“There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.” -Anais Nin
I’m just finishing up reading A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953. I must admit that I wasn’t much of a Miller fan in the past. I’ve tried reading Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn in the past, but just couldn’t get into it. Reading this book has made me much more empathetic to Miller as he truly had so much love for Nin. However, he was far too jealous and angry for my taste. Their relationship was extremely passionate, and just as tempestuous. Overall, it was a gorgeous, raw, sensual and cerebral exchange between two gifted authors.
“Don’t expect me to be sane anymore. Don’t let’s be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can’t dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous… I can’t see how I can go on living away from you—these intermissions are death. How did it seem to you when Hugo came back? Was I still there? I can’t picture you moving about with him as you did with me. Legs closed. Frailty. Sweet, treacherous acquiescence. Bird docility. You became a woman with me. I was almost terrified by it. You are not just thirty years old—you are a thousand years old.
Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger.”
― Henry Miller
Leave a Reply