How do you read a page from Salvador Dali's serial paintings?

What the author did to me was that she threw me among the vivid colors of the page submerged in the serial paintings.

It tortures your mind and heart and restricts your emotions... You feel at ease and fully immersed in reading a pleasant series on some of its pages, but soon it takes you to pages that make you feel short of breath and have a shameful desire to stop reading.

Perhaps what makes evaluating it difficult is that it is a collection of short stories.

But simply, what "Annie's Nan" presents to you in this collection is a different type of literature and a different way of writing that may appeal to you or not.

But she remains a different author and you want to know more about her works to adopt a complete point of view and understand her position from your interests as a reader.

She is truly remarkable in her writing,展现出了极高的艺术性和诗意，且毫不冗长繁琐……这是一种微妙的平衡。这些故事虽然只是故事，但整本书从最精妙的意义上来说也是一首诗。

I haven't delved into anything written by Anais Nin for quite a long while. However, this particular work might just be one of my absolute favorites. She brings to my mind Mary Oliver a great deal.

Both of them possess the ability to see with a discerning eye and the gift of words to record those details that most of us simply overlook or glaze over even if we bother to glance up at all. Their writing has the power to make us stop, look, and truly appreciate the beauty and wonder that surrounds us in the simplest of things. It is as if they have a special connection to the world around them, and they are able to share that connection with us through their writing.

Reading their works is like taking a journey through a world that we may have never noticed before, filled with colors, emotions, and experiences that touch our hearts and souls.

I truly just reread this remarkable book every couple of years. And each and every time, I manage to discover something within its pages that completely decimates me. It is nothing short of absolute perfection.

It's been an incredibly long time, perhaps even 100 years ago (figuratively speaking), when Buck 65 introduced me to this literary gem. His recommendation was like a guiding light that led me to this amazing piece of work.

Since then, it has become a regular part of my reading routine, always offering new insights and触动我的心灵. I am forever grateful to Buck 65 for turning me on to this book that has had such a profound impact on me.

It's a book that I will continue to cherish and reread for many years to come, knowing that it will always have the power to move me and leave me in awe.

The first work I read for writing, but none of its stories impressed me.

The book is a collection of short stories, and the stories in it lack creativity and sometimes the meaning.

I was quite disappointed as I had expected more from it.

The plots seemed rather ordinary and didn't have that unique charm that would make them stand out.

There were moments when I found myself skimming through the pages rather than being fully engaged.

However, I do understand that everyone has different tastes in literature, and perhaps there are others who might find this book more appealing.

But for me, it didn't meet my expectations as a good piece of writing.

Maybe I'll have better luck with the next book I pick up.

I felt as if it was a unique blend of Borges and Lispector. Approximately a year ago, I came across this book in the library of one of my school campuses. I randomly flipped to a page and read “The Labyrinth”. Instantly, I fell in love with it. So, I decided to buy the book on eBay. Finally, now I have read it. There were parts of it that I truly loved. However, at times, I would occasionally feel a bit lost or slightly bored with the subject matter. But overall, I really enjoyed it and feel inspired, all thanks to this little book filled with dreamy stories. My absolute favorites are “Je suis le plus malade des surréalistes”, “Ragtime”, and “The Labyrinth”. Additionally, I also liked “Houseboat”, “The All-Seeing”, and “Birth”. This book has truly been a wonderful discovery for me, taking me on a journey through different and captivating narratives.

A glass bell. As in a bell jar? My initial thought was of Sylvia Plath. Sometimes, first impressions can be spot-on. But let me start by clarifying what this book isn't.

I had expected certain delights. Anais Nin. The name itself is associated with eroticism. So, I opened this book with high expectations. And like Pip in the Dickens novel, I often found myself confused. Nin turned out to be my Estella. She plays games and at times leaves me feeling cold.

"A glass bell," according to the Collins Dictionary, is "a bell-shaped cover used to protect flower arrangements or fragile ornaments or to cover apparatus in experiments." This book contains all three: arrangements of thoughts, fragile lives, and experimental writing.

For a taste, here is the opening paragraph of "Ragtime."

"The city was asleep on its right side and shaking with violent nightmares. Long puffs of snoring came out of the chimneys. Its feet were sticking out because the clouds did not cover it altogether. There was a hole in them and the white feathers were falling out. The city had untied all the bridges like so many buttons to feel at ease. Wherever there was a lamplight the city scratched itself until it went out."

Glass bell. Bell jar. Nin is not Plath. However, Nin's heart is that of a poet, as this passage demonstrates. I wish she had developed this aspect of the collection more and not rushed to self-publish at the end of the Second World War. T. S. Eliot came to my mind as I read, and I wished there had been more of those wonderful leaps of imagination. As it is, I was reminded of early Jean Rhys, who handles the short story form better. Painful, oppressed, and suffocating women's lives are confined under this bell. Smash that glass, I say. Breathe! Give us more cities at night, dear Nin, or at least more joy under those sheets.

I've long intended to read some Anais Nin ever since I learned that she had attempted, yet failed, to establish a correspondence with Anna Kavan. (Here's a letter from Kavan to her publisher suggesting she should probably reply. As far as I know, she didn't).

However, upon reading this slender and originally self-published volume (typeset by herself on a hand press! DIY was truly more DIY before the Xerox era) of stories, glimmers, and dreams, I can clearly understand why Nin might have perceived in Kavan a kindred spirit. In 1948, Kavan published the voluptuously nocturnal Sleep Has His House, a self-described effort to elaborate a theory of \\"nighttime language\\", often regarded as a dream diary but always seeming to me to be a more measured illumination of the inner life of its gradually withdrawing heroine. And here, in stories like \\"Ragtime\\" and \\"Houseboat\\", Nin appears to have been constructing her own hyper-vivid language of peripheral pathways, of the somnambulant and obscure, rendering experience from within as much as from without. (A Kavan blurb by Lawrence Durrell linked them both, along with Woolf and Barnes, in a \\"subjective feminine tradition\\"). So, I can envision Nin's evident hopes in a kindred. But her own words effectively stand on their own. Her opening passages, in particular, speak volumes with grace and originality:

The current of the crowd wanted to sweep me along with it. The green lights on the street corners ordered me to cross the street, the policemen smiled to invite me to walk between the silver-headed nails. Even the autumn leaves obeyed the current. But I broke away from it like a fallen piece. I swerved out and stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the quays. Below me flowed a river. Not like the current I had just broken from, made of dissonant pieces colliding rustily, made of hunger and desire.

(including one of her husband Ian Hugo's fantastically apt engravings, which I think were only in the old home-printed editions of 300 then 100 more! Obviously not my copy.)

Or the nightmarish hospital scenes from the final story, \\"Birth\\", a terrifying account of attempting to deliver an already-dead child before it kills its mother (possibly Nin herself):

Am I pushing or dying? the light up there, the immense round blazing white light is drinking me. It drinks me slowly, inspires me into space. If I do not close my eyes, it will drink all of me. I seep upward, in long icy threads, too light, and yet inside me there is a fire too, the nerves are twisted, there is no rest from this long tunnel dragging me, or am I pushing myself out of the tunnel, or is the child being pushed out of me, or is the light drinking me. Am I dying? The ice in the veins, the cracking of the bones, this pushing in darkness, with a small shaft of light in the eyes like the edge of the knife, the feeling of a knife cutting the flesh, the flesh somewhere is tearing as if it were burned through by a flame, somewhere my flesh is tearing and the blood is spilling out. I am pushing in the darkness, in utter darkness.

Admittedly, not everything gripped me as strongly as these, as many of the stories are more in the vein of elaborately detailed portraiture. But when she has a story to tell, her manner of telling brings out a power rarely matched.

3.75...

This number seems rather bonkers at first glance. It's not a whole number, not a simple fraction. But upon closer inspection, there is a certain beauty to it.

Sometimes, it can get extremely confusing. The decimal part, 0.75, might make one wonder what it truly represents. Is it three-fourths of something? Or is it a more complex metaphor?

However, that's precisely what makes it so captivating. It demands our attention. We can't simply brush it aside as a random number. We are forced to think, to analyze, and to try to understand its significance.

In a world where everything seems so straightforward and simple, 3.75 stands out as a unique and mysterious entity. It challenges our preconceived notions and forces us to look beyond the obvious.

So, the next time you come across 3.75, don't be too quick to dismiss it. Take a moment to appreciate its beauty and to try to解开 its mysteries. You might just be surprised at what you discover.

What is this...!

What is this story talking about? Am I the one who has lost my focus or is the story strange and incomprehensible?

It seems that there is a sense of confusion and uncertainty in these words. Maybe the person is trying to make sense of something that they have just read or heard. The exclamation mark at the end of the first sentence shows that they are quite surprised or shocked by what they have encountered.

Perhaps the story is filled with unusual characters, events, or ideas that are difficult to grasp. Or maybe the person's own state of mind is affecting their ability to understand. It could be that they are distracted by other things or are in a hurry, which is preventing them from fully engaging with the story.

In any case, it is clear that the person is grappling with some sort of mystery or puzzle, and is seeking an answer or an explanation.

Anaïs's writing is indescribably beautiful.

She has an extraordinary talent for effortlessly putting emotions into words with absolute perfection.

In my personal opinion, the second half of the stories in this collection is even better. However, it's important to note that the entire collection is truly amazing.

Each story seems to draw the reader in, captivating their attention and taking them on a journey of emotions.

Anaïs's ability to create vivid characters and engaging plots is truly remarkable.

Whether it's the first half or the second half, every page is filled with her unique writing style and charm.

This collection is a must-read for anyone who appreciates beautiful literature and wants to be swept away by the power of words.

It's a literary gem that will leave a lasting impression on the reader's heart and mind.

<3

Excellent stories about her little slice-of-life in pre-WWII Bohemian Paris. This collection truly gives one a vivid feel for the characters, the places, and herself. It is much easier to read compared to her other book, House of Incest. It is a lot more straightforward and romantic, without delving into the eroticism that characterizes her other works. I firmly believe that this is a great book to begin with if one desires to explore her literary output. It is accessible and, for those who are not particularly inclined towards sexuality or erotic novels, it is less likely to be off-putting. It offers a wonderful introduction to her writing style and the world she creates in her works.

Earlier this year, a friend presented me with a xerox copy of a story from this collection.

That particular story truly blew me away. It was so captivating that it invited multiple reads.

Consequently, I had been long looking forward to reading the entire collection.

The writing in this collection has shades of a modernist style, which would have been sufficient for me.

However, the stories then shift into a more psychedelic version of Virginia Woolf.

Eventually, it leaves you with a high-poetic descent into astoundingly beautiful surrealism.

This is an unbelievable book!! It has quickly become my big new favorite.

I cannot recommend it highly enough. The unique combination of styles and the ability to transport the reader into a world of such vivid and extraordinary imagination is truly remarkable.

Each story seems to build upon the previous one, creating a cohesive and deeply engaging experience.

I can't wait to explore this collection further and discover all the hidden gems it has to offer.