Tropic of Capricorn | Page 1 of 240

Author: Henry Miller | Submitted by: Maria Garcia | 13995 Views | Add a Review

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"A superb entertainment that brings in jeremiads, casual lyrics* and sudden reaches toward the spiritual core of life.. " THE NW YORK TIMES BOOK ffiWOV Mill Tropic of Ca HENR er iricorn

Tropic of Capricorn

OTHER BOOKS BY HENRY MILLFR I'uMislicd liv (Irove I'icss Black Spring Quiet Days in (licliy and The World of Sex The Rosy ('i ucifixion Sexus Plexus Nexus (Three Volumes) Tropic of Cancer Under the Roofs of Paris (Opus Pistorum)

HENRY MILLER Tropic of Capricorn T (wove Press New York

Copyright © 1961 by Grove Press, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher. Grove Press 841 Broadway New York, NY 10003 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Miller, Henry, 1891-1980 Tropic of Capricorn. I. Title. PS3525.I5454T8 1987 813'.52 86-33510 ISBN 0-8021-5182-5 Manufactured in the United States of America First Evergreen Edition 1965

Tropic of Capricorn

\_7 nee you have given up the ghost,, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos. From the beginning it was never anything but chaos: it was a fluid which enveloped me, which I breathed in through the gills. In the substrata, where the moon shone steady and opaque, it was smooth and fecundating; above it was a jangle and a discord. In everything I quickly saw the opposite, the contradiction, and between the real and the unreal the irony, the paradox. I was my own worst enemy. There was nothing I wished to do which I could just as well not do. Even as a child, when I lacked for nothing, I wanted to die: I wanted to surrender because I saw no sense in struggling. I felt that nothing would be proved, substantiated, added or subtracted by continuing an existence which I had not asked for. Everybody around me was a failure, or if not a failure, ridiculous. Especially the successful ones. The successful ones bored me to tears. I was sympathetic to a fault, but it was not sympathy that made me so. It was a purely negative quality, a weakness which blossomed at the mere sight of human misery. I never helped any one expecting that it would do any good; I helped because I was helpless to do otherwise. To want to change the condition of affairs seemed futile to me; nothing would be altered, I was convinced, except by a change of heart, and who could change the hearts of men? Now and then a friend was converted: it was something to make me puke. I had no more need of God than He had of me, and if there were one, I often said to myself, I would meet Him calmly and spit in His face. What was most annoying was that at first blush people

10 Tropic of Capricorn usually took me to be good, to be kind, generous, loyal, faithful. Perhaps I did possess these virtues but if so it was because I was indifferent: I could afford to be good,

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