New York and Paris. These are two iconic cities that have always held a special allure.

Gonzalo, the hunky Spaniard, is a multi-faceted character. He is a guitarist, a revolutionary, and a gigolo. His life takes an interesting turn when he and his awful crippled wife move in with Anais on the houseboat in the Seine.

The Spanish Civil War looms large in the background, adding a sense of turmoil and uncertainty. Meanwhile, the relationship between Anais and Henry comes to an end.

Enter Laurence Durrell, outrageously young and dizzily intelligent. His arrival brings a new dynamic to the story.

The visit to Fez and the publication of House of Incest are significant events. As the years pass, the Diaries become even more captivating.

Now that I've heard of Brassai, Artaud, and James Laughlin the publisher, and have read Proust, the Diaries seem to get richer with time. They offer a fascinating glimpse into a bygone era and the lives of these remarkable individuals.

Rather than simply discussing what I have learned,

I feel compelled to issue a warning to people.

Before purchasing these books, it is essential to check whether they are the "censored" or "unexpurgated" version.

Regrettably, I was unaware of this distinction and ended up buying 3 "censored" volumes.

This was due to the fact that the individuals she mentioned were still alive at the time of publication, which led to the censored version being released initially.

However, the republishing was the full version.

These books are still highly worthwhile reading if you are able to locate the uncensored ones.

They offer valuable insights and perspectives that might otherwise be missed in the censored editions.

So, be sure to do your research and make an informed decision when it comes to buying these particular books.

Sentimental, airy, and at times mystical and symbolic, Nin's writing style is truly a challenge to penetrate. I often find myself checking the page numbers just to ensure that I'm making some headway. However, within the pages, there are indeed valuable ideas scattered throughout.

This volume commences in New York City, where Nin served as an intern under the psychoanalyst Otto Rank. It alternates between observations, introspections, and notes about the personal life she led outside the office. As time progresses, one can witness the shift in her attitudes towards those around her. Initially, she seems entranced by Rank, but later proclaims that it was a relief to be away from him and that she doesn't miss him. This is quite natural, and a journal serves as the perfect medium to observe these evolving feelings over time.

When Nin returns to Louveciennes, she remarks on the difference in energy compared to New York. She misses its jazz, noise, speed, and newness. Nevertheless, she is energized by her acquaintance with Henry Miller, Gonzalo, and Helba. They inspire each other creatively and offer financial and professional support for several years. Once again, the feelings change - you see Nin being drawn further into Gonzalo's orbit as she describes him from a closer vantage point. Nin remains the constant, while everything around her changes gradually. Later, you notice more critical descriptions of Gonzalo and Helba. Even though she is still close to them and cares for them deeply, it appears that her patience with their disorderly lifestyle is wearing thin.

Nin writes about other people later in the book. By the end, I'm still uncertain about their relationship to her. The political world begins to encroach upon their lives with the conclusion of the Spanish Civil War and the resulting refugees, and finally, the onset of WWII. All her friends and lovers disperse, everything falls apart, and I'm eagerly anticipating the next volume of Nin's diary.

People often criticize Nin for her self-absorption, among other things. However, I believe that in any diary, whether literary or not, the central character is inevitably the diarist. Maybe I am also self-centered, but I am the main character in my life and journal as well.

What makes Nin's diary truly meaningful to me is not so much the meanderings of a 1930s woman's self-exploration. Instead, it is the incredible time and place she documents. The Paris she describes was alive with creativity and forward thinking (avant garde) before World War II.

This volume specifically documents the final days of that remarkable period. As the Nazis were about to march in, writers, artists, and thinkers who were able to do so left Paris one by one.

It is truly worthwhile to read this book. Through it, one can be introduced to Brassai, Hilaire Hiler, Jean Carteret, Lawrence Durrell, Waldo Frank, Sir Richard Burton, Carlos Suares, and dozens of other fascinating people that Nin mentions or meets. It provides a unique window into a bygone era and a diverse group of individuals who contributed to the rich tapestry of that time.

This piece truly ought to be read in the fall. Picture yourself sitting on a bench in Thompkins Square Park, which is located in the vibrant East Village. As you do so, you're sipping on a delicious Americano from 9th Street Espresso. The aroma of the coffee fills the air, mingling with the scent of the fallen leaves.

Preferably, you'll have your feet resting on a skateboard. There's something about that combination that just feels right. It gives a sense of relaxation and a touch of urban cool.

But perhaps that's just my personal preference. Maybe for you, it could be a different beverage or a different way of resting your feet. Nevertheless, the essence of reading this in the fall, in that particular park, with that specific coffee, is something that can bring a unique kind of enjoyment and a moment of tranquility in the midst of the bustling city.

Originally, Anais Nin published 7 diaries that began in 1931 and ended in 1974.

The second volume covers the period between November 1934, when Anais is in New York analyzing and working with the psychoanalyst Otto Rank, and September 1939, when the writer has to leave France.

Nin reflects on human psychology; the human and infantile need for a father or a mother, or a god, which is actually immaturity (why not look for that within ourselves?); the moment when people discover that they are not victims of others but of themselves and cry when they realize that they are responsible for their own sufferings; how puritanism numbs the senses; how we are victims of obsessive patterns and repeating themes, and more.

The diary is mainly a reflection on the unconscious, the connections between people, dreams, the repetition of patterns, and more.

Anais spends these years in Paris surrounded by intellectuals such as the writer Henry Miller, who was her lover and is present throughout the book; Gonzalo More, a Peruvian Marxist poet; Antonin Artaud, a French writer; Rene Allendy, a French psychoanalyst and homeopath who treated Anais and was also her lover; Lawrence Durrell, who in 1937 travels to Villa Seurat and there meets Henry Miller and Anais.

As a good Pisces, she feels an emotional connection with humanity, which is obviously difficult to put into words; she has an ascendant in Libra (the diaries are considered erotic literature), Venus in Pisces square Uranus and Pluto, which obviously brings a lot of sexual intensity.

I particularly enjoyed Anaïs’ reflections on the value of being a quiet observer in this one. She delved deep into how that role comes not only with the beauty of seeing things others might miss but also with the burdens of loneliness and a painful inability to connect with others.

Some people have made the claim that Anaïs name drops and is constantly describing being praised. However, I find this a rather bizarre observation. She is dedicated to the craft of writing, and as such, she chronicles both the praise and criticisms of her work from other writers. In her diary, it is only natural that she would capture those moments when people have connected with her work. Moreover, when men over-praise her to the point of mythologizing her, she takes an amused and self-aware view, not simply lapping it up blindly.

The diary did get repetitive at times, especially the way she constantly compared Henry and Rango. But then again, repetitiveness is perhaps the very nature of a diary.

It was truly fascinating and also quite sad to read her observations in the months leading up to France entering World War 2. One could see how quickly a vibrant life could turn to devastation, anxiety, and sadness, affecting not only her but all those around her. It served as a reminder of the sudden switch in mood that occurred once we entered the Covid lockdowns and it became clear just how serious the pandemic was.

Anaïs Nin, she is the awakening, the illumination, the cosmic magic. Reading her journals is like finding a bright lighthouse in the dark night.

Her words are true remedies, like a credo to be read again and again. They have the power to heal and inspire.

"One cannot save people. One can only love them." This simple yet profound statement encapsulates her philosophy. Love is the key, not saving or fixing others.

"I am one of those rare people who can say today: I have loved each day as if the beloved were going to die. As if I were going to die tomorrow. I have loved and lived fully." Her passion for life and love shines through in these words. She lived each moment to the fullest, without regret.

"For me, I am transformed into a sponge, absorbing all the tears of the world, accumulating the pains, unable to erase anything." Her empathy and compassion are palpable. She feels the suffering of others deeply and is unable to turn away.

Anais Nin, thank you. To be read indefinitely. In intervals. To live in intervals.

Anaïs Nin’s writing is truly magical and beautiful, like no other. Her diaries, which span many years, have been a guiding light in my life. Nowhere else have I found such profound illumination into what it means to be an introspective woman with a deep yearning to explore life. I have discovered a great deal of relatability in her work. She is an unjustly undervalued writer. Her assessments of people, including many renowned artists, her ability to articulate emotions with such precision, and her intricate descriptions all form a unique philosophy of their own.

It is a sad fact that people still demonize her for having affairs and choose to focus solely on the perception of her as an “immoral woman.” This only serves to highlight the continued sexism in our society. The very things she is criticized for are actions that most, if not all, male artists have engaged in (specifically, having multiple affairs and being less than honest about it). Yet, I rarely witness anyone criticizing male artists for such behavior. Rarely is she given the recognition she deserves for her innovative writing and brilliant mind. Her courage in writing about the erotic in the most exquisite ways, her intelligence in expressing the experience of anxiety and neurosis long before it became commonplace, and her analytical mind that was able to capture the true personas of those around her are all remarkable achievements.

Some may argue that the diaries are not entirely accurate, but whose diary would be? It is her perception, and perhaps there is an element of imagination involved, which is only natural for a creative individual. Each volume of the Diaries is fascinating, lovely, and a delight to read, shining a light on the deeper recesses of the self.

If you are an artist, an introvert, an introspective and intuitive woman, an observer, or someone who desires to be fully fulfilled by life, then Anaïs Nin’s work will无疑 be a true ally in your life.

I want to introduce you to Ivan. He is just out of jail for stealing a set of Dostoevsky's works. The French judge was sympathetic. He had good taste in literature. He said: 'If you had stolen a bad writer's books I would have given you sixty days. No, I will give you only a week.' And the day he left jail he received from the judge a set of Dostoevsky wrapped in brown paper.

Ultimately analysis will reveal that the rationalizations of man are a disguise to his personal bias, and that woman's intuition was nothing more than a recognition of the influence of the personal in all thought.

This was a less engaging text than the first diary, but that may be a combination of sequel syndrome as well as the disillusionment Nin fell into with most of the figures who had until now powered her creatively, mentally, and sexually. I wasn't a fan of most of these mentors (Henry Miller is a trip, to put it politely), so while I did agree with most of her criticisms, it became harder to keep track of all the replacements she filled her days with subsequently, as well as increasingly aggravating to watch when her new bedroom obsessions quickly became utterly useless once assured of a generous patron. However, it's always interesting to watch the world as framed by Nin's valuing of inner health over outer pretensions, such evaluations become especially pointed and fraught with the onset of WWII. In closing, I was more sympathetic to the text than I had been while reading it, as unlike Nin, I know what was coming, and the author, for all her romantic stereotypes, was not nearly as much as a bigot as most of her compatriots. All in all, I may adjust the rating of this to a less generous tier later on, but I'm still committed to continuing my newfound yearly ritual of reading this volumes of autobiography in sequence: the space of a break between two-thousand-and-xx and the next seems to be the perfect span of time during which to alternate between deep diving into a strange, yet compassionate, yet obtuse, yet incisive world, and sitting back and reflecting.

I most like this work at the beginning and the end. The middle included some interesting, almost voyeuristic pictures of a few famous names, Miller a familiar face while Lawrence Durrell definitely took center stage, leastwise in my own recognition. However, it all became too repetitive and contradictory at times, which is honestly what a diary usually ends up being, but it was rather ridiculous to read Nin saying the poor were blocked off from propagating revolutionary humanity by their very poverty, and then a few dozen pages later rhapsodizing over how her own poverty raised her artistry and human feeling to new heights. The usual Orientalisms and Rromanisms cr(o/a)p up every so often, and Nin's new mestizo boy toy Gonzalo brought indigenous Americana into the picture cut out mix. It was heartening, though, when true feeling stemming from this disgraced first born hailing from Latinx plantations broke through Nin's hypocritical facade and forced her to recognize that the rich exigencies of a few at the expense of the many was no longer excusable to her, a change of mind likely exacerbate by Miller's objectifying world view that Nin grew increasingly tired of. So, a bit lagging after such a tightly wound beginning and not at all foreshadowing the menacing clarity of the end, but that is a side effect of the drastic editing pre-publication as much as the genuine record Nin created at the time, and I am admittedly very keen on seeing the next five war years, the oh so historically ripe time of 1939-1944, through the mind of this anything but boring woman. An intermission, of sorts, but I did drop in on some juicy gossip, and the knowledge of how Nin and her friends' history of publication would eventually play out gives the reader an interesting perspective on even the banal of tangentially related comments.

Nin and I will always have a weird relationship that's informative and entertaining enough for me so long as I don't take her too seriously. She's no de Beauvoir, but if I had to choose someone's brain to ride around in in order to get a glimpse of all those white boy (and the odd girl) writers who I'm not sure are worth my time, it'd have to be her. Politics aside, her turn of phrase is always impeccable, and she has a talent for transforming the 20th century into the better of the existing nostalgically artistic portraits of yesteryear, obscene wealth and abject poverty living side by side long before the age of Instagram. Speaking of such, that's one 21st century tool I can imagine Nin loving, although she'd have a hard time coping with the 'Chinese' of the place where I call home. Now that this entry is done, as I said before, I don't plan on touching the next volume till sometime during 2020, at minimum. One thing both Nin and I require is space, and I've already binged my fill of inordinately lengthy compositions for the current fin-de-décennie.

And I asked myself if the artist who creates a world of beauty to sustain and transcend and transmute suffering is wiser than those who believe a revolution will remove the causes of suffering. The question remains unanswered.

A man who doesn't want two husbands may have various reasons.

Perhaps he firmly believes in the traditional concept of a monogamous relationship, where love and commitment are shared between only two people. He values the depth and exclusivity that comes with a one-on-one connection.

Another possibility is that he fears the complications and potential conflicts that could arise from having two husbands. The dynamics of such a relationship might seem too complex and overwhelming for him to handle.

Moreover, he may have his own personal preferences and ideals when it comes to love and relationships. He might be looking for a more straightforward and uncomplicated partnership that allows him to focus on building a deep and meaningful bond with one person.

In conclusion, a man who doesn't want two husbands has his own set of reasons and considerations that are influenced by his beliefs, fears, and personal preferences.

Three years have passed, and yet I'm still not certain if it was truly worth it. Hehe. Those three years have been filled with a mix of experiences, some wonderful and some not so much. There were moments of great joy and accomplishment, but also times of doubt and frustration. I've learned a lot along the way, but I still find myself questioning whether all the effort and sacrifices were truly justified. Maybe it's because the outcome is not as clear as I had hoped. Or perhaps it's because I'm constantly comparing myself to others. Whatever the reason, the uncertainty lingers. But despite it all, I know that I've grown and changed as a person. And that, in itself, might be worth something.