sexus was all about sex, it just got to be like a bad porno after a while and i dropped it halfway through. and yet somehow, plexus has almost no sex. henry is still in new york, walking around, trying to make it as a writer, scrape together a few bucks and wasting it on wine. good.

I love Henry Miller no matter what. I feel like he understands me and I understand him in every layer of our soul.
I have to say that you will find amazing rhetorical passages In this book, where he writes about philosophy, art, his life and his thoughts. Those are the best parts but I also should say that, towards the end of the book, he goes on a trip with some friends and I found that part a bit “boring”. Also the very end of the book is quite deep but maybe too much so it’s not connected to the whole story.
Anyways, this is a really good book if you know how to appreciate the best moments

Less graphic than the previous, with more reflections on life and living.

I have two different editions.

Revisiting an old favourite book, read long enough ago to have half forgotten. For me, the positive outweighs the negative. The negative: the hackneyed theme of becoming a writer; the protagonist is egotistic, sporadically generous and mean, the plot is all over the place, more or less a shaggy dog story. However, the style is fluent, energised, there are some great vignettes, amusing little scenes, some of the philosophising is quite inspiring, at other times it wanders into obscure and dubious realms - usually we are on to something completely different before tedium sets in.
In most ways dissimilar to 'Ulysses', but what it has in common is a kind of athletic leaping between diverse scenes and modes of writing.
I'm less carried away by Miller now, but still find him - often but not always - an exhilarating writer, and 'Plexus' a good example of his rather manic energy in full flight.

Oh man, what a tome. 640 pages! My main critique is that, even if you're a hardcore Miller Stan (which I am, secretly, shhh), it goes on way too long. It gets so repetitive by the end that when he concludes a chapter with vintage surreal imaginings or philosophical waxings for 18 pages, you just want to put it down instead of squeezing meaning from it.

Sidenote-- it was written 10-11 years after Sexus. Miller had evolved/shifted to different concerns, which is refreshing in many ways. Sexus was unrelenting in its depictions of graphic sex. Much of Plexus is Miller grappling with major works, like Decline of the West by Oswald Spengler. But tonally, it feels uneven because it's all about the same period of his life.

I'm hoping Nexus might marry both styles in a less redundant manner.

This book opens one's mind a lot.

<"إن كنت أقرأ كتاباً وحدث أن مر بي مقطع رائع كنت أغلق الكتاب قي ذلك الزمان والمكان وأخرج لأتمشي. فقد كنت أكره فكرة أن أصل إلى نهاية كتاب جيد. أحاول أن أطيل قراءته، أؤجل الأمر الحتمي قدر ما أمكنني.">

Henry Miller is obligatorily a problematic author. It is hard to even try to fight this conception of him as an author whose work has aged particularly bad. Nonetheless, his writing prowess - if you are willing to ignore his blatantly divisive and controversial speech and ideas - is practically unrivalled. Unfortunately, on this volume of The Rosy Crucifixion, his storytelling ability sometimes takes advantage of him.

On one hand, "Plexus" is unquestionably a page turner. Miller's writing is fluid and his voice is that of a true bohemian, which creates a fairly enviable character when considering his practical obligations in life. Nonetheless, the bohemian in him is, ultimately, a broad, empty and welcoming space for his arrogance and unapologetic privileged lifestyle to shine through - the man who has to do no such thing to be triumphant in life, supported by a network of friends and, most pronouncedly, his wife.

Alas, he had the lifestyle which, despite being incomprehensible and anti-ethical to say to the least, allowed him to be the writer he became later. We, as a kind, will have to deal with such considerations indefinitely - what is the price to pay for (I refuse to cast the word genius here) prowess?

Miller's case is not, at all, that dramatic - he is the eternal lyrical pornographer, a degenerate a priori, bound to never having his work taken as exempt from filth at a mainstream level. Nonetheless, other artists - do we dare talk about Picasso's dreadful mistreatment of women for his art, or of Ted Hughes's domestic abuse, that ultimately led to Sylvia Plath's suicide? - are still up for claims in this debate, ultimately unsolvable, as many of the considerable, worthy or possible and eventually worthless claims of contemporary times.

Henry Miller's "Plexus" is a phenomenal book. But it also rekindled the fire that ultimately questions the role of a troubled life in an artist's prowess, and how much it should be considered in the appreciation of his work. I, to the date of this review, am still wondering. But that is my own internal debate - I only wish to leave the reader of this review as the reader of "Plexus", to make his own claims.

کتاب دوم از سه‌گانه تصلیب صورتی. من اول کتاب سوم، نکسوس، رو با ترجمه فارسی خوندم و ترغیب شدم یکی دیگه از کارای میلر رو بخونم ولی این دومی نه که بد نوشته شده باشه یا نشه خوندش ولی آسمون ریسمونه. همون زبان نکسوس رو داره، طنازه و کلمه هم اختراع کرده که همه اینا جالبن ولی نه اندازه پونصد صفحه! سر و ته نداره؛ به قول یکی از ریویوئرها انگار داشته تمرین نویسندگی می‌کرده. خلاصه خاطراتشو، چهار تا هم روش گذاشته، با جزئیات تمام تعریف کرده؛ آخه کی خوابی که ۳۰ سال پیش دیده رو یادشه؟ یه جاهایی خیلی کش اومده؛ همیشه هم موضوع اینه که چه جوری از این و اون پول بگیره. یکی از خواننده‌های نسخه فارسی نکسوس ابراز تعجب کرده که چرا دو کتاب اول سه‌گانه ترجمه نشده، وقتی آخریش انقد خوبه. برای این که دومیش ارزش ترجمه نداره و اولیش هم اجازه چاپ نمی‌گیره

Ittwastalwaystmytdesirettotowntattable oftextraordinarytdimensions,tattabletsotlargetthattItcouldtnottonlytsleeptontittbut dancetontit,teventskatetontit.t(Theretwastatwriter,tonce,twhotworkedtattsuch ta table,twhichthethad tplacedtintthetcentertoftathuge,tbarrentroom—mytideal tasta worktplace.tHistnametwastAndreyev,tandtneedlessttotadd,thetwastone oftmy favorites.)

Me too!

6 ayımı aldı tam olarak. Değindiği yazar ve kitapları da okutturan bir büyüsü var. En az 4 kitap okumam gerekti serinin bu ikinci kitabına haksızlık etmemem için ve sonunda okumam için iki kitap daha miras bıraktı kendisinin son kitabına başlamadan önce.

warmer memories