that ilk, or prickly porn for cunning linguists. Your choice.

I could take it or leave it. For one thing, it's too damned wordy. Another, I hate the "c" word for female genitalia and Miller peppers this book with it.

Horizon expanded by maybe half a foot.

Do NOT read the below hidden quote if you are sensitive to vulgar language.
n  

"This is all a figurative way of speaking about what is unmentionable. What is unmentionable is pure fuck and pure cunt; it must be mentioned only in deluxe editions, otherwise the world will fall apart. What holds the world together, as I have learned from bitter experience, is sexual intercourse. But fuck, the real thing, cunt, the real thing, seems to contain some unidentified element which is far more dangerous than nitroglycerine.”

n

Otobiyografik ve denemeye yakın bir roman. İlk kitaba oranla daha bir beğendim.

''Kentlerin insanların makul bir ölüme hak kazanmak için çabaladıkları yerlere dönüşmesi gibi benim hayatım da kendi ölümümden inşa ettiğim bir mezarı andırmaya başlamıştır.''

''Delilik dendiğinde mantığın yitimi kastedilir. Mantığın, gerçeğin değil çünkü diğerleri sessiz kalırken gerçeği söyleyen deliler vardır.''

La oportunidad más maravillosa que ofrece la vida es la de ser humano. Abarca todo el universo. Incluye el conocimiento de la muerte, del que ni siquiera Dios goza (p.226).

Trópico de Capricornio me ha gustado más que su antecesor. Aquí hay más espiritualidad, filosofía y reflexión. También hay más sexo, escenas repugnantes, sífilis, machismo, miseria, pobreza. Pero es una novela genial, intensa, absorbente, que te deja con un vacío y con muchas preguntas. Es una novela que te hace explotar la cabeza, porque es como una explosión.

Seguimos la vida ficcionalizada de Henry Miller, su vida como jefe de personal en una compañía de telégrafos y de sus amistades, salidas, vida familiar, prostitutas, su odio por Estados Unidos, sus reflexiones sobre la vida que lleva, sus recuerdos de infancia, entre muchas otras cosas. Es divertido el relato que hace, pues en ocasiones resulta un tanto absurdo, irónico y estúpido.

La pasión de Miller por el sexo es importante, porque aunque la novela no gire en torno al sexo, tiene gran relevancia en su vida y en las reflexiones que hace sobre la misma. Yo lo llamaría como una especie de sexo-místico, porque hay cierta espiritualidad en lo que quiere vivir Miller y en lo que es su filosofía de vida: decir sí a todo, porque es la única forma de poder vivir honradamente como hombre y ser humano. Darlo todo a la humanidad, entregarse desbocadamente.

Si vieran el montón de post-its que utilicé, más los subrayados, se sorprenderían. Cada frase es más ¡wow! que la otra, es impactante. Como por ejemplo:

A mi entender, el significado de un libro radica en que el propio libro desaparezca de la vista, en que se lo mastique vivo, se lo digiera e incorpore al organismo como carne y sangre que, a su vez, crean nuevo espíritu y dan nueva forma al mundo (p.218).

O también:

La delicia mayor, pero rara, era caminar por las calles a solas..., caminar por las calles de noche, cuando estaban desiertas, y reflexionar sobre el silencio que me rodeaba. Millones de personas tumbadas boca arriba, muertas para el mundo, con las bocas abiertas, que sólo emitían ronquidos. Caminar por entre la arquitectura más demencial que jamás se haya inventado, preguntándome por qué y con qué fin, si todos los días tenía que salir de aquellos cuchitriles miserables o palacios magníficos un ejército de hombres deseosos de desembuchar el relato de su miseria (p.66).

.
Miller es una figura importante de la literatura norteamericana. Escribió los dos Trópicos... en los años 30. Se nota su influencia en la generación beat, aunque creo que él es un poco más simple en lo que quiere expresar. También se siente un poco surrealista, pero sus escritos tienen más sentido que lo que se ve en la escritura automática de este movimiento. Estas son novelas para sorprenderse y dejarse llevar. Es para abrir la mente, porque es una explosión.

Delir! Filozofie pornografică delirantă sau pornografie delirantă filozofică.
O carte fără intrigă în care se intercalează fragmente literare geniale cu deliruri erotice sau pseudo-filozofice. Promiscuitate, sărăcie, imoralitate, dragoste, cuvinte “tari”, căutare de sine și strădania depășirii condiționărilor socio-economice pentru a deveni scriitor - toate aceste cărămizi consolidează reputația controversată a Capricornului Henry Miller.

Letto a distanza di trent'anni dall'altro tropico, quello del cancro, devo dire che non ha retto il confronto.
Lo accomuna a Bukoswki e Fante una forte dose di sano cinismo.
Ma questo romanzo mi è sembrato troppo un mix fra Donne e Post Office di Bukowski o Chiedi alla polvere di Fante.
Molto più interessanti le pagine dedicate al lavoro che quelle spese per le avventure amorose.
Non è riuscito a coinvolgermi come Tropico del Cancro, l'ho trovato scontato e ripetitivo.
Colpa mia. Forse avrei dovuto leggerlo prima, durante l'infatuazione per la letteratura beat americana.

Io partecipo dell'essenza di quel popolo nordico ogoglioso e pieno di sé che non ha mai avuto il minimo senso d'avventura, ma che tuttavia ha battuto la terra, l'ha messa sossopra, lasciano rovine e relitti dappertutto.
Spiriti inquieti, ma non avventurosi. Spiriti angosciati, incapaci di vivere nel presente. Sciagurati vigliacchi tutti quanti, me compreso. Perché c'è solo una grande avventura, ed è al didento, verso l'io, e per questo non contano né il tempo né lo spazio, e nemmeno i fatti.

I couldn't finish it. Henry Miller is such a douche nozzle.

ترجمه کتاب رو به فارسی و با ترجمه داوود قلاجوری از نشر نخستین خواندم.
متاسفانه اسم کتاب به اشتباه مدار راس الجُدی نوشته شده و در اکثر صفحات اشتباه تایپی وجود دارد. قبلاً از این نشر کتابی نخوانده بودم اما گویا با مقوله ویراستاری آن هم در حد اقل‌اش بیگانه‌اند.
به گمانم خواندن این کتاب برای فهم دنیای هنری میلر ضروریست. شاید آنچه او در آمریکا(نیویورک) تجربه کرده در کتاب به دو شکل نمایان شده: اولاً (و در لایهٔ عمیقتر) نفرت و انزجاری که به ریشه، خاک، وطن، خانواده و هرچه او را به زمین، قواعد، سنت، چهارچوب و ... وصل کند. ثانیاً (در سطح) انزجار از هرچه که مربوط میشود به فرهنگ، ساخت و شکل یافتن و پیش رفتن امریکا. او تواما، روان خود و آمریکا را روی میز آورده و با چاقویی تیز به تشریح آنها میپردازد، و اصلا قول نداده چاقوی تیزش را با احتیاط و بدون خشم بر این دو جسد حرکت دهد.

عموما مرز میلر برای بیان خاطرات و وقایع و حقایق! با افکار و خیالها و تفکرات مشخص نیست. این تک گویی ممتد گزارشی است از پرواز بر شهر، خانواده، دوستان، زنها، مستی، فقر، کتابها، رقص، سکس، و ثبت کنندهٔ بوها و مزه‌ها و حسهایی است که منگی و مستی و هذیان وخلسه و نهایت هوشیاری و شهود را شامل میشود از گذشتهٔ گذشته تا آیندهٔ اکنون او.
او از زندگی و شخصیت یک فرد به سادگی به انتزاعی‌ترین و بکر‌ترین تصاویر و رویاها پل میزند و همچنان که مثل یک رویاباف از درِ غریزی‌ترین و ابتدایی‌ترین نیازها وارد میشود از پهنهٔ فلسفی‌ترین و پیچیده‌ترین سوالات بشری سربیرون میکند.
میلر کتاب را در پاریس و بعد از مهاجرت به پایان رسانده است اما نمیتوان چنین نثری را ثمره یک دوره(در اروپا) دانست و مطمئناً سالها موضوعات این کتاب را در سرش می‌پرورانده است.

Not as good as Cancer but still Miller being very Miller-y. There were moments when I wondered why? and did he really have to go there? but in the end the whole experience of this book is just different.
And the way this man can put together a two page paragraph - just something special.

To appreciate what Miller can offer you, even to appreciate some of it, you have to try not to focus on the voice that screams in your head over the words, judgement. There were many times I wanted to put this book down. There were many moments I couldn't hear what I was reading. It has taken me the longest of all books to read. A woman I admire told me last night, "If I only chose my friends through judging their flaws, I wouldn't have any." There were many words (columnar, predaceous, violaceous, saturnine, somnolent, meteoric) and many passages that exuded beauty. There is light in this book, through the honest muck.

I know many readers find satisfaction, pleasure, achievement, reward in reading works that are externally (stylistically) difficult, David Foster Wallace comes to mind, but I think too we can feel and think this way about the works we find internally difficult. And that it is perhaps more important to read the latter.

One of those fierce books I've usually read in homeopathic doses so I won't die of an homme de lettres overdose.