Greatest trilogy I have ever read.

قد يكون الإنسان راوي قصص، أو مخرفا، أو كذأبا علي طول الخط، ولكن في كل خيال وزيف يكمن جوهر من الحقيقة. هذا ما قاله ميللر، وكأنه يصف نفسه، أو يخبر عن حقيقته..

Legendary.

The second book in The Rosy Crucixion series. Rambling.

A masterpiece of ecstatic speech, Plexus is by far my favorite Henry Miller book thus far read. Previously, I've read Tropic of Cancer, Tropic of Capricorn, and Black Spring. (Did not care for Black Spring.) The Tropics were great, but I don't remember that they were this good.
All of Miller (that I've read) seems like one book. It's all sui generis Miller, the writer reeling off endless anecdotes, dreams, contemplations, rants. This tome had no slow spots for me. It held my attention from beginning to end, and reached its denouement in a great crescendo of cascading language in its paean to, of all things, Spengler.

This book doesn’t follow the plot line you’d expect after Sexus. Here miller pimps off wife Mona emotionally so he doesn’t have to work and can write. But he’s not quite a writer yet either although all kinds of things are bubbling beneath the surface. But with no income he and Mona don’t pay the rent hit up friends for loans meals and a place to crash. Though lots of people want to help them they sense Henry is destined for greatness and Mona is hot.

Meanwhile miller digresses to his Brooklyn childhood and friends like he remembers every conversation and goes into brilliant forays on Van Gogh and ancient Roman robots the fall of western civilization and other topics.

There’s a trip to the south that’s reminiscent of tabbaco road and a stint of running a speakeasy with Mona. Though all that hustle takes its toll on their relationship and Mona takes to roaming the village with this hippy chick.

You keep waiting for him to get the big break where he gets a best seller but he’s still not a full fledged writer. But obviously something happened along the way

I sort of have this idea in the back of my head about how Henry Miller is basically this heterosexual Genet and this book both confirmed and questioned that. Confirmed, in that so many of the stories here are basically just bumbling about New York City (with some hitchhiking here and there) trying to find and/or hating work and job-ness. Questioned, in that there's hardly any sex. Instead it's more philosophical and introspective, and Henry Miller is an amazing wordsmith.

Una "novela" demasiado larga, con un personaje principal que es el propio autor. Una combinación de anécdotas, flashbacks y breves historias... del autor. Las cuales o nos muestran que es un putero vividor o que su mujer es una puta y él, su caficho. Sí, está bien narrada. Es escandalosa. Pero, no hay desarrollo de personajes, ni trama alguna. Llegué a la mitad y francamente, concluí que no vale la pena terminarla. No me interesa saber la vida de Henry Miller, porque no me aporta nada.

Not sure if autobiographical or not. Either way, I couldn’t stand the character and his desire to be an artist while treating everyone else around him like dirt was almost unbearable.

It took me forever to read this second installment of the Rosy Crucifixion Trilogy. I felt no lack of motivation. On the contrary, the pandemic, the presidential election, and moving from California to New Mexico created significant distractions. Henry Miller continues his mostly autobiographical treatise with his absolutely brilliant prose and fascinating, if also convoluted and decadent life path. Miller seeks to bring his anticipated literary brilliance to fruition. I am definitely looking forward to the 3rd and final volume!

be careful. you may abandon your mundane life after reading this.

Loved this even a slight bit more than Sexus. It was more in depth as to the relationship, though already moving away. It's interesting how you can feel their distance to one another growing as a reader, how it makes you sad to feel the passion die away. Miller and the people he surrounds himself with are just fascinating. If you read it you feel that he lived in order to write about it, and he knew he did.