Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

by Henry Miller

Whence Henry Miller's title for this, one of his most appealing books; first published in 1957, it tells the story of Miller's life on the Big Sur, a section of California coast where he lived for fifteen years.

Big Sur is the portrait of a place one of the most colorful in the U.S. and of the extraordinary people Miller knew there: writers (and writers who didn't write), mystics seeking truth in meditation (and the not-so-saintly looking for sex-cults or celebrity), sophisticated children and adult innocents; geniuses, cranks and the unclassifiable.

Henry Miller writes with a buoyancy and brimming energy that are infectious. He has a fine touch for comedy. But this is also a serious book the testament of a free spirit who has broken through the restraints and cliches of modern life to find within himself his own kind of paradise.

Genres: Fiction, Literature, Travel, Classics, American, Essays, Biography Memoir

400 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1957

About the author

Henry Valentine Miller was an American novelist, short story writer and essayist. He broke with existing literary forms and developed a new type of semi-autobiographical novel that blended character study, social criticism, philosophical reflection, stream of consciousness, explicit language, sex, surrealist free association, and mysticism. His most characteristic works of this kind are Tropic of Cancer, Black Spring, Tropic of Capricorn, and the trilogy The Rosy Crucifixion, which are based on his experiences in New York City and Paris (all of which were banned in the United States until 1961). He also wrote travel memoirs and literary criticism, and painted watercolors.

Reviews

[Lucy Dacus · Rating 5 out of 5]

28- The most difficult thing to adjust to, apparently, is peace and contentment. As long as there is something to fight, people seem able to brave all manner of hardships. Remove the element of struggle, and they are like fish out of water. Those who no longer have anything to worry about will, in desperation, often take on the burdens of the world. This is not through idealism but because they must have something to do, or at least something to talk about.

144- To see things whole is to be whole. The fellow who is out to burn things up is the counterpart of the fool who thinks he can save the world. The world needs neither to be burned up nor to be saved. The world is, we are.

195- Man builds on the ruins of his former selves. When we are reduced to nothingness, we come alive again. To season one’s destiny with the dust of one’s folly, that is the trick. In the ashes lie the ingredients for portrayal of self.

203- Those who do more than is asked of them are never depleted. Only those who fear to give are weakened by giving. The art of giving is entirely a spiritual affair. In this sense, to give one’s all is meaningless, for there is no bottom where true giving is concerned.

230- We must do the ridiculous in order to touch the sublime.

322- Two lines of poetry often tell us more, give us more, than the weightiest tome by an erudite. To make anything truly significant one has to poetize it.

395- A writer often has two great surprises in store for him: the first is the lack of proper response to his efforts; the second is the overwhelming nature of the response when it does come. One is just as bad as the other.

400- Art is a healing process, as Nietzsche pointed out. But mainly for those who practice it. A man writes in order to know himself, and thus get rid of self eventually. That is the divine purpose of art. A true artist throws the reader back upon himself, aids him to discover in himself the inexhaustible resources which are his. No one is saved or healed except through his own efforts. The only genuine cure is the faith cure. Whoever uses the spirit that is in him creatively is an artist. To make living itself an art, that is the goal.

[Glenn Russell]

Back in my 30s, I read and reread Henry Miller's Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch. The insights tumble forth as Henry reflects on his rustic life along the California coast and what it means to be human. Of course, for Henry, one key to our very human life revolves around art - and that's art as in things like writing and painting and music.

Here's one quote that popped out:

"Men are not suffering from the lack of good literature, good art, good theater, good music, but from that which has made it impossible for these to become manifest. In short, they are suffering from the silent, shameful conspiracy (the more shameful since it is unacknowledged) which has bound them together as enemies of art and artist. They are suffering from the fact that art is not the primary, moving force in their lives. They are suffering from the act, repeated daily, of keeping up the pretense that they can go their way, lead their lives, without art."

By my eye, nowhere is this vapidness more apparent then when we turn to literature, the novel in particular. What happens when people lacking empathy and personal depth try their hand at the novel? You get howlers, a superficial, tinker-toy world of good guys vs. bad guys; you get novels like Embrace the Serpent by Marilyn Tucker Quayle, End of the Age by Pat Robertson, and Debt of Honor by Tom Clancy.

Making a quick cut to another topic, another reflection: Henry says, "When I paint I feel good. And if it makes me feel so good, then chances are it will make the other fellow feel good too."

One of the tragedies of the modern world is many, many people spend time doing what doesn't make them feel good. When it comes to employment, Marx termed this "alienation from the end of production," in other words, people don't give a fig about what they are doing; rather, they are simply chasing a paycheck.

When it comes to time away from work, we're more in control of our time. So, please, I urge you, and I think Henry Miller would urge you, if you have any inclination toward creativity and the arts - go for it! Paint, play music, write - and if you feel good about doing those things, chances are others will also enjoy what you're doing.

Henry Miller goes on to observe, "We Americans have submitted to some perilous experiments." No doubt, Henry! And the experiments tended to be outward when many lands extending south to Florida and west to California were still uncharted territory. Nowadays, in a mostly same-o, same-o geography with highways, shopping malls and standardized housing, we can still experiment but the WAY we can experiment has changed.

The way I see it, we are better situated to explore inner space rather than outer space, have more access to great books, great learning opportunities (the internet in its many educational phases) and practicing things like meditation, yoga, jogging, the list goes on. My advice: squeeze your own Big Sur oranges in ways that will make you greater, deeper, more expansive each and every day.

These are only a few gems in Henry Miller's 400-pager. Pick up a copy (or listen to the audio book). More magic awaits.

[Luís · Rating 5 out of 5]

After Greece, Miller's years in the wilderness of Big Sur.
Henry Miller's story has been a pendant and an "application" of several ideas sketched before the war in "The Colossus of Maroussi."
Settled rudimentarily in 1940, on his return From Greece, on the wild coast of Big Sur in California, a narrow strip of barren and magnificent land lodged between cliffs and mountains, clearly away from "civilization," he leads a life there. Simple, austere, often challenging, all exceptional in certain aspects of neighbors' company. The life's story, of its hardness and joys, of the visits of friends, strangers, and unwelcome, for the better and the worse, between difficulties of raising children and the complex pleasures of the watercolor artist, constitutes a "lesson." He sprinkled with more theoretical digressions, which find their beautiful coherence over these 400 pages.
This book has resonated in the heart and the reader's mind for a long time.
"Who originally lived here? Maybe Wren. The Indians came late. Very late.
Although young, geologically speaking, this land looks like an older man. The ocean's depths have arisen with strange shapes and unique and captivating contours as if the Titans of the Abyss had worked for eons to shape and mold the earth. Thousands of years ago, the great birds of the planet were frightened by the sudden appearances of these shapes.
There are no ruins or relics for an account. There is no story we can evoke—the face of what has always been. Nature smiles at herself in the mirror of eternity.
Far away, the seals are warming on the rocks, wriggling like giant brown worms. And, dominating the roar of the waves on the breakers, you can hear their hoarse barks for miles."

[Lynne King · Rating 5 out of 5]

Just an excellent and happy feel book about Henry Miller's life in the US, his philosophical views on life, writing, visitors galore (many with presents), family and friends, etc.

I have most of his books but I definitely prefer this and also "The Colossus of Maroussi". With these two books one is able to enter into the soul of the man. Very enticing indeed...

This book has been added to my "favourites" book-case at home to join all the books of his friends Lawrence Durrell and Anais Nin.

[Ulysse · Rating 4 out of 5]

When I was a young man
a very young man
I worshipped Henry Miller

I remember devouring
his Tropic of Cancer
as a twenty-something

living with my parents
in a suburb of Vancouver
in the year two thousand

oh how the sun
shone upon my life
so innocent and pure!

here is a list
of my achievements
up to that point

I could make an omelette
I could drive a car
I could sleep all day

I could play guitar
I could smoke a cigarette
I could write an essay

in three parts
with a conclusion
I could tell the difference

between punk rock
and jazz fusion
I had lost my virginity

I could drink alcohol
mimic with my tongue
the sound of beer

pouring into a mug
or of water falling from a ledge
high in the air

I could do five push-ups
I could do one chin-up
cut my own hair

sew on a button
change adult diapers
speak two languages

act like a clown
jump off a peer
into the ocean

and not drown
I had lived on three continents
I had burned down a van

broken a girl’s heart
had my own heart broken
made lots of friends

scrutinised my face
in mirrors and wondered
who I was

I had walked on pink sand
been stuck in canyons
braved thunderstorms

I had seen snakes float
on the surface of rivers
I had built sandcastles

I had lain in a field
at night and fallen
into a bed of stars

I had smashed three guitars
but when I read Miller
for the first time

I felt like I hadn’t lived
so I moved to Paris
to forget my ex

and promptly outgrew
Hank's cult of sex
oh Henry how good

to meet up again
after all these years
you haven’t changed

one bit old man
still a pleasure
to listen to you

talk and talk and talk
right up until
the crack of dawn

and though I am
twenty-four years older now
and going a little

grey around the ears
I don’t think I’ve changed
all that much either

[N · Rating 5 out of 5]

Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch is delicious! At a paragraph in, my veins were already tingling, at a page in, it was a masterpiece. And I’ve already, albeit inwardly, elected him my beloved godfather of literature and magnificent storytelling, his words warm with a sense of home, of comforting familiarity, and all the same, doling out wallops of wisdom and revolutionary thoughts.

[Edita · Rating 5 out of 5]

It was good to get to know Henry Miller from the other side: as a caring friend, unhappy husband, loving father, lacking time and proper conditions to create artist, nature lover. A person who doesn't stop to dream, to grow, to believe in life and man's ability to overcome everything by himself no matter what...


At dawn its majesty is almost painful to behold. That same prehistoric look. The look of always. Nature smiling at herself in the mirror of eternity.
*
Surely every one realizes, at some point along the way, that he is capable of living a far better life than the one he has chosen. What stays him, usually, is the fear of the sacrifices involved. (Even to relinquish his chains seems like a sacrifice.) Yet everyone knows that nothing is accomplished without sacrifice.
*
Seeking intuitively, one’s destination is never in a beyond of time or space but always here and now. If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are eternally anchored. One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things. Which is to say that there are no limits to vision. Similarly, there are no limits to paradise. Any paradise worth the name can sustain all the flaws in creation and remain undiminished, untarnished.
*
It’s amazing how easily and naturally the inner springs resume their functioning once you surrender to sheer idleness.
*
I soon developed an attitude of caution with regard to what I desired, having come to realize that we generally desire either what is unimportant or else what is actually harmful. At this point, as everyone knows who has had the experience, enter the subtle temptations.
*
The question is, where do we want to go? And, do we want to take our baggage with us or travel light? The answer to the second question is contained in the first. Wherever we go, we must go naked and alone. We must each of us learn what no other can teach us. We must do the ridiculous in order to touch the sublime.
*
Yes, the Capricorn is a beast of solitude. Slow, steady, persevering. Lives on several levels at once. Thinks in circles. Fascinated by death. Ever climbing, climbing. In search of the edelweiss, presumably. Or could it be the immortelle? Knows no mother. Only “the mothers.” Laughs little and usually on the wrong side of the face. Collects friends as easily as postage stamps, but is unsociable. Speaks truthfully instead of kindly. Metaphysics, abstractions, electromagnetic displays. Dives to the depths. Sees stars, comets, asteroids where others see only moles, warts, pimples. Feeds on himself when tired of playing the man-eating shark. A paranoiac. An ambulatory paranoiac. But constant in his affections—and his hatreds. Ouais!
*
Every so often I revolt, even against what I believe in with all my heart. I have to attack everything, myself included. Why? To simplify things. We know too much—and too little. It’s the intellect which gets us into trouble. Not our intelligence. That we can never have enough of. But I get weary of listening to specialists, weary of listening to the man with one string to his fiddle.
*
To see a person whole and for what he is one has to use another kind of camera; one has to have an eye that is even more objective than the camera’s lens. One has to see through the various facets whose brilliant reflections blind us to the real nature of an individual. The more we learn the less we know; the more equipment we have the less we are able to see. It’s only when we stop trying to see, stop trying to know, that we really see and know. What sees and knows has no need of spectacles and theories. All our striving and struggling is in the nature of confession. It is a way of reminding ourselves that we are weak, ignorant, blind, helpless. Whereas we are not. We are as little or as much as we permit ourselves to think we are.
*
Reviewing their encounter that afternoon in my mind’s eye, I see them as two egomaniacs hypnotized for a few brief hours by the mingling of worlds which overshadowed their personalities, their interests, their philosophies of life.
There are conjunctions in the human sphere which are just as fleeting and mysterious as stellar ones, conjunctions which seem like violation of natural law. For me who observed the event, it was like witnessing the marriage of fire and water.
*
The answer which I am about to make is really an answer which I wish to make to myself. In my best moments I believe that my responsibility toward others begins and ends with the work of creation in which I am involved. It has taken me considerable time to reach such a decision. Like other men, better men than I, I have alternately been swayed by a sense of duty, a feeling of pity, a natural consideration for others, by a hundred and one different emotions. What precious hours I have squandered answering the thousands of pleas and inquiries addressed to me! I will do so no longer. From now on I intend to devote the best hours of the day, the best part of myself, to the best that is in me. That done, I intend to enjoy a few hours of leisure. Loaf in peace and tranquillity. Should I wish to paint—I often do when I am not in the mood to write—I will paint. But I will not answer letters! Nor will I read the books or write prefaces for the manuscripts which are hurled at me. I will do only what pleases me, what nourishes my spirit.
This is my answer.
If my words sound callous and unreasonable, ponder over them before you condemn me utterly. I have been giving thought to the problem a long, long time. I have sacrificed my work, my leisure, my obligations to friends and family in order to make answer where I thought answer was due. I no longer believe in making such sacrifices. If, however, you can propose a better solution, I shall not spurn it. I do not look upon mine as the perfect answer. It is the best I can give at the moment. It is from the heart, if that means anything. As for the doubting Thomases, to them no adequate answer can ever be made.

[Joseph · Rating 3 out of 5]

Henry Miller is not easy to read. If you intend to grok the jumbled thoughts and messages in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch, you need to find some sun, quiet, and solitude - and prepare to re-read whole pages if your attention lapses.

This book is fundamentally similar to Hemingway's A Moveable Feast. Both are stream-of-consciousness narratives with the air of a self-eulogy by the author. Both make use of very graphic, descriptive language (although Hemingway uses his rare adjectives on food and drink, while Miller lavishes descriptions on landscapes and people), and both are weighted heavily with character studies. But, despite all Miller's seeming disdain for his peers (he derides Hemingway and Steinbeck repeatedly in Big Sur), Hemingway is the better writer by far. Hemingway uses words sparsely and places them with precision, constructing beautiful sentences that describe people, places, and things effectively enough to provoke the reader's mind, yet lightly enough that the reader's imagination can play. Miller, however, falls into the Pynchon trap, seeming to write directly from his own mind - which is perfectly legitimate for first-draft material, but Miller also seems allergic to editing. As a result, the reader must put himself in the author's mental state as it was during the writing process in order to understand what Miller wishes to say. If good writing is defined as effective communication, Henry Miller is not a good writer.

Miller is pedantic, intolerant, angry, hypocritical, and unstable bordering on insane. He alternately rants and raves as the pages flow, seeming to forget what he said in the last paragraph in order to make a new (sometimes relevant, usually irrelevant, sometimes contradictory) point in the next. But despite all this, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymous Bosch is worth reading. If the reader is patient enough to separate the wheat from the chaff, he will find several very engaging ideas about life, politics, nature, religion, and child-rearing - among other topics - buried in Miller's ravings... true gems in the mud.

[Nick · Rating 5 out of 5]

Henry, in his pyjamas and beneath the canopy of the firmament or graced below the Californian solar rays, writes this memoir of his past, and unfolding life in Big Sur, with a generosity of spirit, soul and a vitality for living. This book seems shamanistic and cosmic to this earthly ex-London-city-dweller.

Having recently experienced the sensations and revelations of leaving the city, to live here in the Peak District hills(as I write this in bed supping a hot coffee I can take in the panorama of the early morning orange hue cresting on the surrounding hills), and as a father to a youngling-wildilng-daughter me'self, I relate to Henry Miller's awakenings to his new surroundings and life as a father in his Big Sur idyll.

'Men won’t move an inch for paradise.' says our cosmic orator and solar seer, and he has a point; Henry has many a poignant, and beautifully observed point on humankind's daily habitual grind and mortal haze. And on his own routines, obstructions and hindrances to seeing, feeling and writing. He ponders the benefits of his glorious solitude and reflects on his life and life's work.

The first two sections of the book are engrossing and characterful portraits of the area and one really feels a sense of how it positively affected and sated him. It's a feel good read. The third part tells the story of when Miller was visited by an old friend from Paris, Conrad Moricand, a French astrologer. This 'poor soul' soon becomes a toxic drain on Henry Miller. It's a compelling drama that transmogrifys the story and Henry Miller's house into a toxic den. Moricand is a joyless fella and soon after his arrival, tests Miller's generosity of spirit, and becomes a disruptive rift in the narrative.

The sweep of Henry's prose is a powerful swell with the cadence of music. He writes with humour and warmth while all the while lacerating any superficial or inauthentic sentiment from every sentence. He writes the truth with a poetic documentary style.

[Pilar · Rating 4 out of 5]

En principio, tendría todas las papeletas para no gustarme: autoficción con no pocas dosis de New Age y de autoayuda, pero es que Henry Miller marca la diferencia. Aquí es ya un escritor mundialmente consagrado que relata sus desdichas y tribulaciones en una comunidad del Big Sur, la región costera californiana en la que se instala con su mujer e hijos luego de su periplo parisino y de su aventura griega. La guerra de Europa ha terminado y en general, Miller ya no se encuentra con la hez de la Humanidad como en libros anteriores. Es un pobre y entusiasta optimista que se esfuerza por mantener la curioridad por la vida desdeñando, o mejor dicho, redescubriendo los valores americanos. Describe un paisaje paradisíaco y un paisanaje repleto de artistas, que acuden al insigne escritor–y pintor– en busca de aprobación y de inyecciones morales que les ayuden a expresarse. Miller emplea la fórmula de Cartas a un joven... poeta, o novelista, o escritor en ciernes, camuflada entre divertidas caracterizaciones de amigos y vecinos. Son sus corresponsales los que le aportan suculenta materia para este libro, y gracias a sus respuestas de cuarentón ácido e irónico accedemos a su filosofía de vida. Como un La vida instrucciones de uso, pero que se maneja no ya en un inmueble, sino en una colonia dispersa. Y lo que más se agradece: no hace un estudio moral del ambiente, se centra por igual tanto en imbéciles como en virtuosos.

[Alma · Rating 5 out of 5]

"O que é encantador - e por vezes aterrorizador - é o facto de o mundo ser tantas coisas diferentes para tanta gente. Que pode ser, e é, todas estas coisas ao mesmo tempo."

[Argos · Rating 3 out of 5]

1944 yılında insanlardan, ilişkilerden kaçmak için geldiği Kaliforniya yakınlarındaki Big Sur’da 15 yıl geçiren yazar buranın o zamanlarki bakir ve sakin yıllarını anlatıyor. Vahşi doğası, denize inen hırçın kayalıkları ve ormanlarıyla bir cennet olan Big Sur 1960’lı yıllarda aralarında Jack Kerouac’ın da olduğu Beat kuşağınca ikinci kez keşfediliyor.
Henry Miller bölgede yaşayan insanların basit yaşamlarını gözlemlemiş, kendi yaşamını da bu gözlemlere katarak bir anlatıyı gerçekleştiriyor. Zaman zaman deneme tarzına yaklaşsa da genelde anı-anlatı kitabı Big Sur. Yazarın kendi deyimiyle müstehcen edebiyat olan “dönence edebiyatından” çok farklı bir kitap. Zaman zaman içimin geçtiğini, ilgimin dağıldığını, yazarın şişkin egosundan rahatsız olduğumu da not etmekte yarar var.
Üç bölümlü kitap ismindeki Hieronymus’un Portakallarını ilk bölümde metafor olarak kullanmış. Yazdığı tarih ise Mayıs 1955-56 arası.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

Henry Miller, long after Paris, contemplating life, conjuring wisdom, but still asking the big questions. A worthwhile read for Miller fans and one of my favorites.

[Kent Winward · Rating 5 out of 5]

I first purchased this book at the Henry Miller library in the 1990s. I finally finished reading it and I realized that this version of Henry Miller, the 45 year old living in Big Sur with his wife and child, is a different version of the 1930's Paris Miller, but still Henry Miller. This is the strength of the book for me, because for all the censorship and controversy around Miller's Tropic books, he always had a certain world outlook that remains fairly consistent throughout his writing. His philosophy is one that happens to resonate with me, even when I don't agree with it. The big question for Miller is always what does it mean to live and how does one live well. There aren't a lot of authors that tackle that question head on over and over again. Miller is one.

[Christian Layow · Rating 5 out of 5]

I thought this was fabulous. It's not your usual memoir reading. It rambles and diverges and surfs the content of his life in that Henry Miller kind of way. It took him awhile to perfect his style starting with the Tropic of Cancer. At least for me. With all its free association prose and occasional wild sexual language, the Tropic of Cancer can be tough to follow. But by the time he wrote Big Sur he'd made writing seem rather effortless. His thoughts and his pen seem to be one and the same. It's an account of an artist getting older, living on the edge of a rugged coast line. And I love when he throws in a name or two to keep you alert. He'll casually say, in his story of raising his two kids in a bungalow on Partington Ridge in Big Sur, how it was always a treat when Buster Keaton would come up from Hollywood and entertain the children, doing slapstick routines all evening in their little, living room. Miller was a pioneer in alternative lifestyle living, even if it was mostly on a shoestring budget. And of course the backdrop to his impressions is Big Sur. The kind of place that can drive anyone into personal, artistic genius and/or mad hattery.

[Майя Ставитская · Rating 4 out of 5]

The world spread out at his feet, and glory opened affectionate arms, which did not mean solving all financial problems, but it was enough for a house in California Big Sur, where he could settle in solitude, so that in the bosom of nature to reflect on the vanity of existence and all that - in general, it was enough.

About solitude, mainly, a figure of speech, because life with children and a wife, thirty years younger than himself, did not initially assume it, and the frenzied popularity that this area gained, thanks to Miller's decision to settle in it, did not leave hopes for a quiet rustic life. The twentieth century was not the only example of a sleepy town that becomes a colony of intellectuals when it gives shelter to the ruler of thoughts. Francoise Sagan will attract crowds to the village of Avalon Sur Mer, and everyone who is someone will rush to Cape Cod, following Kurt Vonnegut.

But here and now we have "Big Sur and Hieronymus Bosch Oranges". The genius is torn between the desire to create an imperishable and the need to maintain a reputation by receiving crowds of visitors and responding to tons of letters from all over the world. Between late tenderness for his daughter and disappointment in his young wife, who is openly encouraging. Between the wonderful maturity of his talent and the Muse who finally stopped visiting.

Биг Сур и апельсины Генри Миллера
Я принялся умолять Музу не заставлять меня писать все те «грязные» слова, все те скандальные, скабрезные строки, объясняя ей, что скоро, подобно Марко Поло, Сервантесу, Беньяну мне придется писать свои книги в тюрьме или у подножия виселицы...
Надобно иметь смелость, чтобы признать своею драгоценность, что тебе преподнесли на блюдечке.

Этот фрагмент относится не к благостно-гармоничному периоду жизни на Биг Суре, он приоткрывает дверь в творческую мастерскую Генри Миллера периода работы над прославившей писателя Парижской трилогией ("Тропик Рака", "Черная весна", "Тропик Козерога") - скандальной, эпатажной, эксгибицонистской. Тех книг, за которые я опасалась браться. Н-ну, потому что говорение матом о непристойностях не нахожу привлекательным, даже голосом великого мастера.

Так или иначе, он имел смелость принять то, что Муза преподнесла на блюдечке, мир распростерся у его ног, а слава раскрыла ласковые объятия, что не означало решения всех финансовых проблем, но на домик в калифорнийском Биг Суре, где можно было поселиться в уединении, дабы на лоне природы размышлять о тщете сущего и всякое такое - в общем, хватило.

Про уединение, главным образом, фигура речи, потому что жизнь с детьми и женой, тридцатью годами моложе себя, его изначально не предполагала, а бешеная популярность, которую эта местность снискала, благодаря решению Миллера поселиться в ней, не оставила надежд на тихую рустикальную жизнь. Двадцатый век явил не единственный пример сонного местечка, которое становится колонией интеллектуалов, когда дает приют властителю дум. Франсуаза Саган привлечет толпы в деревню Авалон Сюр Мер, а на Кейп Код, вслед за Куртом Воннегутом, устремятся все, кто есть кто-то.

Но здесь и сейчас у нас "Биг Сур и апельсины Иеронима Босха". Гений разрывается между желанием творить нетленку и необходимостью поддерживать реноме, принимая толпы посетителей и отвечая на тонны писем со всех концов света. Между поздней нежностью к дочери и разочарованием в молодой жене, которая откровенно подбешивает. Между прекрасной зрелостью своего таланта и окончательно переставшей посещать Музой.

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Едва ли не с большим интересом, чем к писательству, рисует свои акварели, опровергающие тезис о талантливом человеке, непременно талантливом во всем. Отбивается от фриков, то и дело являющихся под слоганом "я к вам пришел навеки поселиться", и пишет эту замечательную штуку, с жанром которой затрудняюсь определиться: мемуары, автобиография, эссе, философский трактат? Отовсюду понемногу.

Книга достаточно четко структурирована делением на три части. Первая "Апельсины тысячелетнего царства" - это такая декларация близости к природе и прекрасной свободы вырваться из лабиринта крысиных бегов за успехом, которую выбирает в наше время мыслящий человек. Хотя бы даже для достижения пришлось смириться с отсутствием многих материальных благ, без которых современник автора из золотого миллиарда не мыслил своей жизни: большой комфортабельный дом, машина последней модели, престижный досуг.

Вторая, разбитая на главы "Покой и уединение: попурри" совершенно очаровательна. О коллегах по писательскому цеху, менее талантливых, а чаще - менее удачливых, чем автор, чьи имена были бы сегодня забыты совсем, когда бы не упоминание в этом опусе. О сбежавшей жене и о детях, которым некоторое время пытается стать идеальным отцом, но вынужден признать, что совместить родительство с творчеством не под силу даже ему. О святой женщине Джин Уортон, и эта глава не просто хороша, она эталонна, она заставила меня влюбиться в Миллера. Воспоминания о написании тех самых скандальных книг: как все тогда происходило, о диктовавшем голосе, который не давал поесть или сходить в сортир. О дарах от почитателей.

"Потерянный рай", третья часть, взявшая едва ли не половину от общего объема книги, она совсем не моя. Подробное и страшно обиженное описание знакомства с французом астрологом Конрадом Мориканом, в чьей судьбе писатель принимал деятельное участие, перевез из Франции в Калифорнию, поселив в своем доме, а в ответ на добро получил капризы и черную неблагодарность. Приходя к выводу, что все на свете астрологи таковы, а древнейшая из наук аццкий сотонизм. Нет, дорогой Гений, все не так, астрология наука прогнозирования тупиков на ранней стадии прохождения, а среди астрологов встречаются бескорыстные, благородные и по-настоящему великие люди. Может вам просто не стоило связываться именно с этим человеком?

Как бы то ни было, книга прекрасна, а Генри Миллер отныне реабилитирован в моих глазах. Что и требовалось доказать.

[Jacqueline Burns-Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

Some of the finest writing I've ever had the pleasure to read.
Love Henry Miller.

[Chris Woollet · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of my favorite books. This was my introduction to Henry Miller and so far my favorite. By this point in his life he had figured life out so to speak. He understood what is important and how to live a peaceful enjoyable life. A stark contrast from his early yearly of ramble rousing. Perhaps it took just that in his early life along with the misery of city life to bring him to this understanding and appreciation for the "good life" in Big Sur. And when reading this book, I kept finding myself agreeing with him- "Yes, that is what its all about!" The book takes a somewhat odd turn towards the end with the horrific house guest he takes in. Here, I wanted to grab Millers shoulders and shake him out of his kind stupor- "Get that freak out of your home!" Anyway, it all made for an interesting read. I rarely read books a second time but this is one I will go back to over and over. Miller is a modern day prophet and I appreciate his wisdom.

[Leile Brittan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Henry, you old rascal, you finally figured out the whole deal. If this is what it's like to get old, I'm not scared at all. Helluva nice little collection here. Always merry and bright!

You've helped me figure it out, time and time again. Right now I'm in my thirties so I'm kinda on that "Tropic" and "Rosy Crucifixion" mode. But the "Big Sur" stage is something I now look forward to, should I be lucky enough to make my way there. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

In my best moments I'm already there now, usually when I'm smoking a cigarette by myself and looking at a sunset, or eating a good meal with my wife. Stand Still Like the Hummingbird...Remember to Remember. Thanks, homie.

[Kay · Rating 5 out of 5]

A favorite. I think it may have been the time of year- being trapped in a coffee shop, being called a barista- one who spent all of her tips on the used books- shelved three feet from the tip jar itself- but once again, a favorite.
There is this part- Miller's wife leaves him and takes the children- he is lost. In reading those lines- I first considered my fathers heart. It was the first time it seemed to me a possibility that he might be lonely.
This was big- obviously. And so was big sur- only a few months before- when I stood on the beach- collecting sea-bits. There was sand in the brie and cork in the wine. I swam. I got climbed cliffs to dunes.

[James The reading worm McKean · Rating 4 out of 5]

There is 0 sex in this

[ari · Rating 4 out of 5]

If I ever win billions of dollars in the lottery I will be moving to Big Sur. It is one of my favorite places on the planet. How lucky are we to get to read Miller’s insights while living there!

[RYD · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book, about Henry Miller's life at Big Sur, is a mixed bag. Some of the character sketches are very good, and some are not at all. When Miller wrote about his benefactor Jean Wharton, for instance, I nearly put down the book because of how barf-y and supplicating it was. Miller is always good for a few poignant thoughts though, and consistently does a great job when raking someone over the coals.

Here was one passage I underlined:

"The most difficult thing to adjust to, apparently, is peace and contentment. As long as there is something to fight, people seem able to brave all manner of hardships. Remove the element of struggle, and they are like fish out of water. Those who no longer have anything to worry about will, in desperation, often take on the burdens of the world. This not through idealism but because they must have something to do, or at least something to talk about."

[Harish · Rating 5 out of 5]

I hadn't read any Miller before this, but this was a solid introduction to his writing and philosophy. Miller captures all the beauty of California/Big Sur culture (dedicated to ideals of individuality, self-determination, nonconformity, non-materialism, etc... a pure form of the "Beat" ethos, if you will), while making a case for art in one's life. The story, filled with invective against modern American culture, is still entertaining (the characters that live in Big Sur!), and always with an eye on reminding us of what matters... a book for the soul.

on Big Sur- "This is the California that men dreamed of years ago, this is the Pacific that Balboa looked out on from the Peak of Darien, this is the face of the earth as the Creator intended it to look."

[Wray F · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you want to get to know the real Henry Miller, this is probably your book. Lacking the shocks of his TROPICS and ROSY CRUCIFICTION series, this is the fifty-something author at home taking it easy and pondering the world around him. Unlike the also autobiographical COLOSSUS OF MAROUSSI, where Miller acts like an American tourist who's never left the states and spends the novel gushing about everything Greek, here he stays put and takes in visitors, answers his correspondance, paints his water colors and deals with his family. Pretty mundane stuff. Miller hardly mentions his wife or gives the reader much of any sense of her, despite the fact he seems to resent her and they seperate. He also seems to be a pretty undisciplined father. I got the sense the kids could pretty much do whatever they wished. He would just chalk it up to their wild nature and let them run free, despite comments from his neighbors that they might need to be reigned in some.

Miller seems like a good man with a big heart. He is generous with friends and really, really has to be pushed to say something harsh about anyone. Miller believes in god, but is no church-goer. From his philosophical leaning, he appears more interested in Eastern Mysticism than any form of Christianity. Unfortunately, he also harbors belief in astrology. Really? Frankly, he pretty much supports any spiritualism that anyone found for themself. I was disappointed to read that he would take his trash to the edge of the cliff and dump it in the Big Sur ocean. C'mon, Henry! All in all, I enjoyed this book, but don't open it up expecting big thrills and car chases. Instead, expect to hear moments of wisdom, naivety and honesty.

[Allison Floyd · Rating 3 out of 5]

For the most part, I skimmed this book, the way you might drop in and out of the rambling soliloquy of a long-winded individual who's sufficiently compelling to hold your interest in parts, but sometimes you just need to come up for air. The exception is the third section, Paradise Lost, which I read more or less in its entirety, since it cast the riveting spell of a train wreck. But then, I'm a sucker for dazzling undertows and Moricand sure fits the bill. Really, this is the section that made it all worthwhile for me, and Henry Miller is on fire when he's incensed (har). It turns him into a comic genius. So, yep, not a bad landlocked beach read, and some definite high points.

[Ed · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love Henry Miller. Not a disciplined writer, but the gusto with which he approached life is transfered onto the page and is always invigorating. This is possibly the most spiritual of his books. It his him reflecting and being as still as he could be, rather than throwing himself at situations and people. But even when he's still, he is still with the same passion as when he is in motion. Tropic of Capricorn is my favorite book of him in motion (young), this is my favorite book of him being still (older).

[Arthur Hoyle · Rating 4 out of 5]

A tribute and love letter to the remote coastal outpost where Miller settled after his return from Europe. He found there a landscape and community that retained for him the promise of America that he felt had been unfulfilled in much of the country. In addition to portraits of his Big Sur neighbors and descriptions of the area's natural wonders, the book contains an often hilarious account of a disastrous visit from Miller's Swiss born astrologer Conrad Moricand that was also published separately as A Devil in Paradise.

[Spencer Scott · Rating 5 out of 5]

I wrote a sort of review that will be easier to link to than to paste here. The full review can be found here: http://www.passionanduncertainty.com/...

A book loaded with wisdom, introspection, hypocrisy, and vivid, personal anecdotes. Henry Miller comes through as an outstandingly honest human with a warm heart, a deep intelligence, and a searching soul. What I take away from this book is that Miller strives for peace and arguably achieves it by being unashamedly honest with himself and with the world.

[Karla · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was the first book of Henry Miller's that I have read (kind of the only one so far), and it made me really appreciate him as a person and as an artist. It is basically written in journal format during the time in his life when he was living in Big Sur (I believe around the time of WWII). Often times I don't care for people's diaristic writing, but Miller is an exception, as is Anais Nin. Reading Henry and June was what finally got me to read anything at all by Henry Miller.