tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post4016139291389007327..comments2023-10-03T11:41:21.191+01:00Comments on The Truth About Lies: Black SpringJim Murdochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-24571443929120935662009-11-30T15:44:32.958+00:002009-11-30T15:44:32.958+00:00I agree, John. Imagine have the confidence to use ...I agree, <b>John</b>. Imagine have the confidence to use a simile like that. Certainly not for the faint-hearted.<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-44384823538763716002009-11-29T17:11:59.664+00:002009-11-29T17:11:59.664+00:00"The harp was swell, like angels pissing in y..."The harp was swell, like angels pissing in your beer."<br /><br />I'd read the book for that sentence alone.<br /><br />Miller was the genuine article; a real writer.John Bakerhttp://johnbakersblog.co.uknoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-71304543539889034152009-10-18T10:17:40.275+01:002009-10-18T10:17:40.275+01:00Dick, what price sentimental value, eh?<b>Dick</b>, what price sentimental value, eh?<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-2871425339407318132009-10-17T14:41:22.896+01:002009-10-17T14:41:22.896+01:00I still have an Obelisk Press (Maurice Girodias) e...I still have an Obelisk Press (Maurice Girodias) edition of 'Black Spring', smuggled back from Paris by would-be beatnik me at the age of 16. 'Tropic of Cancer' too. They're too battered to be worth getting valued, but I value them as cultural artifacts from that time just before Lady Chatterly went public.Dickhttp://patteran.typepad.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-54760162981259655822009-10-14T21:51:18.586+01:002009-10-14T21:51:18.586+01:00Nice review. Make sure you read Tropic of Cancer, ...Nice review. Make sure you read Tropic of Cancer, if you haven't already. It is Miller's best. If the tricky language and length are an issue and you just want a crazy adventure, try Quiet Days in Clichy (hint-they aren't quiet).<br /><br />Thanks!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-78938176079419517722009-10-14T14:09:48.877+01:002009-10-14T14:09:48.877+01:00Yes, I'm a great fan of no-frills writing, tel...Yes, I'm a great fan of no-frills writing, tell it as it is; that's what I like about your stuff. It's been a while since I read <i>Down and Out in London and Paris</i> but I remember enjoying it. I've not read any Bukowski. My wife's son is a great fan but I've never got round to him yet. I must see if Oneworld Classics have any in their catalogue and see if I can cadge a copy. Not that I need another book to read at the minute.<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-32279751235953413342009-10-14T12:43:57.445+01:002009-10-14T12:43:57.445+01:00Another detialed analysis at an interesting author...Another detialed analysis at an interesting author. I only read about half of Tropic of cancer when I was high in high school. I liked it, the vulgarity, the scatological reality, brute force and no bullshit. I should perhaps read it again. <br /><br />Not entirely unrelated is Orwells 'Down and out in paris and london' which is brilliant. And I think Bukowski learned a lot from Miller, with their no frills realism.<br /><br />Good dissection, Jim. I might even get Cancer again and read it all.McGuirehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03095242258892600138noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-58775142665335138402009-10-13T13:01:57.965+01:002009-10-13T13:01:57.965+01:00Tommaso, yes, that whole opening piece is very goo...<b>Tommaso</b>, yes, that whole opening piece is very good. I enjoyed it a lot. As for Oates, I'm embarrassed to say that I've only read a novella by her, <i>Black Water</i>, and that was thirty years ago, nothing since. <br /><br /><b>Conda</b>, 'sloggy' is as good a word as any to describe this writing but if you're kitted out right then a good slog can be a good and satisfying thing. You have to build up to it though which is why by the end of this book I was knackered – too much, too soon.<br /><br />I have to disagree, <b>Gabe</b>, because I've been rereading books recently that I read when I was in my teens and the difference in my understanding and appreciation is enormous. I've just completed a review of <i>The Master and Margarita</i> and I am stunned by how little I got when I first read it and how little I retained. I think your point about perspective hits the nail on the head with that hammer you were on about; as I age my life view is becoming increasingly reflective whereas when I was a teenager I hadn't lived and my appreciation of most things was purely intellectual, if that. <br /><br />There were books that I needed to read when I was a young man, <i>Catcher in the Rye</i> was one and <i>Billy Liar</i> another; these books had a tremendous effect on me back then but when I reread <i>Catcher</i> about fifteen years ago I wondered why. I imagine I would feel the same about <i>Billy Liar</i> and I would like to read that again or at least see the excellent film adaptation.<br /><br /><b>Rachel</b>, perhaps he was ambidextrous and just happened to be using his left hand for that bit?<br /><br />And, <b>Dave</b>, I've had <i>Quincunx</i> in my hand but never bought it. It's quite a thick book as I recall and I tend to avoid them. It <i>is</i> a great word though, isn't it? I always intended to fit it into <i>Stranger than Fiction</i> to describe the park but I never quite managed it. <br /><br />You final point is well stated. Once you've made contact with writing like this the next thing you read feels so . . . colourless, yes, that's as good a word as any.<br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-37546292060305988342009-10-13T11:50:33.103+01:002009-10-13T11:50:33.103+01:00I, too, have a book that I've had on my shelve...I, too, have a book that I've had on my shelves for twenty years at leasr and never read: <i>Quincunx</i> by Charles Palliser. I have dipped into it a few times to see if I'd like to forget about it, but, no, I wouldn't, the writing assures me I wouldn't. Your post may prove to be just the spur I need. <br /><br />I agree with your assessment of Miller's writing. The passage that grabbed me reading your post was the paragraph about being born on the street. The thing about Miller is that once you've made contact,you just can't ignore him.Dave Kinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08430484174826768488noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-68540992546009965122009-10-13T00:33:20.247+01:002009-10-13T00:33:20.247+01:00I wasn't going to mention this but it bothered...I wasn't going to mention this but it bothered me...not that you have the answer...but why, if he was right handed (he has paintbrush in his rt hand in picture) didn't he have his water on the right hand side? He would be less likely to drip water from his brush onto his painting that way!!! I cannot fathom it (as a painter) I find it really odd! Okay, neurosis over...moving on....Rachel Fentonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10046917627054462214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-56785171667390876622009-10-13T00:20:32.805+01:002009-10-13T00:20:32.805+01:00Jim: I'm not sure if there is ever an appropri...Jim: I'm not sure if there is ever an appropriate or better time in one's life to meet a writer. In the case of Miller the one thing that I remember is his saying that a child should be taught to use a hammer before they are taught to read. For a whole lot of reasons that I won't go into I agree with that sentiment. But one aspect of reading in youth, that I think gets tempered in age, is the tendency to find in our reading dreams of an adventure ahead in our life. Sort of like the young man that read's Huck Finn then goes out with a desire to canoe down the Mississippi, but ends up sailing off the coast of New Zealand. Or Madame Bovary and her romances, or Don Quixote and his pulp fiction. The 'memoir' nature of Miller's writing portrays the life of one writer as that writer imagined they experienced their life. Though in youth one might more greatly appreciate reading Miller, it can also lead to a mess of trouble, particularly when it comes to sex education.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15887517793752604788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-10760533066656134482009-10-12T21:10:20.201+01:002009-10-12T21:10:20.201+01:00I remember reading Henry Miller years ago. His boo...I remember reading Henry Miller years ago. His books seemed a bit sloggy at times to me, but I kept reading. You've pointed out some of the reasons why. It also helped to be living in France at the time.Conda Douglashttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12972790965426924941noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-78805213612994494172009-10-12T19:15:09.206+01:002009-10-12T19:15:09.206+01:00Dear Jim, I particularly enjoyed the quote from Th...Dear Jim, I particularly enjoyed the quote from The 14th Ward.<br />By the way have you ever written anything or read Joyce Carol Oates' novels? She came to my mind just in connection with "The Street..."<br />She is superb and Shakespearian.<br />I am now reading her very latest novel, her thirtyfifth one: "Little Bird of Heaven".Tommaso Gervasuttihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17137499390434949734noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-61789673475233555892009-10-12T13:55:40.845+01:002009-10-12T13:55:40.845+01:00Lis, yes, my wife liked that expression too. But i...<b>Lis</b>, yes, my wife liked that expression too. But it's true. Right from the first piece which felt like one of those incredibly long sentences that just keeps going on and on and you don't feel like you can take a breath until it's finished but it simply refuses to end. [<i>Big breath</i>] I wouldn't rush to read another book by him soon but now I know what to expect when I feel like something that's not just a story I'll know where to go.<br /><br /><b>Rachel</b>, well put and I know exactly what you mean about the North Sea. Yes, I also struggle when faced with too much poetry or even long poems. You really have to be of a certain mindset when reading them and that was what Miller was like. You really need a clear head to start off and not overdo him.<br /><br />And, <b>Gabe</b>, fascinating reminiscence there. I actually wonder if I've met Miller too late in life to really appreciate him. <br /><br>Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-79763051850906952582009-10-12T12:10:00.905+01:002009-10-12T12:10:00.905+01:00My first encounter with Henry Miller was in the ea...My first encounter with Henry Miller was in the early stages of a lifelong adventure of looking at books in people's houses and imagining who the people are who live in a house from the books that they have on their shelves. I was probably sixteen at the time, working with my stepfather, an electrician, and we were in the house of a young professor. The book, hardbound, was not out in the open but on a shelf on a stairs toward the attic. That is how I met Henry Miller.<br /><br />Later I met New Directions books, there were a lot of them at the 'alternative' campus bookstore in our town. New Directions published Henry Miller and I read nearly everything I could find of his. That was like forty years ago. On a wandering adventure to Oregon, where I had a vague hope to visit Big Sur (south of where I landed), I ended up sidetracked. Lost all those books. And since then have never revisited Miller.<br /><br />Later in life we lived in Williamsburg. We were there a few more years than Miller, not far from the house where he lived. About ten years ago the owner of the house where he lived was working with the Landmarks Conservancy and had got a grant for a bit of exterior work. We bid on the work but did not become engaged. I like restoring historic writer's sites, though I seem to spend more time cleaning up after Thomas Edison (at least he made it easier for people to read and write in the dark). Regardless, I had always wondered if Miller had written about his life in Williamsburg... so I thank you for the clue that he did and a pointer where I can go to read it.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15887517793752604788noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-50240496264459276412009-10-12T09:50:28.204+01:002009-10-12T09:50:28.204+01:00That was riveting, Jim, I really enjoyed your revi...That was riveting, Jim, I really enjoyed your review, and the links.<br /><br /> I think Elizabeth hits the key words when it comes to Miller, for me: "dip into it". I'm afraid I've viewed it much the same as the North Sea - too cold and scary for one who cannot swim!<br /> <br /> And, much like poetry, too much at once and I gloss over!Rachel Fentonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10046917627054462214noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-34078072562637748602009-10-12T07:06:08.263+01:002009-10-12T07:06:08.263+01:00You write that in the end grew tired of reading Mi...You write that in the end grew tired of reading Miller's stories, which do indeed sound like memoirs, as if you'd 'been beaten round the head by the English dictionary and left for dead'.<br /><br />What a wonderful expression, one among many. Your review is so colourful and full of the liveliness of Miller's writing, it makes me want to read him too. <br /><br />Thanks for introducing me to him. I too have avoided reading Miller's books. I have a copy of The Rosy crucifixion, Sexus. My husband brought it to the marriage. That's how long it's sat on our shelves untouched, by me at least. Maybe now at last I shall dip into it.Elisabethhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04015624747225433940noreply@blogger.com