("Tropic of Capricorn")

[fiefoe]

Coherence is obviously beside the point for Henry Miller. For me, less so. This is one of those reassuring tests that confirms that yes, we do know what we like, or dislike. Febrile nihilism goes to the second camp, no question asked, next time.

(In fact, my taste is consistent enough that I couldn't get through the first chapter of "Shanghai Baby" - and that poor soul, as I recall, adores Mr. Miller.)