As part of my early mid life crisis, I am re-reading Henry Miller in chronological order. I just finished Tropic of Cancer. What is striking about reading it right after finishing Crazy Cock and Moloch is how good it is compared to those two first books, which were not very good at all. Henry Miller was trying to sound smart and the writing is very deliberate in how he was trying to portray himself. Tropic of Cancer, on the other hand, is very good. Twenty years later, I liked different stuff about it than I did the first time around. Also, I am left with the impression that my thoughts are not my own.
"Maybe grief makes one more lecherous, I don't know." p. 213
"Somehow in all this anguish and excitement, all the grief and histrionics, only whetted my appetite." p. 215
Henry Miller thought of this stuff first.
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