Tag Archives: Tropic of Cancer

When I finished that last post I moved along into housework and such, wondering how I could be so flippant about a piece of work that’s considered a classic.  I do understand the notion of classics not necessarily being known … Continue reading →

Some points of interest… Some seemingly philosophical soliloquies on the state of mankind, the government, and God. The idea of combining fact with fiction on such a personal level that the narrator is once referred to as "Henry" and why … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Miller’s character has been one filled with low regard for women–notwithstanding the obvious explanation that he is hanging out with whores.  But there is a subtle empathy here: When I listen to the reproaches that are leveled against a girl … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Our young man gets a job as a proofreader, and his outlook changes, his spirits are lifted. I had to travel precisely all around the world to find just such a comfortable, agreeable niche as this.  It seems incredible almost.  … Continue reading → Continue reading →

We naturally recall other readings when we come across something similar, and one would think that these two books are just about opposites but then, there’s much that’s relative to both. In Perfect Example, John Porcellino portrays his own adolescence … Continue reading → Continue reading →

There are reasons I’m forcing myself to read this, just as I had with Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.  Admittedly, I go a few pages at a time with days in between pages.  It’s tough … Continue reading → Continue reading →

No, I didn’t put this down yet.  Slugging my way through and came across something nice: Even before the music begins there is that bored look on people’s faces.  A polite form of self-imposed torture, the concert.  For a moment, … Continue reading → Continue reading →

I’m wondering if some so-named literary classics must be read for that which gave them their standing.  In other words, what made them exploratory and outstanding in their time, even though it no longer appeals for that reason.  As, by … Continue reading → Continue reading →

The narrative pace here is fairly boppin’ along, despite my own limited attention given the book.  There is, however, very little happening.  What we’ve been served is the narrator’s perceptions of his surroundings and his friends and lovers.  All of … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Let me begin by advising you to put down that slice of pizza before you read this.  I made the mistake of eating just that and while my ironclad stomach was fine, I found myself making some bleh lip movements … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Had to laugh when in my weblog reading this morning I found at Scott Esposito’s Conversational Reading today’s posting of a review of Elizabeth Landensen’s Dirt for Art’s Sake: Books on Trial from Madame Bovary to Lolita.  Curiosity had me … Continue reading → Continue reading →

There is a feeling to this novel, or perhaps just my reaction to the narrator, that nothing matters.  I get the impression that the narrator is what becomes the stereotypical starving artist, caring desperately for mankind and earth and caring … Continue reading → Continue reading →

I’m getting the feeling that I’m going to be hopping from book to weblog posting on this novel.  I love this: "To be sure," says Boris, with a twinkle in his eye, "but, in the wintertime he writes.  And he … Continue reading → Continue reading →

So in between the writing I’m trying to catch up on my reading and have once more picked up Miller’s novel and opened to this: It looks as though it were finished, my life at the Villa Borghese.  Well, I’ll … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Not Miller’s novel, certainly, but rather my own small allowance of reading time since I’ve been writing my fool head off the last two months.  And it’s not the colorful language and topic that has put me off–although it did … Continue reading → Continue reading →