The Cult of Henry Miller

Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller. Grove Press, $7.50 Henry Miller has brayed and billed his Tropic of Cancer as “a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty . . . what you will.” It is a proud claim that would no doubt clear the decks for a New Art Era after the old artistic and theological impedimenta had been swept away. At least Karl Shapiro seems to think so, for in his introduction to this first general edition he sees the salvation of our society in replacing the Bible by a new Scripture compiled from the works of Miller.

Before the Gideons go down the laundry chute, as Mr. Shapiro recommends, the Miller gospel deserves a detached exegesis. Unfortunately Miller’s dithyrambs make the detachment a little difficult. Those who are repelled by his sexual jugglings are confronted by disciples with banners proclaiming: know the graffiti and the graffiti will set you free! However, the latter with their paperbacked Tropic gospels can no longer feel themselves the same intellectual elite since Grove has now made salvation available at the split-level. As a bystander I can only record that we seem to have come a long way since Galsworthy used to write “d — n,” although I’m not sure the road leads anywhere.

FR

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Francis Russell

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Tropic of Cancer, by Henry Miller. Grove Press, $7.50 Henry Miller has brayed and billed his Tropic of Cancer as “a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty . . . what you will.” It is a proud claim that would no doubt clear the decks for a New Art Era after the old artistic and theological impedimenta had been swept away. At least Karl Shapiro seems to think so, for in his introduction to this first general edition he sees the salvation of our society in replacing the Bible by a new Scripture compiled from the works of Miller.

Before the Gideons go down the laundry chute, as Mr. Shapiro recommends, the Miller gospel deserves a detached exegesis. Unfortunately Miller’s dithyrambs make the detachment a little difficult. Those who are repelled by his sexual jugglings are confronted by disciples with banners proclaiming: know the graffiti and the graffiti will set you free! However, the latter with their paperbacked Tropic gospels can no longer feel themselves the same intellectual elite since Grove has now made salvation available at the split-level. As a bystander I can only record that we seem to have come a long way since Galsworthy used to write “d — n,” although I’m not sure the road leads anywhere.