Philip Roth, American Pastoral (1997) 423p.

Knut Hamsun, Hunger (1890) 243p.

I read this book as a literary heritage leading via Strindberg’s Inferno and Alone, Andre Breton’s Nadja, to Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer, placed in a context of thought of Nietzsche and Stirner’s The Ego and His Own, and this line of autobiographical fiction is the zenith of the 19th century’s romantic hero turned inward genius, which is one of my favorite genres. But Hunger certainly stands out for its early expression of this type. Where Miller rejects society, the antagonist of Hunger is rejected. The same type of character can be seen in Beckett’s First Love, but never as original and authentic as in Hamsun.

There’s a foreword of Paul Auster in the edition I read from 1970. Auster later wrote Brooklyn Follies in which the antagonist seeks an escape from the anxieties of bourgeois life, ending in Hotel X, but Auster’s escape is a false dreamy rejection of a middle class product to escape his own boredom, Hunger’s rejection is driven by bitterness and pride by experience, and the torture of an artist who is spit out by that middle class, that Auster returns to. There’s nothing soothing about Hunger, but instead is resigned to the artist’s last resort, one self, and the hunger to write.

Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye (1928) 103p.

Marguerite Yourcenar, Coup de Grace (1939) 151p.

José Saramago, All the Names (1997)(English: 1999) 238p.

Very Kafkaesk, but the character is underdeveloped, the style is inconsistent and some of the details or plot are simply incredible or too evident. However, you can recognize his outstanding talent and the idea behind the story is very uplifting.

A good example of an incredible and unnecessary detail of plot is the visit by Senor Jose to the apartment of the unknown woman. He receives the key from the mother as he is to leave the parents’ home, after the father has been cynical of Senor Jose. Every development in this part is incredible in my opinion, and more so it is unnecessary.

Andre Breton, Nadja (1928) 160p.

August Strindberg (1849-1912), Inferno, Alone, and other writings (1968, 1894-1903), 429p.

The New Arts or the Role of Chance in Artistic Creation (1894)
Inferno (1897)
Graveyard Reveries (1896)
Jacob Wrestles (1897)
Alone (1903)

George Orwell, Inside the Whale (1940)

Henry Miller, The Time of the Assassins: a Study of Rimbaud (1946/1956), 163p.

The book starts uninspired but by the epiphany that the life of Rimbeaud contains the blueprint for genius, emphasizing the parallels between Miller and Rimbeaud. Did I mention Miller is a pretentious prick? Only after he made that first point of life and the formation of exceptional psychologies, does he enter the waters where the streams of Miller’s lyrical poetry grasp you and pull you under. It is when he talks about the end of the world, about the assassin of youth, the escapes and boredom, the venomous poison of a poet’s visions that entered the unknown, that Miller’s study becomes inspiring.

Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer (1934) 287p.

Brilliant, genial poetry. A bit of Celine mingled with American optimism.