I was first introduced to Anais Nin's work by Eric Jerome Dickey. One of his novel's main characters was mildly obsessed with Nin and often referenced her. I had planned to read some of her work, but years passed without me doing so.

Finally, in a bookstore, I saw the cover of Henry and June and decided it was time to explore Nin's world. I read about her personal life and work, thinking I had an idea of what to expect.

However, whatever expectations I had were quickly shattered. From the start, I felt that June and Henry were using Anais for her means. Although not rich, she clearly had more wealth than the two combined. While she had an obsessive desire for June, June casually mentioned using Anais' money to buy a gift for another female lover. As I read more, I concluded that they were all using each other. June enjoyed Anais' gifts and the distraction she provided Henry. Henry also liked Anais' money and gifts and the sexual relationship in June's absence. And Anais...

To me, Anais Nin does not seem like a free sexually liberated woman. I see her as a woman with some sort of sexual issue from her youth that she never resolved. She mentions an incestuous relationship with her father and another man. Her therapy sessions show that she seeks older men to fill a void left by her father. Problematically, she also begins a relationship with the therapist.

Unless I'm mistaken, Anais desires her husband Hugo, Henry, Fred, June, Allende, and Eduardo in this story. She alludes to a sexual relationship with June and a desire for one with Allende.

This whole obsession with June and Henry seems completely insincere. I don't fully believe she loved either of them, especially June who appears briefly at the beginning and end of the book. I could be wrong, but I think Anais Nin needs true sexual therapy from a therapist with the willpower to avoid sleeping with her.

To be clear, this is not a judgment on her lifestyle. She could have had dozens of lovers, both male and female, at the same time, and I wouldn't care. I'm not amazed by promiscuity nor am I judgmental. I also know that she lived in a time when it might have seemed revolutionary for a married woman to have more than one lover of a different sex.

My problem with Anais Nin is that this journal doesn't feel authentic and sincere. It lacks passion and fervor. It reads like the journal of an oversexed teenager, not a woman harnessing her sexual power. I also question the honesty of it all. Nin even admits to adhering to Henry's sexual preferences rather than her own. What's revolutionary about that? Obviously, I didn't enjoy this book and won't read any more of Nin's work. If you must, use your local public library.

Holy. Crap. For lack of better words.

This book took me an eternity, it seems. Maybe three months? Or perhaps even more? The time just muddled together in a chaotic mess of intense emotions. And now, having just finished it moments ago, I'm sitting here in a flustered rush, turning on the computer and logging in. I'm shocked that I managed to finish it even that quickly. I felt completely possessed while reading this, dominated and entirely taken over by Anaïs Nin and her extraordinary life. Her life is truly one of a kind, to say the least.

Throughout this diary, Anaïs Nin had a complex web of relationships. She had three lovers and one husband (or four lovers if you include June). Yes, all at the same time. While the main focus is on her passionate and all-consuming relationship with Henry Miller, it also delves into her fleeting love with her husband, her experimental one with her psychologist, the angry and often passionless escape with Eduardo, and her deep connection to Henry's very own June. The intensity of her honesty and the rapid changes in her moods reached such levels that I often felt almost sickened while reading. I felt a strange mix of sickness, hunger, desire, and I found myself transforming into a little Nin myself.

I first became interested in this diary after becoming an ardent fan of D.H. Lawrence and reading a bit of Henry Miller as well. I was in awe of their crude genius. When I learned of Anaïs Nin, I was immediately excited. D.H. Lawrence and Henry Miller had a profound impact on her, and I could envision the three of them sitting in a close circle, wrapped in intimacy, whispering secrets that our mortal minds could never fathom. They are sexual creatures like no others, each unique and yet so similar. I truly believe that one can only fully respect this diary if they have read, experienced, and loved the works of all three of them.

Throughout the reading process, I would often throw the book aside, press my hands to my temples, and cry out in frustration. "I can't take this anymore. I'm quitting. I'm putting the book down. Forever this time. She's crazy. They all are. I can't do it." But moments later, I would find myself back, painfully reading through it, as if I couldn't bear to be away from her world for long. And once I finally did finish, I longed to be back in her world again, to let her poetry seep into me like a nightmare and a sweet dream all at once. She is not for everyone. I know that very few people could truly appreciate her. And the same goes for Henry Miller and D.H. Lawrence. But for me personally, reading their works gives me a sense of liberation, excitement, and a feeling bordering on insanity. And that's exactly what you're supposed to get from them. You're supposed to melt, drown in their emotions, and in doing so, create your own. It's not enjoyable, it's not easy, but if you're willing to let yourself go wild into their world, then by all means. I beg of you. From now until forever, when someone asks me, "Who's your favorite writer?" I shall answer with absolute certainty, "Lawrence, Nin, and Miller."

Through Nin's writing and life, she delved deep into the realms of sexuality and passion. Her diaries reveal that she recognized and befriended numerous writers and artists long before they achieved fame. She wrote with great eloquence about the arduous struggle to create in a society that did not value such endeavors, especially for women. There is no doubt that her life view was somewhat distorted, yet her writing has the power to leave one breathless at times. She was also a pioneer in the self-publishing "little press" industry when she was unable to find a publisher for her own work.

Nin's life is truly captivating, as she had two husbands. Although not political, she questioned and challenged the prevailing attitudes and values of society. Her interest in pleasing men seemed to dominate her life, but I view it as a side effect of the social indoctrination from which she could not escape, rather than a reason to reject her. She was highly revered in the early seventies, and her life was in line with the sexual liberation that was a part of the second wave of feminism. In particular, "Henry and June" struck me as a compelling narrative, a great story, and extremely romantic.

Because Nin was not an intellectual, not a scholar, and not interested in politics, her life may appear shallow to some. However, I have discovered much food for thought in her life. Mostly, I respect her pursuit of being true to the higher calling of an artist and her perception in uncovering the hypocrisy of society.

I really don't know what to say.

Maybe you should read it carefully.

Sometimes, when faced with a situation, words just fail us.

We struggle to find the right way to express our thoughts and feelings.

In this case, I'm at a loss for words.

But perhaps by reading it, you can gain some understanding or perspective.

Maybe it will spark an idea or a reaction within you.

So, go ahead and read it, and see what comes to mind.

Who knows, maybe it will lead to a meaningful conversation or a new discovery.

**The Expurgated, Unexpurgated Version**

This is a review of the Harcourt Harvest paperback edition (1989) of the original Houghton Mifflin Harcourt hardcover *Henry and June: From the Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin* (1986). It was a re-read for me, serving as background to my recent reading of Léonie Bischoff's graphic novel *Anaïs Nin - Sur la mer des mensonges* (2020). This paperback edition dates from the time of its film adaptation *Henry and June* (1990) directed by Philip Kaufman. I believe I initially picked it up because of the film, but I have a vague memory of not actually finishing it at the time as it was rather tedious.

This time, I pushed through to see the parallels with Bischoff's graphic novel adaptation. I had the same reaction to the tiresome repetition of Nin's various real or imagined flirtations, loves, and affairs. These included relationships with Lawrence Drake, John Erskine, her husband Hugo Guiler, writer Henry Miller and his wife June Miller, her cousin Eduardo, her dance teacher Francisco Miralles Arnau, and two psychoanalysts: René Félix Allendy and Otto Rank. The regular psychoanalyst visits made me wonder if a lot of it might be Freudian fantasy and wish fulfillment. *Henry and June* stops short of the paternal incest covered in the follow-up *Incest: From "A Journal of Love": The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1932 - 1934* (1992), but the longing for a lost father figure is evident.
What also becomes clear is that much of Nin's life seems to be absent from this "Unexpurgated" version. The parts that appeared in the earlier *The Diary of Anais Nin Volume 1 1931 - 1934* (1966) are not all repeated. This is also evident from Bischoff's adaptation, which dedicates a dozen pages to Nin's dancing lessons and performances, while they are only mentioned in a single sentence in the new edition.

Conclusion
Overall, while *Henry and June* offers some insights into Anaïs Nin's life and relationships, it also has its flaws, such as the tedious repetition and the omission of certain aspects of her life. The comparison with Bischoff's graphic novel adaptation highlights these differences and makes one wonder about the true nature of Nin's experiences and the accuracy of her diary entries.

Fuck René Allendy! Among all the morally complex characters and situations presented in this excerpt of Anaïs Nin's diaries, René Allendy stands out as the most detestable one. While the others bring a great deal of amusement and interest, Allendy is simply loathsome. His actions and behaviors seem to lack any redeeming qualities. It is as if he is a dark cloud that casts a shadow over the otherwise engaging and captivating narrative. One cannot help but feel a sense of repulsion towards him. The contrast between him and the other characters is stark, making his unpleasantness even more pronounced. It is truly a pity that such a character exists within the pages of these diaries, marring what could have been an even more enjoyable read.

Pulled this book off my shelf where it's been waiting in the 'to read' section for a decade.

It doesn't exactly mirror the original edited Vol. 1 of the Diaries of Anais Nin which I first read as a teenager and made me want to become a writer.

Startling to see the veil torn back, so many mysteries revealed. "Henry and June" becomes a gloss on what I already know.

So many things she left out in the first iteration, to sculpt a specific, curated experience for the reader. While the earlier version was more artistic, there was always something blurred in it, something veiled.

This volume pushes back the curtain, is far more searching and blisteringly erotic. Nin's obsession with June is even more intense here than her falling for Henry.

And her feelings about her husband, Hugo, make so much more sense now. In the edited diary, Nin does her best to conceal her paradoxes.

Here, you see it all, the frantic scuffling to conceal her activities from the husband she loves and cherishes, and yet who stands in the way of her full expression of life and her hunger for experience, which she attributes to herself as a writer rather than as a woman.

As a woman she could be faithful, but she felt that as a writer, she needed to, had to, experience all that life presented her. It's a fascinating exploration of Nin's complex psyche and her struggle to balance her personal and creative desires.

The unedited version gives a more unfiltered and raw look into her world, and it's both captivating and eye-opening. It makes me appreciate her work even more and understand the depth of her character.

I'm glad I finally picked up this book and delved into the unedited pages of Anais Nin's diary. It's been a journey of discovery and has added a new dimension to my understanding of her as a writer and a woman.

This was a book/journal that truly captivated me, making me eager to highlight passage after passage.

Within its pages, there were some remarkably interesting personal reflections. Her observations on love, life, and passion were of the highest quality. I was completely mesmerized by the way Anaïs Nin delved into her life and the evolving love/passion she felt for Henry Miller.

She is an incredibly insightful writer. Even the repetitive nature of some of her feelings and insights did not evoke any resentment in me. This is because the book is composed of passages from her diary, as well as the letters and notes she exchanged with Henry.

I have a strong inclination to read it again in the future, and this time, I will not hold back from highlighting my book. It is a work that continues to resonate with me and offers a profound exploration of the human experience.

This statement is really quite interesting. It presents an observation that something has an element of interest, yet at the same time, it acknowledges that there are occasions when it can be a bit on the slow side.

Perhaps this refers to a particular activity, a process, or even a person's behavior. The slowness might not necessarily be a negative aspect, as it could potentially allow for a more in-depth exploration or a more detailed understanding.

On the other hand, it could also cause some degree of impatience or frustration. However, despite this slowness, the fact that it is described as interesting suggests that there is still something valuable or engaging about it.

Overall, it makes one wonder what exactly this thing is that combines both interest and slowness, and how it impacts the experiences and perspectives of those who encounter it.

Oh love!

This is a truly beautiful, aching, and tender book. It is like a poem in book form, managing to convey so much with so few words. Nin's words delicately mince across the page, gracefully pirouette from one paragraph to the next. And then, they strip themselves bare, sweeping into a frenzied, yet orchestrated ballet of passion, fragility, and deep, exuberant emotion.

It is as inspiring as it is lovely, with every nuance perfectly captured, and yet maintaining an air of innocence. This book is a masterpiece that takes the reader on a journey through the complex and beautiful world of love, leaving them breathless and filled with wonder.

It is a book that will be cherished and reread time and time again, as its words have the power to touch the heart and soul of anyone who reads it.

I think the pleasure truly lies in reading it in its entirety. One can't help but think about how much of her day must have been dedicated to writing and reflecting on the events of the day! Nin truly finds joy in arranging words, in creating wordscapes. She writes so clearly and beautifully about love and, most importantly, pity. I firmly believe it is a really crucial book for figuring out what one desires and requires.

Here is one passage that I consider to be particularly perfect. And then there are countless quotes that follow.

“I cannot commit a crime, and to hurt Hugo would be a crime. Besides, he loves me as nobody has ever loved me.” “You haven’t given anybody else a real chance.” I remember these words while Hugo is gardening. And being with him now feels as if I were living in the state I was in at twenty. Is it his fault, this youthfulness of our life together? My God, can I ask about Hugo what Henry asks about June? He has filled her. Have I filled Hugo? People have said there is nothing in him but me. His great capacity for losing himself in love. That really touches me. Even last night he talked about his inability to mingle with others, stating that I was the only one he was close to and happy with.

***

“I think, well, I just wanted the pleasure without feeling. But something holds me back. There is in me something untouched, unstirred, which commands me. That will have to be moved if I am to move wholly. I think of this in the Métro, and I get lost.”

“I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife. I think highly of faithfulness… [I am a] woman who loves perfection. And faithfulness is one of the perfections. It seems stupid and unintelligent to me now because I have bigger plans.”

To Hugo, after hosting Henry and June: “Afterwards I pointed out to him how he had prevented all of us from living, how he had caused a living moment to pass him by. I was ashamed of his optimism, his trying to smooth things out.” - This felt so Woolfian.

“Last night, after June, filled with June, I could not bear Hugo reading the newspapers and talking about trusts and a successful day. He understood—he does understand—but he couldn’t share, he could not grasp the incandescent. He teased me. He was humorous. He was immensely lovable and warm. But I could not come back.”

“I watch his life with a realization that my life will never resemble his [Henry’s], for mine is slowed up by thought.”

“I have a fear of being like June exactly. I have a feeling against complete chaos. I want to be able to live with June in utter madness, but I also want to be able to understand afterwards.”

“I am impervious to the flat visual attack of things. I see your khaki shirt hung up on a peg. It is your shirt and I could see you in it—you, wearing a color I detest. But I see you, not the khaki shirt. Something stirs in me as I look at it, and it is certainly the human you.”

“The important thing is the response to life. June and Henry respond extravagantly, as I do. Hugo is dimmer, more listless. Today he came out of the dimness to a realization of The Possessed. I made him write down his thoughts, they were so wonderful. His best moments are very profound.”

“Henry, today I am sad for the moments I am missing… And I was sad that you missed a wonderful moment in me. Last night I was sitting by the fire and talking as I rarely talk, dazzling Hugo, feeling immensely and astonishingly rich.”

“What is left out of the journal is also left out of my mind. At the moment of writing I rush for the beauty. I disperse the rest, out of the journal, out of my body. I would like to come back, like a detective, and collect what I have washed off. For example, the terrible, divine credulity of Hugo. I think of what he could have noticed.”

“The old pattern of my life is shattered. It hangs around me in shreds. Great things are going to happen from all this. I feel the fermentation. The train which takes me home to Louveciennes shakes phrases in my mind like dice in a dice box.”

“My journal writing breaks down, because it was an intimacy with myself.”

“The other night we talked about the trick of literature in eliminating the unessential, so that we are given a concentrated dose of life.”

“Love reduces the complexity of living. It amazes me that when Henry walks towards the café table where I wait for him, or opens the gate to our house, the sight of him is sufficient to exult me.”

“I make an effort to live externally, going to the hairdresser, shopping, telling myself: ‘I must not sink, I must fight.’”

“What I wonder about now is whether I stay in Hugo’s world because I lack courage to venture out completely, or is it that I have not yet loved anyone enough to want to give up my life with Hugo? If he were to die, I would not go to Henry, that is clear to me.”

“Henry’s last milky kiss, his last words—‘Is everything all right?’ which he says when he is embarrassed and wants to say something deeper.”

To Hugo: “Well, tell me something about yourself that I do not know, tell me something new. You have nothing to confess? And you couldn’t invent something? He did not get my meaning… Sweet faith. To be laughed at, made use of. Why aren’t you cleverer, less believing? Why don’t you hit back, why have you no aberrations, no passions, no comedies to play, no cruelty?”

“Hugo reads my thirty pages on June and exclaims they are good. Again I wonder if he is only half alive or simply inarticulate. I ask him this and hurt him. He makes a remarkable statement: ‘If this is your real self, the one you are asserting, I say it is a very hard self.’”

“Most of my life has been spent in enriching as well as I could the long, long waiting for the great events which fill me now so deeply that I am overwhelmed... This is the hour of expansion, of true living. All the rest was a preparation... Human beings cannot bear the knowledge of the future. To me, the knowledge of the present is just as dazzling. To be so acutely rich and to know it!”

“I walk into the chaos of June and Henry and find them becoming clearer to themselves and to each other. And I? I suffer from the insanity they are leaving behind.”

“I wept because the process by which I have become woman was painful. I wept because my eyes were opened to reality—to Henry’s selfishness, June’s love of power, my insatiable creativity which must concern itself with others and cannot be sufficient to itself. I wept because I cannot believe anymore and I love to believe…. I wept because from now on I will weep less. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence.”

Books offer the possibility to hide in other people's heads and see their thoughts, especially when the book is written based on the author's diaries. "Henry and June" is an extremely vivid story of Anaïs Nin's love affairs. Although Anaïs Nin is married, this does not prevent the young woman from falling in love with both June and Henry and having affairs. She herself is an extremely sensual and beautiful woman who attracts men - her friends as well as psychiatrists fall in love with her. On the one hand, Anaïs is extremely open and liberal, but at the same time, heartbreak is not foreign to her.

It is a truly amazing work, considering when it was written. It was only published after the author's death because Anaïs Nin did not want her revelations to disrupt both her and Henry Miller's (former) life. According to Wikipedia, Henry and June Miller still divorced in 1934, that is, a couple of years after the events in the book.

Certainly recommended. :) I myself, however, brought home from the library today Henry Miller's "The Tropic of Cancer".