Not one of Miller's best, but the first authentic travel narrative that I've read of his (many more on the New Directions imprint). In his adventures around Greek, Miller elucidates what it means to be an American scornful of his country on the road
in a land which he fails to understand (and even covers up his naive knowledge of Greek lore), but holds more love for. While this anti-Americanism is nothing new for him, in fact books like Tropic of Cancer and the Rosy Crucifixion Trilogy were rife with it, the sentiment is more jarring in Colossus of Maroussi than elsewhere because he often replaces his nationality with that of a transplanted Parisian. Around halfway through, his overall writing improves beyond the callow and unconvincing descriptions saturated in the first half, and several comical stories from his journeys surface. A postscript letter from Lawrence Durrell to Miller after he had department Greece sadly may be the funniest anecdote of the entire book.