Goodreads | Tropic of Cancer

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Why the crap is everyone reading Tropic of Cancer?	5	70	03/21/2008 11:02PM

Jason rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

08/04/08

Read in August, 2008

(Reprinted from the Chicago Center for Literature and Photography [cclapcenter.com:]. I am the original author of this essay, as well as the owner of CCLaP; it is not being reprinted here illegally. Sorry; the last paragraph today gets cut off a few sentences early!)

The CCLaP 100: In which I read for the first time a hundred so-called "classics," then write reports on whether or not they deserve the label
Book #20: Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller (1934)

The story in a nutshell: ...more

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Chris rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

06/14/08

Read in April, 2008

*Included in Time’s list of Top 100 Fiction of the 20th Century*

I knew one day I’d come to that fork in the road where I either had to read “Tropic of Cancer” or just continue ignoring it forever. The latter didn’t seem very exciting. Also, it seems as though everyone has read it, but did I really just want to read it because everyone else read it? I had no idea what the hell it was about, never bothered to find out what is was about, but it is constantly heralded as ‘groundb...more *Included in Time’s list of Top 100 Fiction of the 20th Century*

I knew one day I’d come to that fork in the road where I either had to read “Tropic of Cancer” or just continue ignoring it forever. The latter didn’t seem very exciting. Also, it seems as though everyone has read it, but did I really just want to read it because everyone else read it? I had no idea what the hell it was about, never bothered to find out what is was about, but it is constantly heralded as ‘groundbreaking’ and ‘subversive’ fare. I think that’s really what turned me off, my own befuddlement as to how this was so counter-culture yet bestowed such appreciation as a masterpiece. Once it’s been embraced by modern academia and society at large doesn’t it shed the ‘underground’ tag? I thought maybe I’d like it if it was radical, but maybe I wouldn’t like it for the same very reason, especially if the rest of the world could enjoy its blatant dissidence.

Few things in life are as perplexing as anti-anti-conformity sentiments; those who want to go against the grain and earn even a shred of ‘cred’ have to instantly denounce anything that has wide public appeal and embrace the bullshit flaking off the frayed edges of society, but sooner or later they’re equally fucked, because it seems eventually everyone is rallying around those few worthwhile products the freaks on the fringe spit forth. So now what the hell do you do? You’ve sold all your Pearl Jam and U2 albums in order to purge your collection of anything embarrassing that your fellow snobs might mock, and bought a bunch of Pavement albums, but here you are in the smoke-circle and absolutely everyone has made some sort of reference to Malkmus and Co., and some asshole even had the audacity to throw ‘Slanted and Enchanted’ on the flucking stereo. On vinyl, no less (of course, as if anything else could pass as civilized). You’re screwed, pal, your last chance to save any face is to swap out the Pavement for some Bullet Lavolta. Oh shit, one of those dipshit in Fall Out Boy praised the majesty of Lavolta in the last issue of spin and 'the Bullet' is making a comeback? Well, before abandoning your newer and cooler cd collection, the best recommendation I can proffer is to do something truly original, maybe go get some ‘ink’, one of those unique chinese characters that translates to ‘love-chunk’ or ‘big badass motherf#cker’.

Let’s extend a little sympathy towards our embattled brethren as they contemplate their uniformly foolish schemes to be different just like everyone else, and remember they’re stuck listening to that goddam popping as the l.p. spins ‘round… as does this wicked world, which is slowly desecrating everything they once held dear by throwing it on a pedestal and recognizing its once-unsung (and thus undeniable) genius. You can faintly hear them softly weeping at night as the realize that twelve years after it’s release, Hum’s awesome single “Stars” is being used in Cadillac commercials, which is ironic, since they never liked “Stars”, if only because it was Hum’s single, and thus, they preferred the brilliance hidden elsewhere on the magnum opus known as “You’d Prefer An Astronaut”.

None of this has much to do with Tropic of Cancer, except that I’d say the common perception is that this was fringe work, at least at some point, never truly intended for the masses, meant to be a more personal communion between author and reader. Those beyond the bounds of polite society could receive it, to the rest of the world it's just a menace. It’s like the piss you spiked the punch with, everyone knows it’s there, they can taste it, but no one is saying anything about it, hell, they’re trying to forget about that last foul sip. That might have been the reaction to Tropic of Cancer when first published, but half a century later, it’s basically required reading if you want to be ‘in the know’. Worse yet, the book has been appointed a spot on the illustrious 100 Best Fiction list, almost always a good indicator to stay the hell away from it. When confronted with a subject with such a pedigree it can be difficult to even quantify your expectations, should you expect truly important and underground fare the world at large wasn’t ready for it, or is it really just the general tripe that everyone once despised but somehow found acceptance and critical acclaim, presumably assisted by the honor of the ‘banned’ status it once enjoyed?

Well, having heard the praises of Tropic of Cancer sung for years, and having it personally recommended by a real, living, breathing human being (something that basically never happens to me, as most people suspect/know I am barely literate) I finally had to succumb to the urge to have an answer of my own to the burning question of whether or not this is just another piece of shit masquerading as a classic.

And the verdict is….hell I don’t know. The jury is still out, possibly deliberating, possibly locked in hopeless disagreement and knowing that they’re a hung jury, possibly making a porno flick called “Hung Jury” in which an unquestionably guilty and sleazy degenerate defendant is passed around in some sort of 12-on-1 gangbang that substitutes as a jail sentence.

There were some worthwhile parts to the book, and there was plenty that bored the hell out of me. One thing that I didn’t personally like was the ‘beat’ influence that seemed to be very dominant. A lot of characters are introduced, none of which do anything particularly interesting or noteworthy; they malinger for a little while during some supposedly entertaining snippet of the narrative and then fall out of the story as quickly as they entered it. Hell, I’m not arguing that that’s just how life works; it just doesn’t really make me too concerned or interested in some dude who I’ll become familiar with for about ten pages. I also thought that there’d be something that I might actually find lewd, or that there would be a lot more wanton debauchery that might manage to make me blush; you know, a few Rusty Trombones and Donkey Punches between bonghits and chugging absinthe with a funnel. Don’t be fooled. However, if a guy dicking around and waxing philosophical while abroad is your model of some cutting edge fare, “Tropic of Cancer” certainly clears the bar.

Miller pretty much sums up my impression of the story within when he astutely notes: “In Europe one gets used to doing nothing. You sit on your ass and whine all day”. That’s basically it; our noble narrator does just that throughout. He’s slumming around, leeching off the natives, and once in a while getting some sage input concerning a friend’s obsession with big-assed Danish women or the sexual prowess of Kepi, a hindu who approaches ‘the fucking business’ with the unequaled zeal of Krishna. While Miller’s views and observations are often humorous, I can’t say I was ever really drawn into the story, and found most of the supporting cast very bland and muddling.

Overall, I wasn’t very satisfied, but I think I was just expecting something a lot different, something with big, bold, swinging balls instead of a pessimistic narrative hinged around a whole lot of nothing.
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Ritz rated it:

(review of isbn 8466309055)

12/11/07

bookshelves: autor_l_m

Read in June, 2007

recommends it for: Es un viaje ascendente

La anécdota que antecede a Trópico de Cáncer, escrita en 1934, es la censura que le costó casi treinta años a la sombra, por su estilo provocador, contestatario y trasgresor sólo pudo publicarse en Estados Unidos hasta 1960. Quizás su pasado proscrito te provea de un primer motivo para leer la novela: curiosidad.

La ficción y la realidad en Trópico de Cáncer es narrada, descrita y protagonizada por su propio autor, Henry Miller (EUA, 1891-1980) y todavía hoy, cuando ya casi nada t...more La anécdota que antecede a Trópico de Cáncer, escrita en 1934, es la censura que le costó casi treinta años a la sombra, por su estilo provocador, contestatario y trasgresor sólo pudo publicarse en Estados Unidos hasta 1960. Quizás su pasado proscrito te provea de un primer motivo para leer la novela: curiosidad.

La ficción y la realidad en Trópico de Cáncer es narrada, descrita y protagonizada por su propio autor, Henry Miller (EUA, 1891-1980) y todavía hoy, cuando ya casi nada te sorprende ni escandaliza, la prosa de Miller sigue siendo perturbadora y en su momento conmovedora, pero sobre todo actual y pertinente.

Como personaje de sí mismo Miller se te presenta "escupiéndole" a la cara al arte y amenazándote con bailar sobre tú cadáver. ¿Por qué leer un libro en el que de entrada el personaje promete que bailará sobre tu tumba? Porque al atacarte desde el mismo pellejo de su persona, la autobiografía, Miller logra dos cosas: una dejar claro que es él quien está vacío y solo, que no eres tú lector el que vive un segundo año en París, y la segunda, es que elijas y te comprometas: lee esto o deja de leerlo, eres libre.

El escupitajo y el baile sobre la tumba son apenas la cuota inicial de lo que será una ardua lectura, por la que a cambio puedes recibir la experiencia de un terremoto de conciencia, promovido por una novela que no promete más tema que la narración de un escritor norteamericano pobre, solo y triste que vive en París.

Trópico de Cáncer parte de lo más inmediato, bajo y prosaico de la existencia humana, de la menesterosidad que se procrea entre las necesidades; de allí su ineludible, expresa y hasta necesaria obscenidad.

Las historias de Miller disparan la recriminación anárquica de la furia. En unas historias se las toma contra los parisinos, otras contra las mujeres, otras contra los hindúes. Entre las páginas de la novela se revelan, desde la íntima filosofía del protagonista, un caos de lecciones y críticas sobre el mundo y el hombre.

Progresivamente la furia va dando paso a otros estados del ser como la convicción, la decepción, la confusión, la desesperanza, la alucinación, la vehemencia, la iluminación y la paz. Poco a poco el personaje que de entrada no tiene nada empieza a perderlo todo, a caerse a pedazos. El Henry Miller de Trópico de Cáncer se desprende del vulgar peso que lo impele a sobrevivir en una perenne búsqueda de saciedad y satisfacción, de cobijo, comida y sexo, entre ebriedad y sobriedad, entre opulencia y pobreza.

La novela, que está ambientada en los suburbios parisinos de 1930, es el justo tránsito de la realidad prosaica, pasando por locuras surrealistas hasta el autodescubrimiento poético.

Finalmente, Miller canta para ti lector y baila sobre el cadáver de algo extinto, la persona que eras antes de leer Trópico de Cáncer. Al leer las últimas páginas es posible que con suerte te encuentres como Henry al comienzo: solo. Sobrecogido pero no vacío, porque ciertamente una parte de ti muere para poder ver el baile en libertad de tu conciencia....less

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brian rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

04/01/07

Honestly speaking, this felt like one of most difficult books I have ever read. Having started and stopped this book several times, I force fed myself Tropic of Cancer yet again, determined to get past page forty. So I read on, at times mired in the brilliance of Millers imagery and provocative prose (for the 1930s) yet frequently finding myself equally lost amidst his fragmented thoughts and misogynistic opinions.

An appreciation for creative explosive free thought is a must when reading th...more Honestly speaking, this felt like one of most difficult books I have ever read. Having started and stopped this book several times, I force fed myself Tropic of Cancer yet again, determined to get past page forty. So I read on, at times mired in the brilliance of Millers imagery and provocative prose (for the 1930s) yet frequently finding myself equally lost amidst his fragmented thoughts and misogynistic opinions.

An appreciation for creative explosive free thought is a must when reading this novel. Admittedly, I have grown accustomed to reading novels with linear story lines, character development, and more importantly... a point. All obviously vacant from this novel, but perhaps herein lies the beauty of Millers writing. The sooner you stop looking for a point the sooner you begin to enjoy the book. Approach the reading with curbed ideals and allow yourself to get mixed up in characters debauchery. It is an interesting and fuck-all perspective, which at times can be very relieving and exciting.

Unfortunately, I did not find the entire book that uniformly enthralling. The raucous beginning really grabs hold of you as you start to experience Millers style of writing. Fast, kinetic, beautiful, filthy, and random... which can last far too long in some sections. But around the midway point the novel begins to settle down and start coming together. The ride slows down just enough for you to look around, catch your breath, and regroup. Relationships start to develop (slightly) and you get to join in on several small chaotic journeys with Miller.

I found the second half of this novel to be a perfect blend of tattered brilliance and solid writing. Although slow on occasion, I have the utmost admiration for Miller as a wordsmith. Oddly enough, having enjoyed the second half so much I was annoyed with myself for glazing over parts of the beginning. I could definitely see myself rereading this down the road and perhaps heightening my appreciation.

I would recommend this to anyone who appreciates free thought writing and is looking for a little heavier read. Coinciding a lighter book may help to break up the monotony and enhance the appreciation of Millers unique offbeat style.
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Lis rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

09/08/07

bookshelves: 2007-reads, banned-books

Read in September, 2007

i wrote this review before finishing the book, but i think i'll keep it:
i hated the start, and slowly learned to like it more and more. looking at other reviews that seems to be the opposite of what others said. perhaps i am enjoying what others called the "slow" parts most. at first i found him just trying to be artsy and shocking. it's hard to explain how it became an easier read. While some authors are easy to read because of a conversational style, i found miller's writing to be ...more

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John rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

04/27/07

bookshelves: reviewed

Read in July, 2006

recommends it for: Hippies pretending to be yuppies

George Orwell wrote an essay about this book called, “Inside the Whale.” The title alludes to the Jonah story in the bible. In that story Jonah rejected his responsibility, ran, and was swallowed by a whale. He finally accepted his responsibility and returned to the world. In contrast, Orwell’s Miller doesn’t want to leave the whale. God’s punishment ironically is Miller’s safe and comfortable oasis. Miller can attempt to triumph over god in this way because he has chosen an ironic s...more

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Clear_enGlish rated it:

10/12/07

Read in September, 2007

Tropic of Cancer is held in high regard by Authors that I respect. In particular, George Orwell (whose essay, “Inside the Whale”) has high praise for Miller's bravery, directness and honesty.
Miller's foul language has lost the power to impress; modern readers will not feel the level of shock and awe experienced by previous generations. The book has so much critical adulation that I have spent a few weeks ruminating before expressing my own view.

I don't like it....

Oh, don't mistake...more

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sage rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

07/23/07

bookshelves: glbt_interest, reviewed

Read this nearly fifteen years ago, but barely remembered it. The surrealist style doesn't do much for me, but it's a nice portrait of the drinking and whoring ex-patriate crowd in Paris during the early 1930s (after the big names of ten years earlier had moved on). Also, it's a nice sketch of the sort of people who eagerly signed up to fight Franco a few years after this was published.

I'm giving this only 3 stars because there's no actual plot. It could be a memoir; it's definitely not a...more

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Paula rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

07/16/08

Read in May, 2008

One of the all-time greatest American novels I've ever read, and possibly THE best novel about Paris (in any language?). What I take away from the book is a powerful sense of literature's ability to express human individuality. Miller is, in my grandfather's words, a real CARD, albeit one who is supremely literate; a bedraggled bohemian wretch whose vocab will have your head spinning. Some parts are laugh-out-loud funny, others are really sad. If you have any scrap of shame in you, this book mig...more

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E. rated it:

04/30/07

Read in November, 1999

recommends it for: Sophmores in college who recently finished "on the road" and want to really get wild

When I read this for the first time I thought the world was opening up and eating people.

I wanted to get drunk and go on a hooker spree, to move to Paris and generally debauch for the rest of my 20's....

Then I realized I kind of wanted to do all this anyways but with Miller's aid I could and even better I could disguise the whole thing as "literary."

I struggled through Capricorn, through The Books in My Life, through a number of Miller's personal letters and musings. I ...more

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Annette rated it:

08/11/07

Read in February, 2008

One of my favorite passages:

"At night when I look at Boris' goatee lying on the pillow I get hysterical. O Tania, where now is that warm cunt of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs? There is a bone in my prick six inches long. I will ream out every wrinkle in your cunt, Tania, big with seed. I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out. Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflam...more

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Kate rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

06/20/08

Read in June, 2008

I got through the first 150 pages before I decided that life is too short to waste time reading books you hate. Maybe I'm not smart enough or deep enough to appreciate a book like Tropic of Cancer, but for me each page was a tedious struggle. The author of the book's introduction boldy asserts that Henry Miller is "the greatest living author" (obviously, the edition I read was published prior to Miller's death in 1980), but I found Miller's frenetic, meandering style tiresome.

Don'...more

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Kelly rated it:

09/06/07

bookshelves: aiméetaiméetaimé

Read in August, 2007

I started this book off like a shot, got caught up in the weird emotions and sexual tension of Miller's rambling, and never looked back. They made my bus rides take on a surreal edge every day. And while i will never think of vaginas the same way again, I will also never think of great writing and urban adventures the same, after Miller's prose. My copy is heavily marked.

"I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought I was an...more

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Jonathan rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

08/21/07

This may be the greatest book ever written. This opening passage proves it:

"I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive. A year ago, six months ago, I thought I was an artist. I no longer think about it. I am. Everything that was literature has fallen from me. There are no more books to be written, thank God.
This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the wo...more

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Jen rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

07/20/08

Read in July, 2008

I'm not quite sure why it's taken me this long to read this book. You'd think that I would have read it during my classic smut phase or my banned book phase. It was a good read. I think it's fun to ready dirty books in public places. The copy I have has the nude on the cover.

Notable Quotes:

"Fear not to be a coward, a traitor, a renegade. In this universe of ours there is room for all, perhaps even need for all."

"I want to be able to surrender myself to a woman. ...more

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Katie rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

09/18/07

Read in September, 2007

I thought this fictionalized memoir was highly overrated, and mostly tedious. It is a tale of ex-pat Henry Miller's time in Paris - the people he meets, the money he spends, the places he stays, the books he reads, and the sex, sex, and more sex in which he participates. The prose is an erratic and meandering stream of consciousness, and I have to sheepishly admit that if it weren't for the gratuitous erotic sections and profanity, I would have stopped reading out of boredom. In saying all of th...more

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Phil rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

01/21/08

Read in January, 1972

This book defines what it means to live a totally free existence, a life wallowing in art and free of the constraints of time and money. Miller's amazing writing style and incredible vision make this one of the great books of the last century. The backdrop of this book is a civilization teetering, about to collapse. The squalid street life of 1920's Paris flows through this book with amazing force. Miller lives a parasitic existence whose only purpose is to write and read and eat and screw. His ...more

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Whitney rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

08/19/07

Read in August, 2007

"This then? This is not a book. This is libel, slander, defamation of character. This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. NO, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty... what you will. I am going to sing for you, a little off-key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse...

It is to you, Tania, that I am singing. I wish that I could sing be...more

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MadRubicante rated it:

(review of isbn 0802131786)

08/24/08

Read in October, 2007

I'll say that I liked it; I thought the imagery was unique even if a bit ribald (that's okay, I likes it ^^). Comparing prostitutes to ship docks and a prostitute's over-used vagina to a great epiphany about the meaning of life was fun.

If you dont mind all women being called "cunts" and thought pretty badly of..but I actually didn't mind it. I cant say that I liked the narrator, but I didn't hate him (and yet, didn't feel sorry for him).

I liked how it showed that even if a pe...more

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