Rating: 
Summary: GET THIS MAN TO A CHURCH
Review: Henry Miller's "Tropic of Cancer" was a biographical novel of his years as an ex-pat in Paris. It includes tremendously creative, wonderful writing, but in the light of retrospection much of it is reduced to gratuitous pornography. When it was written in the 1930s, Miller's graphic sexual content was considered avant-garde, shocking and artistic. It was banned for this reason until 1961. This was the best thing that could have happened to Miller and the book, creating a cause celebre. But reading it in 2004, it is rather incoherent and, if it came out today, it would not hold up to scrutiny the way Hemingway and Thomas Wolfe stand the test of time. Miller's "cancer" appears to be a cancer of the soul. His descriptions of Parisian life in the 1930s - the whore houses, the scum, the thieves, liars and morally corrupt - describe an eating away of goodness, the way real cancer eats away at bone, skin and body. Reading Miller, one wants to shout, "Get this man to a church." Liberals would excoriate this sentiment as judgment, which of course has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that the one thing that could have saved Miller from his moral atrophy is and always will be the Lord Jesus Christ! STEVEN TRAVERS
AUTHOR OF "BARRY BONDS: BASEBALL'S SUPERMAN"
(...)
Rating:
Summary: An unparalleled literary experience
Review: For those of you contemplating the leap across the bounds of"decent" society into the licentious domain of Henry Miller,allow me to preface your experience. At its essence, Tropic of Cancer is an unmitigated bearing of the artistic human soul. Oft-slandered, the book has been poorly misconstrued by the mass American public (who are perhaps a bit frightened by it). Others have attacked the erratic and spontaneous nature of the prose, failing to recognize the derivative brilliance Miller achieves with his reckless creativity. Only after you have abandoned all pre-conceived notions of the conventional, well-mannered, plot-driven novel will you be able to genuinely appreciate the nihilistic, orgiastic, apocalyptic, meta-spiritual opus of counterculture that is Tropic of Cancer. In the brazen, veracious words of Henry Miller... "This is not a book, in the ordinary sense of the word. No, this is a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty... I am going to sing for you, a little off key perhaps, but I will sing. I will sing while you croak, I will dance over your dirty corpse..."
Rating: 
Summary: Exasperating but rewarding
Review: The uncensored autobiographical adventures of young wannabe writer Henry Miller in 1930's Paris, "Tropic of Cancer" is an important document in the history of literature, if only for the infamous (and quite stupid, if you ask me) book-banning crusade it inspired. It wasn't quite as innovative as a lot of people have claimed, though. It strongly resembles "Hunger" by Norwegian novelist Knut Hamsun (one of Miller's favorite writers and an acknowledged influence on his work), with the difference, of course, that Miller makes absolutely no concessions to public decorum. Miller doesn't have the remarkable ability to describe psychological states that distinguished early Hamsun, or his nicely limpid style. Instead, he's fond of unleashing lots and lots of baroque philosophical bombast upon the page, which sometimes gets tiresome. "To fathom the new reality it is first necessary to dismantle the drains, to lay open the gangrened ducts which compose the genito-urinary system that supplies the excreta of art." Uh, whatever you say, Henry.... Largely due to outpourings like this, the protagonist remains a somewhat shadowy figure. We hear much about his homegrown philosophy--not to mention his escapades with prostitutes--but you wouldn't be able to recognize him on the street. Never has anyone said so much about himself while revealing so little. It may be that I simply became used to Miller's flamboyant prose, but this book seems to get better as it goes on. Certain parts have a raw beauty; Miller very convincingly portrays what it means to live without hope but also without despair. As a paean to Life, it is both maddening and touching. Perhaps Miller, fond of the warts-and-all approach, wanted it that way. And if he is right when he claims, late in the novel, that a book with only one great page is still worth reading, then there's certainly enough here to make the trip worthwhile.
Rating:
Summary: Intoxicating, Lyrical, and Timeless
Review: One of the classics of 20th century literature and one of my most beloved novels. Miller is the man we all know we want to be, but can't. He is so intoxicated by the beauty of being alive that even the scuzziest, most puerile alleyways in the Parisian slums will receive his wonderful poetic musings that stretch on for pages and combine a profound philosophical depth with striking imagery. Miller ruminates on sex, on Matisse and Cezanne, on feces, on literature, on prostitutes, on America, on his own destitution and poverty, and most compellingly on the very sad human condition. But the human condition is not only ruminated upon, it is laughed at and derided, and confronted with its own foolishness. Surely this has been as much a source of annoyance for censors as the persistent use of a certain c-word. Henry Miller brilliantly makes his case for the uninhibited man who is able to expel neuroses, anxiety and depression through the simple act of being himself and accepting his imperfections.
Reading Henry Miller is disorienting at first. He writes like noone else, and initially there seems to be no rhyme, reason or discipline to anything that is going on. A passage will veer off into an extended musing about something seemingly insignificant before it has even been established what is supposed to be happening. But we become comfortable with this style when we begin to understand its message; that it is a pure expression of joy and self-liberation in a written form, that the natural impulse of the human being to explore everything from every angle is a tragically suppressed one. Many will accuse this of being a dangerously irresponsible novel, but I see nothing dangerous about it. Miller's philosophy is a means of survival like any other, except that it allows the individual to live and feel in a genuine sense. His boisterous, boastful presentation of his sexual exploits has had many seething with "indignation," but I can see envy underneath it. Read this classic and be changed.
Rating:
Summary: life uncensored
Review: In the early 1930s, Henry Miller left his job and wife in New York for Paris and the life of a "starving artist". Tropic of Cancer is his semi-autobiographical account of the time he spent there, penniless apart from the money sent by his wife or borrowed from his acquaintances (whom he describes critically, astutely, and at length), walking the streets, drinking, visiting brothels, philosophizing, and writing it all down. Early in the book Miller states "I have made a silent compact with myself not to change a line of what I write", and he doesn't. The novel is rambling, often incoherent, pornographic, mysogynistic, antisemitic, obscene, and altogether offensive (in fact, though Henry Miller was American, Tropic of Cancer was not published in the United States for 30 years after it was written; in 1961, after a long court battle resulting in major changes in censorship laws, publishing was finally permitted). Sexual escapades are interspersed with nonsensical hallucinations and philosophical meanderings, the world and society are observed and commented upon at length, memories are recounted. One gets the sense that Miller would sit down at his typewriter and write something without even thinking, which perhaps would remind him of something else, about which he would then go into detail, until he became distracted and left, only to start again later on a completely different note. The way Miller rambles on reminds one in some way of Proust: sensory images follow one another in a largely undivided flow that lacks a real "point" when taken as a whole, yet also has moments of stunning beauty and scathing social commentary. The language of the narrative is quite rough and sometimes innovative - Miller floods the reader with everything going through his head, leaving nothing unsaid, and softening nothing. The true meaning of "brutal honesty" comes to mind. It is easy to despise Miller for his dissipated way of life and for his uncaring treatment of his fellow man (and woman; anyone with feminist views should be warned before she reads this book), but he does not ask the reader to love him, take him seriously, or to like or agree with what he says, nor does he care; he writes for himself, not for the audience. His writing captures the "agony and the ecstasy" of being alive, and leaves one with the sense of its fullness. He made a decision to live freely and intensely and not to censor himself - Tropic of Cancer is his expression of this (physically and mentally) unfettered existence.
Rating: 
Summary: Misogynistic, misanthropic, macho and monotonous
Review: Henry is in love with words, his own words. Like a squinty eyed gunslinger who is impressive until you realize that he's an just an extra in a Clint Eastwood movie with a gun full of blanks, Miller is full of his own bluster and bravado that after a short while seems little more than a pose. Tropic of Cancer is a tedious exercise in misanthropy in which women are all c**ts and a mans' worth is judged by the size of his johnson and his bank account, ie how much the main character can sponge. The novel is an autobiographical one about an American expat writer in Paris. Its rambling, occasionally brilliant, swaggering, mysogonistic, anti semitic and ultimately dull, dull, dull. Not much happens. The novel is more concerned with character observation and commentary on humanity, female genitalia and the bohemian expat lifestyle. The main character is a loveless, misanthropic, self absorbed sexist jerk who about whom I couldn't give a damn. He's a typical modernist anti-hero who flaunts social convensions and norms and "suffers" for his art. Of course he hangs out with a bohemian crowd, screws a lot of prostitutes all the while making fun of the "friends" from whom he mooches meals. Not to mention his wife who sends him money from America. Perhaps at the time this dissipated lifestyle may have been the heighth of hip, now it seems a sad and irresponsible macho pose. Ultimately the main character is slumming, he's something of a dilletante and an annoying one. His lifestyle is almost pointless. The prose is sometimes brilliant, but Tropic of Cancer is the type of book that is more fun to talk about than actually read, the kind of book that would increase your coolness factor with certain literary types. That Norman Mailer gives this book ridiculously high praise should give you an idea of the tired macho posturings to be found therein. It gets old quick.
Rating: 
Summary: Disturbing, Disgusting, & Disgraceful
Review: I think my title says it all.
There is absolutely no redeeming value to this book. The author writes whatever comes to his mind, including citing his sexual perversities and sexual fantasies. Miller is a total lunatic with no real skill as a writer. You will find yourself dumber for having read this obscene exercise in ridiculous profanity.
There are books that I may not like for any number of reasons yet I would recommend them based on the fact that other people will enjoy them because of their varied tastes. But this book has nothing to offer anyone. I mean, if you get a thrill out of reading the boring thoughts of some doofus, then you may enjoy this book, otherwise, read something else.
Rating:
Summary: The problem with this book
Review: is not the graphic sex or the coarseness of its language. It's the tedious, rambling, self-absorbed, incoherence of it. (Possible alternative title -- Diary of a Jerk.) It is, as they say, easy to put down. In the midst of that, it is, of course, hard to ignore the occasional oubursts of virulent misogyny and anti-semitism. The ugliness of some it is impossible to justify as art. Miller was right when he himself said that it wasn't a book, just an insult, a gob of spit in the face. Take him at his word and skip this.
Rating:
Summary: Your mom writes about other books in her book reviews
Review: Schizophrenia cured another soul in Miller, traveling artisan, starving artsy fartsy funkmob blasted into our subconscii with his subtle wit bordering on "the tease" and his slips into a depraved honesty in poetic expositions (see "matisse"). Like a boomerang spinning around your head until you think you understand it, Miller throws on his magic hat and brings out his tap-dancing stick until all the peoples bodies be movin.
This book shouldn't be catered for, it should be discovered, stumbled upon. Teach it to your children.
Rating: 
Summary: I'm terribly ambivalant about Miller.
Review: The problem here is that anyone who expects to understand the 20th century novel well enough to write fiction in the 21st must read Tropic of Cancer but it really isn't worth the bother otherwise. In my opinion, Tropic of Cancer is a poorly edited draft, which makes it easy to see where the process of writing must go, but it isn't at all the sort of finished work one would want to release.
It is much easier to tolerate if one considers it to be analogous to a primitive blog, done with a manual typewriter and laborious erasures instead of cut and paste.
Miller has flashes of genius, obscured by endless digression verging on schizophrenic process.
So what that it was banned a half century ago? Today it would merely be neglected, were it not for the efforts of the last couple of generations of freemartin college literature teachers.
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