Plexus is the second and BEST novel in Henry Miller's "The Rosy Crucifixion" trilogy. Better than Tropic of Cancer (in my opinion). You'll have to go elsewhere to find a real review--I don't have the time to get into it. But I loved the book, dog-eared many pages, underlined constantly, had to tape the cover on twice, and look forward to reading it again.

A remarkably subdued (only by Miller standards) installment in the infamous trilogy. There's no need to sell the virtues of this book - if you've read the first book you already love the author and what he writes about.

If I would not have known that I picked up a book of a famous writer I would have thought that I was reading exercises of a person who is practicing a freewriting.

Quando la precarietà ti spezza non si può che leggere Miller, che della vita precaria ne fa un miracolo.

ومازلنا مع ملحمة ميللر الثلاثية وصلبه الوردى نتابع معاناته واحلامه كى يصبح كاتبا كبيرا استقالته اخيرا من وظيفته وحياته الالية فهنيئا لك ياميللر لقد فعلتها واصبحت حرا معاناته مع زوجته مونا لتدبير نفقات المعيشة وكتاباته الاولى التى يحاول بها كسب قوت يومه احلامه الغريبة والتى يتذكرها بدقة رهيبة عن دراجته ومنزله واصدقائه رؤيته لفان جوخ الذى عانى من الصعوبات فى حياته وموته فقيرا ارائه عن ديستوفيسكى وانحدار الغرب لشبلنغر ..

بعد ميللر فى هذا الجزء تماما عن البورنوغرافيا فاصبحت بيلكسوس اشبه بكتاب عن الدين مقارنة بسكسوس وذلك جعلها افضل منها واجمل .. كالعادة السرد الطويل يحكم اسلوب ميللر حتى فى روايته لاحلامه الغريبة والخروج من قصة الى اخرى والاستطراد المبالغ فيه ..

سنجد معاناة ميللر الكبرى فى هذا الجزء حتى انه اضطر الى ان ياكل الطعام الفاسد الذى سيتم التخلص منه من المحلات والمطاعم ادارته لحانة تقصيره فى دفع نفقة ابنته التى لم يستطع سوى رؤيتها من بعيد وبكائه كثيرا خوفا من عدم معرفتها اياه او تحريض امها ضده ..

ان هذه المعاناة الكبرى التى واجهها ميللر فى حياته مثلت صلبه الوردى ان تجرح وتنزف حتى اخر قطرة من دمائك لتزهر بعدها وردة ربما تحمل لك الامل فالى نيكسوس اخر جزء فى تلك الملحمة ..

More garbage

Henry Miller's work is a great literary achievement. Plexus is another testament to a life committed to what one can naively call "truth". But a truth which somehow distinguishes itself from that of the academic and man of logic and science, which is not to discredit the academic and the man of logic! Yet nonetheless what Miller has in mind is much more of this world in its everydayness. Henry Miller seems to constantly demonstrate some fabulous cosmic marvels of being human which can seldom be found in the best works of theory, and perhaps that is the greatest proof of his own untheoretical notions of life, art, ethics, writing, the work, knowledge, esotericism, love, imagination. 'Hen' always inspires one to awaken from that dreary urban life to which it is so easy to accustom oneself. Nietzsche writes "... we whose task is wakefulness itself..." and Hen lives precisely according to this dictum. To always be awake to the world, to search endlessly for the gold of life, in its turmoil, in its suffering, without simple moral prejudices, yet to love and be committed. The words "authentic existence" do Henry Miller no justice, it is hard to articulate what it is about Henry which makes him endearing, his total honesty? His imagination, his erudition? His sensitivity? Henry is human through and through in the best of ways - he belongs to those great people of history that don't move the wheels of History, who aren't decisive, but that attain some great spiritual eternal truth - and he bestows in his language. To spend time with Henry is to be moved, to be transformed, to want to live newly and see the world newly.

3.5
Man doesn't have sex. Only other things happen.

Brackets, far too long, close brackets.

Office of AD,
Dictated but not read

Henry Miller is, to me, a minor God. When he gets on a roll, he is one of the best.
I loved reading his sense impressions of hitchhiking down South; of traveling through Harper's Ferry, WV and John Brown; of working (without much success) at several jobs before becoming a writer.

On my list is Nexus.

Re-read, 01/2011: The central volume of Miller’s trilogy is the meat of his story, coming through a series of miserable events to realize that he must devote his life to writing. Of all the tellings of Miller’s formative years, this is my favorite version.


henry miller basically owns your face.

Metaphorically speaking the world is a real network of nerves, blood vessels and lymphatics: a plexus.
And Henry Miller is a human ganglion placed inside this huge Plexus…

Often I have wondered, after reading about evenings with Mallarme, or with Joyce, or with Max Jacob, let us say, how these sessions of ours compared. To be sure, none of my companions of those days ever dreamed of becoming a figure in the world of art. They loved to discuss art, all the arts, but they themselves had no thought of becoming artists. Most of them were engineers, architects, physicians, chemists, teachers, lawyers. But they had intellect and they had enthusiasm, and they were all so sincere, so avid, that sometimes I wonder if the music we made might not have rivalled the chamber music which issued from the sacred quarters of the masters.

So many have a potential and so few live up to it, “For many are called, but few are chosen.”

A window onto Miller's early years of struggle to become a writer as he surrenders his will to the chaotic personality of his second wife June (Mona). As with all Miller's "novels," the narrative moves through association, memory, and dream rather than a logically organized plot.