Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #497811 in Books
• Published on: 1957-02-01
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 404 pages

Synopsis
Miller portrays the Big Sur environment and his friends and neighbors on the California coast.

Customer Reviews

Evocative, if Disconnected, Reflections on Life in Big Sur
Henry Miller was an American original, and one of the most memorable personalities among American writers of this century. In 1930, at the age of 38, he left He left New York City to go to Paris, determined to become a great writer. He had very little money and lived on the largesse of his friends, including Anais Nin.

Some ten years later, after having written the "Tropics" books that made him famous, he settled in Big Sur, California, an area with some of the prettiest and most spectacular coastal scenery in the country -- and maybe even the world. At that time, real estate was still relatively inexpensive in this small village, and artists and other interesting characters abounded.

This book recounts his life in Big Sur, and succeeds admirably in evoking time and place. The narrative is somewhat disconnected at times, and launches into asides that may not interest some. But the quality of Miller's prose -- and the passion for Big Sur and its people that it expresses -- more than make up for that.

Incidentally, if you make it to Big Sur, and have any interest in Henry Miller, check out the Henry Miller library, assuming it is still open.

Refreshing reflections on Art, Life and Nature.
In the 1940's and '50's, long before the New Age gurus and their guides to better living, author Henry Miller was letting his soul run free and writing about it high above the Pacific Ocean in remote Big Sur, California. This book is his account of that experience after his return from Europe and subsequent car tour of America. It is a refreshing, joyous, insightful, touching, humorous and often profound book that challenges our acceptance of today's hectic world while also being essential reading for those who have read the two Tropics and would like a better understanding of the man behind these books, two of the greatest and most controversial of all time.

"This is my answer!" states Miller in the book's opening pages, and in this regard Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch is his Walden. Because it was here, in the far West, far removed from hs native New York, that Miller found the only home he could abide by in America, a place where he fe! lt he could live peaceably as a creative artist apart from a way of life he saw as thin and meaningless and which he had long since turned his back on.

It was not easy living. The convict shack where Miller initially stayed, a thousand feet above the crashing waves, had neither electricity nor plumbing. There was also the intense isolation. At that time, Big Sur was strictly for the adventurous, a small colony of artists and individuals seeking to live and raise families freely, simply, and close to nature. Highway One had yet to bring the tourists.

But despite these difficulties, and probably because of them, Miller came to see Big Sur as the first real home he had ever known. Creatively, he flourished, finding everything his spirit needed in the friendship of the community and the brilliant light and beauty of this road less traveled. He would live there for 15 years, writing, painting, raising a family, making friends, and suffering the occasional, unannounced fan! .

It is clear in reading this book that the awesome beaut! y of Big Sur affected Miller deeply, as did Paris in the 1930's and Greece afterwards. He came to see the people he met there as kindred spirits in a timeless sanctuary conducive to reflection, perspective, and inner peace. This new found consciousness found its way into his writing.

As with many of his books, Big Sur is not a strict linear narrative, but a collection of thoughts, reminiscences, hopes, dreams, loves, stories, and reveries. The core of the book -- what shines through most -- is the reality of the man, his viewpoint, and a wisdom born of spiritual freedom and real experience. This is not to be found in much of anything written today.

Unlike today's authors, Miller knew what it was like to live without money, to be hungry on the street, to be maligned, to turn against convention, and to subordinate all to art. Not all of what he did in life can be considered honorable. But he refused to be a pessimist or give up on life's possibilities. Optimism and ho! pe were diamonds at the heart of him. Art, his salvation. The best of his character, his view and love of life, his being driven to create and express himself, his transcending what others accept blindly, his pursuit of individuality and a spirit enlightened and at rest, is this book's gift to readers.

For those ready for it, this book inspires, and we are made better for knowing the truths Miller lived by and the paradise called Big Sur that nurtured his wandering soul.

Henry Miller finds the center of his universe in Big Sur
I must say that I am biased. Henry Miller is one of my favorite authors of all time. I have sought out the rare and out of print editions in libraries and bookstores throughout the US and Europe. I first found this book in a small used bookstore in Bisbee, AZ. I was on my way to Spain. The opening sentence in the book caught my attention because it opens with a similar intention. "In 19** I set out for Spain. I never made it there." I would make it to Spain, but only after a struggle that would challenge Prometheus himself. Certainly, this is one of Miller's finest efforts. He discusses life, art and writing and relates it all to the peace he found living in his small eutopic cabin in Big Sur, making use of the denizens as characters, reviving other specters from previous works, and detailing the fanatics who would camp at the doorstep of the 80-year-old author in search of the Cult of Sex and Anarchy. The most interesting, most poignant differe! nce between this and so many of Miller's works is his clarity of thought. The ramblings are present as only Miller can present them, but they exude a definite cognizence, a undeniable consciousness of a man who has lived life to the utmost, and now seeks only the solitude under which he might write his final notes on the strangest journey of all -- that of daily existence. There is something for the artist in this book, something for the writer and something for the philosopher. You will not go away disappointed, or even dazed. Miller strikes out at his usual targets: passion and the root of creativity, with undaunted focus and a genius of his own creation.