by Henry Miller
Strictly speaking, this book is non-fiction, but it has a strong novelistic feel about it. Miller, who, late in life, lived a number of years on the beautiful coast of Big Sur, California, penned this montage of tales and profiles. In three sections, he describes the place, the people and one particular individual in his time there. This is the first book by Miller that this reviewer has read, so we can not compare it to his other work. However, it must certainly be lower key and tame by comparison to his famously explicit memoirs. Knowing Big Sur, the book evokes for the reader the countryside of rolling mountains, deep coastal valleys and crashing sea very well. As a picture of a time and a place, it is remarkably well-written. Miller indulges in quite a bit of name-dropping, and this reader found himself keeping notes on the many obscure literary references. Miller waxes nostalgic on his life in Paris. His long essay on Conrad Moricand, the ultimate sponger, is funny and tragic at the same time. Miller also writes richly on the life of a writer and artist. And he captures personalities with generosity. Even so, his introspection is somewhat lacking. He has a confidence in himself with which he acknowledges his foibles but seems to want to do little to correct them. Taken at face value, though, the book is an enjoyable mixture of personality and place. A glimpse of a place that is still enchanting, and still attracts inventive and artistic people. And it is a book that may make the reader wish to take up the life of a writer, in poverty and Bohemian happiness.