You'll like Nexus if, like me, you're not hung up on plot and want to sink into ideas, regardless of their sequence/flow. The book is basically a waiting room -- Miller's killing time in Brooklyn before he can transform himself as writer in Paris. In the meantime, he's got a lot to say about love, family, sex, writing, god, death, and pretty well everything.Nexus is the third in a series, so if you haven't read the first two, you get the impression you're missing out on the specifics as to how he came to be living with his wife, Mona, as well as another flighty artist named Stasia. Stasia eventually leaves, and neither of them seem to care all that much what happened to her, and enjoy being free of her, though they both love(d) her. He calls it a "poverty-stricken sort of freedom... What a drab, dismal, fateful day that is when the lover suddenly realizes that he is no longer possessed, that he is cured, so to speak, of his great love!"No one can accuse Miller of trying to write about anything other than what he knows, so naturally a lot of the book is simply his thoughts on writing. He says point-blank what every aspiring writer has probably said to him/herself, but never had the balls to put into words. "The great question was that eternal, seemingly unanswerable one: What have I to say that has not been said before, and thousands of times, by men infinitely more gifted? Was it sheer ego, this coercive need to be heard? In what way was I unique? For if I was not unique then it would be like adding a cipher to an incalculable astronomic figure." And later, "Do you know what's the matter with me? I'm a chameleon. Every author I fall in love with I want to imitate -- if only I could imitate myself!" He's hard on himself, but has this refreshing way of accepting his shortcomings: "What could be more considerate -- better manners! -- than to treat thoughts, ideas, inspiration flashes, as flowers of delight? ... But to exploit (the idea), to send it out to work like a whore or a stockbroker, -- unthinkable. For me it was enough to have been inspired, not be perpetually inspired." Miller's descriptions are so original - the kind of scenes you'll have no choice but to think about again, when something will trigger it. He goes to sweaty, throbbing nightclub, for example, saying: "I merely craved to become like an ordinary mortal, a jellyfish, if you like, in the ocean of drift. I asked for nothing more than to be swished and sloshed about in an eddying pool of fragrant flesh under subaqueous rainbow of subdued and intoxicating lights." This is a portion of this huge, perfect image he creates of a dancefloor. I don't think I'll go out of my way to read the first two in the series unless they somehow fall into my possession, but if you love Miller's style, Nexus won't disappoint.
Finally, I have finished reading the last book in Henry Miller's Rosy Crucifixion Trilogy. I guess by this time, I have a deeper understanding of Henry Miller, having read the whole trilogy, as well as the Tropics. See, somehow, after reading this book, I don't have an enthusiastic opinion of Henry Miller as when I first read Tropic of Cancer. I used to like him. I used to like the idea that he mixed up fact and fiction, writing about his Bohemian life in Paris. But now, after reading the three volumes of the Rosy Crucifixion Trilogy, I don't have the same respect for him as back then.First, I don't like the fact that he never showed versatility. It seems that the only thing or topic he could write about was his life. Nothing more. He wrote about his life in Tropic of Cancer, in Tropic of Capricorn, and in the Rosy Crucifixion. But aside from that, he never deviated elsewhere. I know that he has published other books, but after reading five books of his, I am afraid to pick up another one fearing that it might be of the same topic once again. See, other writers can explore other topics. Jose Saramago is the author I have read the most, and while preserving a grand idea across his many books, he also was able to explore this grand idea in plenty of different manifestations across various different topics and themes. The same goes for Salman Rushdie, another author I have read multiple times. Henry Miller on the other hand seems to only be capable of writing about his life and nothing else.Granted, one thing that Henry Miller should be given credit for is the fact that he had a very brilliant idea of mixing fact and fiction. After all, that was the great discovery attributed to his first books. However, I think he is for the most part, reusing his idea. He just has one great idea, and he used it again and again. After a few books, it tends to be boring. Not to mention the fact that his lifestyle isn't the most virtuous one either. I have nothing against artists and Bohemians, but the way he described his life makes it look like he expects people to take care of him while he simply sits in front of the typewriter plonking away. Sure, there is a hard climb to fame and prosperity if one takes the artistic path, but don't simply go ahead bumming your way by cheating people around you who actually work for a living.Overall, I think I still liked this book, but not as much as his previous books. I think by now, I've been jaded and won't be picking up another Henry Miller book anytime soon. 3 out of 5 stars.See my other book reviews here.
What do You think about Nexus (1994)?
Emergency!! Emergency!! Animal control we have a wild penis on loose!! Help!!!!Woof!Woof! Ladies hold on to your knickers (as if that matters...hahaha!) I'm back in town darlings!! The horny uncouth bastard, so save your vanities and say hello to Mr. Henry Miller!Sexual claustrophobia and unrestrained gusto for life made me churn out vulgar visceral depiction of what is christened as ,"Ménage à trois gone down the drain". Mona’s (a.k.a Mara) romps with her eccentric fuckaree lover- Stasia drove me over the edge. Those Machiavellian bitches did not value the supremacy of my penis whilst indulging me like a kid. Arghhh!! I’m loveless...blah blah....sex-starved..blah...on the verge of purging a bohemian inchoate calling...blah..blah...Alas! I won’t be here for long as I see the boat pulling out for my extensive cruise to Paris. Adieu suckers! Ici que je viens chiennes français!!Bonne chasse. (Here I come you French bitches! Good hunting!)
—Praj
Not as good as the first two parts. I don't know why i hate Mona, the feeling was there when she first appeared, here it was clear Mona has a bad influence on Miller. Not only in his life but even when he writes about her.Only three remarkable parts deserve to be mentioned:- Trying to get a job at Hobson and Hotbein where he met Jim.- His discussion about literature in ch.16.- The last chapter.If we didn't know what's happened to Miller in his first years in Paris we would be dying to read about it.
—Wael Mahmoud
Comienza como Bukowsky, pero erotizado. Hay que confesar que literatura erótica tal vez no sea lomas apto para escuchar a las 8 de la mañana mientras vas batallando con el tráfico rumbo al trabajo. Pero en fin, luego de horas y horas de escuchar una escena de sexo tras otra con mínimos elementos de trama; francamente aburrido de tanta repetición, al final viene una sección rabiosa, inspirada, intensa, en la que el cambia de punto de vista de la narrativa totalmente, viéndose a ratos como un perro que sirve a su esposa y amante. Un disparo narrativo intenso, emocional, mezquino, personal, maravilloso. Me dejo boquiabierto. Hizo valer la pena todo lo anterior.
—Alejandro Ramirez
