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It took me forever, with many breaks (including one year-long break), to get through this book. Partly it was because some of the books he chose to discuss I never heard of and they hold little interest to me, like the spiritual books he favours, and partly – related – because of the vaguely spiritual (i.e. kinda batty) bent of his voice, and partly because of the general verbosity of his writing. And yet I’m so glad I managed to finish this book and I feel I’m better for it, because verbosity and questionable spirituality notwithstanding, Miller is a true free spirit, true artist, a man thirsty for wisdom, endlessly curious and excitable and sillily original… can’t put this any better. In short, I do feel lucky I got to spend some time in his company and to be reminded why literature can elevate our minds and why it’s important artists always rebel. And be silly. And batty. Some of Miller's intellectual and emotional insights will stay with me. including his last chapter on… reading in the toilet! The battiest of them all.