Be Brave - Tropic of Cancer
(Tr. Spa-Eng. from a review by Wangara)
Paris in the mid-nineteenth century. It's noon. The Sun is centred,
magnanimous, in the clear sky; the breeze lulls the treetops and the
flirty movement of the Seine River waters projects the translucent
reflection, ghostly, of the bright star. The sight that is seen on the
edges of the river contrasts spectacularly with the beauty of the
landscape: a homeless man with torn clothing, dirt in the face and shit
in his hands (the stench covers a wide circumference), is dying of
syphilis. Dying in front of everyone. His face purple, with bulging
bloodshot eyes, cries out for his martyrdom to end soon. He groans,
bawls, screams, howls in pain. But his eyes never left, not even for a
second, the majestic evening that hovered over him. The contrast between
beauty and putrefaction. Henry Miller invites the reader on a fantastic
journey, where, with exquisite mastery, he succeeds in demonstrating
that a leprous world falling to pieces is an essential complement to
that other world sublime, beautiful and pure.
A journey where the reader gets disgusted up to vomiting and two lines
later he cries moved. Crude and sordid naturism combined with subtle
romance, full of tenderness. Written with passion and unbridled rage, Tropic of Cancer
is a description of this American author's stay in Paris. There,
living as a vagrant, he found out why the Seine River town appeals to
the tortured, the deluded, the great love maniacs. And describes it for
us with an eloquence that few writers possess. He tells us why in Paris
we can embrace the most fantastic theories without them seeming strange.
A city where everything takes on a new meaning and limits vanish.
No
author had ever explored so masterfully the limits between the foul and
the delicacy. Henry Miller shows that the charm of all perfection lies
in the stench it radiates. A majestic work told by a person who even
slept with hungry dogs under a beautiful bridge near the Seine green
banks.

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