Today is the birthday of my favorite author, Henry Miller.
I started reading Miller at the perfect time. I was young and didn’t know much – maybe 20? Maybe even younger. But I was living on my own and trying to do the best with what I had, etc. You know the drill – trying to figure things out. And my first copy of Tropic of Cancer is still in my possession, held together by a rubberband, with my original markings and notes and miscellaneous scraps of paper stored between the pages. I wish I could remember why I turned to this novel – where did I hear of Miller, why did I pick up this book – but I don’t recall. But I do remember the impact.
So in tribute to Henry Valentine Miller’s birthday, I suggest we all raise a drink to toast the great man and his dirty prose and remember that words still have the power to move people in various directions.
