Kelly's Reviews > Tropic of Cancer

Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
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Sep 06, 07

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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 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 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....
To sing you must first open your mouth. You must have a pair of lungs, and a little knowledge of music. It is not necessary to have an accordian, or a guitar. The essential thing is to want to sing. This then is a song. I am singing."
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