Frances

It's difficult for me to completely size up a book when the intent of the writer is unknown. I've only read one other book from Mr. Golding (Lord of the Flies, of course) and that was written in an entirely different style from Free Fall, so I couldn't help but be SLIGHTLY suspicious of some pretentious play going on here. Regardless, I am grateful for having a book like this in my collection. For one, it had one of the best opening paragraphs I've ever read. Another is that you end up a different person upon finishing it. The waterfall of curiosity, honesty and passion was rendered with such grace that it is almost unparalleled by any piece of literature I've come across. My copy of this book has been marked with underlines and scribbles and that is how I know that it did its job well. At one point I imagined what I was reading to be an autobiographical account, as it all sounded like unfiltered truth coming from the writer himself. The way the words were thrown in and around and how the conventions of grammar were ignored presented this book as a stream of consciousness that can also serve as a “literary cassette” for the suffering romantic, something to fall back to when you're having one of those days.

I like him because he listens to the Bleachers. Definitely an entertaining and easy read. A standup comedy from start to finish? It also breaks your heart, because the words are true. The ending took me by surprise and my tears almost fell in public.

This being my first Henry Miller book and not having been briefed of the pornographic content of his writing, I was, to say the least blindsided but holy hell, what a ride!

A few weeks ago, after seeing the NYE countdown in Champs-Élysées, I decided to stay out, against the suggestion of my sister to get myself home and get to sleep (if you know me enough you know that makes me just squirm). I had no clue where where to go next, and because we had walked a fair distance northward, in the midst of an excited crowd flowing through the streets and traffic, I decided to walk eastward, alone. I ended up in the Bd de Clichy where I spent 4 hours in the chilly winter, the events of which belong to something that is not a book review.

Obviously that place made quite an impression on me and when I found out Henry Miller had written a book about it I immediately ordered a copy from Amazon.

The first part begins with a kind of prose that I found too simple to like. Quickly I realized this dude‘s perspective on women and sexuality and I am just disgusted. But I kept reading... and I think for the same reason this writer is a celebrated one, in spite of the obvious. He writes of life as it has happened, and with that, cures us of the ignorance of the ends to which people, so uninhibited, can reach, and specifically the hedonistic parts of the edge of society.

I would have rated this lower because of how degrading he writes of women and the disgusting display of machismo power, but then again this book isn‘t written to make right of what is wrong, it isn't meant to teach, or make a point even.

I enjoyed this book because of the many reactions it got from me. I was titillated, I was horrified, I burst out laughing, here and there.

And about mid-way up until the end, in the second section where he waxes poetic about two women who resembled one another, he started using a form of prose that I could like.


I would not recommend this book to anyone and will probably be too embarrassed to admit I actually enjoyed this, but in the end I am judging this for the piece of literature that it is and not the morals behind.

Your opinion of this book will depend on your mood when you pick it up. There were times when I was drawn deeply into the sequence of thought in the dialogue. Other times, I developed a headache and resorted to throwing it aside for perusal at a better time.

I wonder what he must have taken to write something like this. The dialogues are extremely paranoid with obsessive use of language. At some point it would appear that the characters are desperate.

So many layers are used to arrive at a single point that at a glance, the entire book would appear absurd. The amount of focus it takes to write this is impressive, though. It presents itself as something close to a performance art. There are some profound moments in the midst of all the white noise. The dilemmas presented hit so close to home.

If the book starts to make you feel sick, don't give up. You might need to take a break from it, but do finish it.

Quite a handful of gems in this anthology

I would describe this as a casual anthropological book, mostly written by foreigners who have visited or lived in Tokyo. It is a good perspective to have, but it also tells you what sentiments to expect. I think I enjoyed at least half of it, mostly the visual chapters and creative writing (fiction). The rest were, as others have written, pretentious and bland - pertaining to the essays which were hard to read and offer little to no striking insight. I felt something was missing - the intimacy of daily life - aspects of the society that I encountered having visited the country about 6 times thus far. It somehow fails to humanize the people as they should be.

I remember picking this up at the university library and I had to take it home with me. Good stuff. Was not able to finish the entire thing though as I had to return it to the library. I haven't found a copy of that book anywhere...

Why is this writing “good”?

I just wish it covered more places in the city

Handy for when you're in Poland and want to visit the places referenced.

Kerouac lays the Word down on what it means to be a beatnik and what makes one a hippie. I like the translation even though it doesn't give us the „raw“ Kerouac it at least makes this an easier read.

I enjoyed this immensely so i don‘t understand the poor ratings of this book. These people must be hipsters!

I read the whole book in one sitting and what an experience. I smiled, I chuckled, eyes grew wide, heart melted, head shook in amazement. With themes of earnest love, tragedy, bodies of water, magical realism, I had it all while sitting on a park bench on a damp and chilly day. This writer moves words masterfully in a way few can. One of my favorite living poets now.

Quality paper, good design, substantial information. 5 stars for the effort. I don't think there'll be too many people serious enough to need this book, but if you are, then it will be your bible. Otherwise you'll probably still consider getting it even just as a coffee table book.

The book feels like an hour-long drive where occasionally you get flashes of pretty scenery but most of the time it's just soil and dust. I wonder how this book was written. Did his index cards get shuffled? Did he have an impossible deadline to beat? I liked the premise set up for the main character well enough that I tagged along until the last page, but by then the whole thing still felt undercooked. Maybe the only reason I liked the character to begin with was that he seemed like a student of the Tao Te Ching, which I am trying to be.

But hey, it wasn't that bad. It's a quick read, time I could afford to waste. And it did try to redeem itself at some point.

This is what people are talking about when they use words like grace.That moment, that morning, came vividly back to him whenever he thought of it. But soon suspicion set in. He understood well enough that life by very definition is upset, movement, agitation.

—-


“Think we choose our lives?”“No. But I don't think they're thrust upon us, either. What it feels like to me is, they're forever seeping up under our feet.”

This giant book was a huge part of my childhood. I still have it in slightly good condition, more than a decade later.