I have been thinking a great deal about the sex writing pornographer Henry Miller.
This is how he was unfairly categorized when Tropic of Cancer was published 85 year ago in Paris and banned in the U.S. until 1961. He was labeled a misogynist, a “woman hater,” and a brute.
But this is not the Henry Miller on my mind today as I sit in the chair in my shed and read one of his many books that have nothing do with sex. The Air-Conditioned Nightmare chronicles Miller’s travels across America after he returned from Paris in 1939. It was published in 1945 and is closing in on its 75th anniversary. It is a marvelous book—poignant, telling, and still relevant, in fact I would argue more relevant today than ever.
The Henry Miller I am thinking about today (and writing about at MEDIUM) is the literary, artistic anarchist. The writer who not only bucked convention and the literary form and norm of the day, but burned it to the ground. This is why I like Henry, why he is important in the contemporary literary landscape of rules and formula, and why I hope you will read my piece at The Writing Cooperative at the website MEDIUM.
For now, I’ll sit back in the shed chair and re-read the chapter “A Night with Jupiter” because it is so wonderful.