The Diary of Anais Nin, Volume 3: 1939-1944
Anaïs Nin
Language: English
Pages: 257
ISBN: B009PCMJ6M
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Nin's years of struggle and final triumph as an author in America. "Transcending mere self-revelation... the diary examines human personality with a depth and understanding seldom surpassed since Proust...dream and fact are balanced and...in their joining lie the elements of masterpiece" (Washington Post). Edited and with a Preface by Gunther Stuhlmann; Index.
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I'm the Man: The Story of That Guy from Anthrax
Behind Palace Walls: In the service of a Saudi princess
The Ecstatic Quotidian: Phenomenological Sightings in Modern Art and Literature
Phrase can give me the pleasure of a perfect harmony. There is more narcissism here in America than in Europe, here where the SELF is banished from conscious talk and admission, perhaps just because of that. We led individual lives and were concerned with individual growth, admittedly so. Part of this growth was expansion of the self and relation to the unfamiliar. In the different quality of the pity I feel, in the different way events affect me now, in the new freedom from suffering, I.
Not Patchen's. I understood Artaud because he felt, and was artistically articulate. But there is another reason. Artaud's was a torment of the spirit, and Patchen's is a hell from which all spirit is absent. In his madness, Artaud never became a snarling animal. Artaud's concerns were with expression. With creation in the midst of his own nightmare. Patchen says only: "I need fifteen dollars for my gas bill." I explained the reduction of my income, the writing I was doing for the collector, and.
Independence, such as the work at the press, is a marvelous cure for anger and frustration. The insults of the publishers, the rejections, the ignorance, all are forgotten. I love the studio. I get up with eager curiosity. The press is a challenge. We make mistakes. Once, following directions, I oiled the rollers themselves and for days we could not print at all. The inking has to be done by hand, so while Gonzalo pedals, I stand ready with the ink and the rag. We decided to use line engravings.
Curving slightly under its weight, I hear the huge pulse, and hear the creaking. I know that in Winter of Artifice I wanted to strip the psychological drama from too heavy an upholstery which obscured the psychic drama. I have gone into strange regions, woman's cyclical malady, insomnia, frigidity, neurosis, madness, anxiety, delusion, the failure of man's theories of behavior, the meaning of our father-quest as applied to the analyst. I have depicted the malady of today's soul. I have entered.
Psychoanalytical Review." Harvey Breit praised it for its sensibility. Alemany said it was "profound, audacious." The publishers had said "not universal." No one would be interested in a novel taking place in Europe. Yet one woman after another identifies with Djuna and Lilith. Without advertising or reviews, the entire edition sold. Gonzalo will be able to earn his living, to be free. He is proud of himself. But he would not come to the Gotham Book Mart and receive the compliments due to him.