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PARTISAN REVIEW
peopl e," Lowenfels rema rked. "Na lUra ll y he adores Fraenkel. ...
Mill er recognizes Fraenkel's dealh as the rea l lhing, and so ido li zes it.
T he o lh ers, the li ving dead , he had onl y lO annihil a le by- wh al? It's
nOl conlempt. It's lha l he is so a li ve nOlhing else can ex isl. It's like
being close
to
th e sun ." "Thi s book sho uld be ca ll ed ," Lowenfels
announced , " I am lhe'onl y man in the world lha t's a li ve." Fo r a whil e
Henry aCluall y thoughl of calling the novel "Cockeyed in Pari s." Al
lhe end o f the mon lh he p roposed lWO more lilI es lO Ana'is: " I Sing lhe
Equa lor" and "Tropic of Cancer. " T he first was a n ap l a llusion lO
Whilman , bUl Ana'is's interes ls in aS lro logy pred isposed her lO prefer
lhe second. T he lill e had severa l associa li ons fo r Henry. Into hi s
no tebook he copi ed an excerpl from the
Satyricon:
" I was bo rn myself
under Cancer, and lherefore sland o n my Feel, as hav ing la rge posses–
sions bOlh by Sea and Land !" Cancer is the crab, a crealu re who can
move in man y di recli on s, the fabulo us beas l of the Chinese sagas.
Cancer is a lso th e sign o f the poel wh o o bserves and exposes th e disease
of a civili zalion whi ch is p roceedin g in the wrong direcli on ; and
fin a ll y, for Mill er, il was th e sign o f dea lh-in-life, with aff inili es to
N ietzsch e's doctrine of elern a l recurrence as we ll as lO Budd hi sl doc–
lrin e.
Tropic of Cancer
is aboul the criti cal ea rl y peri od of MilI er's
poverty and person al despa ir in Pa ri s. He uses hi s encounters with
Bertha, Eugene Pacho utinsky, Fraenkel, Nanava li , Perl es, Osbo rn , and
o thers as the symbo ls of the fragmenls into whi ch hi s life had fa ll en.
Dea lh and nausea hover aboul him . He begins as he had begun the
book in hi s ea rli esl drafl (though the rea l names were fin a ll y elimi–
na led ):
I am li ving in the Vill a Borghese. There is not a crumb of d in
anywh ere, nor a ch air misplaced. We are a ll alone here and we are
dead .
BUl lhoug h dea lh is the pri son house abo ul whi ch he writes, it is lhe
li ving a rti sl who is wriling the book. Surely he was ri ght : in hi s worst
days in Pa ri s Henry Va l MilI er had rea lI y di ed from fa ilure of the heart.
Bul a new desperado had been rebo rn .
I have no mon ey, no resources, no hopes. I am th e happ ies t man
ali ve. ...
T o sing you must first open you r mouth . You mu st have a pa ir
of lungs, and a littl e kn owledge o f mu sic.
It
is not necessa ry
to
have
