Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

My first glimpse into the world of Henry Miller has brought me a new highly admired author to read. Though 'Big Sur' is reputed to be one of his more 'tame works'...Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn having been banned works for years due to their highly sexual content, the mind of Miller is indeed a wonderous place to explore. I came across this title while searching online for info about Kerouac's novel 'Big Sur', and decided to indulge in this one as well. And a happy treat awaited me. Having only recent begun to enjoy 'biography as fiction' works, it takes a rare author to put one at peace with their words, when they are simply a recounting of thier own life and adventures. Miller wrote 'Big Sur' not so much as a 'novel', since there is not a conventional thread to follow, other than the location and himself as protagonist, but more as a memoir of the 15 years spent in this California 'paradise' of artists, bohemians, and eclectic characters. Through describing his tranquil, ambling days spent walking back and forth with supplies from town, meeting the thrice-per-week mail delivery, or simply writing, the reader gets to experience the serenity that Miller enjoyed throughout most of his time there. Being a Virgo I look for structure, order, sense, etc., in most things, especially literature. Little of that is to be found here, really, but Miller's style is so captivating that you can't help but read on. His serenity at Big Sur easily becomes your own. But be warned, that serenity is interrupted by the arrival of an oversees acquaintance, Conrad Moricand, who turns Miller's idyllic home upside down during his stay there. Moricand, an ailing, miserable, curmudgeonly man comes to Big Sur upon Miller's request, and had the term 'houseguest from hell' been utilized in the days this novel was written, it's easy to say that Moricand would have received this title. For anyone thinking of exploring the works of Henry Miller for the first time, perhaps avoiding his more famous works until gaining a bit of insight into something a little more 'platonic' such as this book might be well-advised. It will pave the way of interest into this fascinating author, and hopefully spark further investigation, as it has with me. Highly recommended.

This book, and a couple of others by Miller and L. Durrell, was responsible for my husband and me quitting our jobs in LA and going to Greece for a year. And several times in the past decades, I've made pilgrimages to Partington Ridge/cove/trail/creek down the coast of Big Sur to revisit the place Miller lived and to pay homage to a great writer, a great spirit, and a great human being. Each time I stop and look up the trail toward the ridge, I swear I can see stringy, rangy Miller, sweating as he pulls a goat-cart laden with mail and groceries from the drop-off spot by the highway back up to his convict shack near the top. The book has no real plot; it?s just a rambling and random collection of philosophy, character studies, literary/artistic commentary, and journaling - all delivered with Miller's completely unique and quirky mind. I don't believe a more open-minded, curious, brilliant writer has ever lived, and for me, this is his best book, written perhaps during some of his best and most peaceful years of his long and joyful life. At its core, it's a recipe for Life.

I first read this book exactly ten years ago when I was struggling through a profound period of depression. I don't want to say that the book cured me, because that would be too facile and too drastic a declaration, but I will say that Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch was the first real beacon, the first glimmer of light to lead me out of a suffocating psychological cave. I don't know why, exactly, but when I began reading the book, a deep sense of peace came over me for the first time in several months. The book seemed to open up my eyes and my ears and my throat and even my lungs; I found myself sucking in big sweet gulps of air, and I started to detect a freedom and a limitlessness in the world that I had previously failed to recognize. Of course, there is no way that I can promise that you will have the same reaction. Over the years I have passed the book along to various friends: Some of them have fallen in love with it and some of them have been utterly bored. That is understandable. The book has no plot; in fact, it doesn't really pretend to have any forward momentum. The narrative just floats. As other reviewers have noted (both enthusiastically and bitterly), Henry Miller delivers in this book a seemingly random swirl of philosophy, wit, character studies, soaring observations of topography and weather, literary and arty musings, puzzles, koans, epigrams, aphorisms, scripture, historical trivia, astrological forecasts, and jokes. It does not, upon first glance, have any point whatsoever. But that, friend, is the point. What Miller is laying out here (in a unique way, free of the usual hippie jargon) is a meditation on how to live a different life, a vibrant life, a life of the spirit, which is, by his definition, a narrative that refuses to conform to the usual numbing standards of conduct. So if you are looking for a "story," per se, keep driving until you get to Monterey. And if you are looking for some of Henry Miller's famously invigorating foulness and fury, pick up Tropic of Cancer instead. If you are looking for peace, stop here.Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch is for any reader who is in the mood for a beguiling rumination on how a man once tried to bring peace into his life. The story, as such, is this: Henry Miller moves to Big Sur, one of the most beautiful places on the planet, and sets out to create a new home infused with energy, creativity, a sense of community, and an appreciation of nature, while at the same time he copes with intrusions and financial pressures and the charisma and creepiness of other people. That's it. If that sounds dull to you, steer clear. If it sounds seductive to you, plunge in. Because if these are issues that gnaw at your soul (and maybe they should, since our media-saturated culture is becoming more programmed and conformist every day), then you might find this book to be a page-turner as gripping as any of John Grisham's potboilers. I could not put it down. I read it strai

I must say that I am biased. Henry Miller is one of my favorite authors of all time. I have sought out the rare and out of print editions in libraries and bookstores throughout the US and Europe. I first found this book in a small used bookstore in Bisbee, AZ. I was on my way to Spain. The opening sentence in the book caught my attention because it opens with a similar intention. "In 19** I set out for Spain. I never made it there." I would make it to Spain, but only after a struggle that would challenge Prometheus himself. Certainly, this is one of Miller's finest efforts. He discusses life, art and writing and relates it all to the peace he found living in his small eutopic cabin in Big Sur, making use of the denizens as characters, reviving other specters from previous works, and detailing the fanatics who would camp at the doorstep of the 80-year-old author in search of the Cult of Sex and Anarchy. The most interesting, most poignant differe! nce between this and so many of Miller's works is his clarity of thought. The ramblings are present as only Miller can present them, but they exude a definite cognizence, a undeniable consciousness of a man who has lived life to the utmost, and now seeks only the solitude under which he might write his final notes on the strangest journey of all -- that of daily existence. There is something for the artist in this book, something for the writer and something for the philosopher. You will not go away disappointed, or even dazed. Miller strikes out at his usual targets: passion and the root of creativity, with undaunted focus and a genius of his own creation.