This piece of literature is most suited for midwestern housewives in book clubs.
Mr. Miller’s once banned book is about fornicating with prostitutes and all of his not-so-nice sexual exploits. His prose are heavily salt and peppered with F BOMBS. Paris in the 1930s was a dirty dirty place. And I encourage all of you to read this erotic novel; you might just catch syphilis opening the cover.
No it’s actually pretty good. Here are some choice passages.
“On the meridian of time there is no injustice: there is only the poetry of motion creating the illusion of truth and drama. If at any moment anywhere one comes face to face with the absolute, that great sympathy which makes men like Gautama and Jesus seem divine freezes away; the monstrous thing is not that men have created roses out of this dung heap, but that, for some reason or other, they should want roses. For some reason or other man looks for the miracle, and to accomplish it he will wade through blood. He will debauch himself with ideas, he will reduce himself to a show if for only one second of his life he can close his eyes to the hideousness of reality Everything is endured- disgrace, humiliation, poverty, war, crime, ennui- in the belief that overnight something will occur, a miracle, which will render life tolerable.”
“For weeks and months, for years, in fact, all my life I had been looking forward to something happening, some extrinsic event that would alter my life, and now suddenly, inspired by the absolute hopeless of everything, I felt relieved, felt as though a great burden had been lifter from my shoulders.”
And you thought you were going to get a good licentious part. Hope you are good and depressed now.