REVIEW: Nexus (The Rosy Crucifixion #3)

Nexus (The Rosy Crucifixon #3). Henry Miller. Grove Press (1987), Paperback, 316 pages.

"How does one know that one day he will take wing, that like the hummingbird he will quiver in mid-air and dazzle with iridescent sheen? One doesn't. One hopes and prays and bashes his head against the wall."

There is an element of the exotic and the animalistic in Miller, but at his core, he is a typical and rebellious American. He is equally at home comparing himself to a dog or to Jesus, and through these images, he traces his evolution from Wastrel to Want-Not Prophet, from his dingy childhood to idyllic Paris. On the surface, it is easy to see oneself in Miller's desperate attempts to sort out love, work, money, and art. ...and really, Miller is so likable in this last installment of The Rosy Crucifixion precisely because he is exactly like most other Americans: cursing our day jobs and fantasizing about the adventures we will have when we are fortunate enough to retire. I may be exaggerating a bit, but Miller manages--at least in part--to relish life and his role in it, regardless of both its glories and its flaws. He learns to let go, pick up, embrace everything, value nothing...this book almost reads like Miller's Enlightenment/Gnosis/Reincarnation/Resurrection...and that is the idea.

Nexus features less of the sex-capades of Sexus and the rambling characterizations of Plexus. Instead, Miller's writing falls into more of the agitated and artistic rambling that was only occasional during those downtrodden times. He refers to the sources of his inspiration more frequently, and somehow manages to both glorify and demonize them as he finds his own voice.

I took a lot of personal notes while I was reading Plexus, and I regret being less thorough as I read Nexus. There are so many references to other authors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and historical figures that taking notes would be a lengthy endeavor. As this was my first reading of Nexus, I'll leave that to future exploration, and I'll sum up the experience with one of Miller's last references:

***SPOILER ALERT!!!!***

Just before he leaves, he expresses an interest in finding an old record of Alexander Scriabin's Poème de l'extase. He claims that the first time he heard it, he became obsessed, and that something in him had changed. "It [the music] was like a bath of ice, cocaine and rainbows" (p. 307). Interestingly enough, there appears to be an order to Scriabin's work that closely mirrors Miller's Rosy Crucifixion: I. His soul in the orgy of love; II. The realization of a fantastical dream; III. The glory of his own art.[1] I'm not certain that the parallel is completely intentional, but given Miller's penchant for referencing other artists, I would hardly be surprised if it were. [1]Benson, Robert E.. "Scriabin's Poem of Ecstasy, Op. 54". ClassicalCDReview.com. Retrieved 2012-04-04.

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At last, I'll say this: Nexus is the culmination of several years of struggling to act and to become what Miller already was: a writer. I would recommend the trilogy for anyone who has ever struggled with a difficult career move or lifestyle choice. Miller's experiences ring true, and his advice is pure: be yourself and learn when to say, "Goodbye!" (Now, don't all run out on your families just because Paris beckons. Follow your own paths.)

Rating: 4/5

Woof! Woof!: Hello Again, Mr. Miller

I always seem to read Henry Miller when I come to a crossroads or defining moment in my life. Each book of The Rosy Crucifixion has taken me down a different path and provided for me a different kind of enlightenment. In between the rambling mess of character portraits and sexual encounters hides these brilliant moments of clarity. It's like getting punched in the face for fun. This last book sees Henry Miller struggling to reconcile his life with his art, and he has all but given up, at this point. I, too, waffle, waver, second-guess, and submit to the hand I've been dealt. At least, I have been following that particular path, recently. It leads somewhere between grand plans and grand failures, and it is easy to feel caught up in the muck. I'm back here, writing again, because something is tugging at the heartstrings and the tendons again. In Nexus, and in myself, there is a drastic push toward freedom, even when it feels unattainable.

Most recently, I was struck by the following quote: "By day the graveyard of senseless sweat and toil; by night the cemetery of love and despair." Miller is speaking, of course, about the worker "ants" that struggle with their hated jobs by day and only find comfort in the arms of another person, or in their own misery. Either way, he equates meaningless work with death. I hear you, loud and clear, Mr. Miller. Right down to the grandiose notion that, having been there himself, he is perhaps most qualified to speak directly to those "ants" and comfort them with his writing. I wouldn't exactly call it a comfort, but there is beauty in shared pain and struggling, even if the sharing is based solely on false perception and projection onto Miller's characters.

For better or worse, I had the urge to write again, both in my blogs and in paper journals. I am always seeking solutions and inspiration. ...and besides, I have a giant bookshelf that needs some love and attention.