The Crossing - Andrew Miller

I'm grateful to my old English teacher for introducing me to Golding, Orwell, Greene, Vonnegut and countless others.

I'm not so grateful to my old English teacher for introducing me to Andrew Miller.

Seriously, the book is an easy read, but it is also excruciatingly boring. And very implausible: sure, there are plenty of people who find it hard to relate to others, but Maud seems to me to be a tad bit excessive (much like her parents - who, with a daughter in ICU following a dreadful head injury, just drop by her hospital before vanishing into thin air, presumably to go home and watch telly).

And what is the solo crossing of the Atlantic meant to represent? Is it Maud looking for her true self, or the author showing off his nautical skills and knowledge of sailing terms (and yes, reading about mast and sterns is that exciting for someone who has never sailed).

Had she sunk it would have added a bit of depth to the novel, but luckily she survives, lands, meets the token noble savages who help her and are not helped in return, and then leaves in the night on a mysterious train - leaving behind her a trail of magic. And utter boredom.

Tropic of Cancer – Henry Miller

 

What was the incredible pull that France had on American writers in the early 20^th century? I’ve watched Midnight in Paris and read Tropic of Cancer and didn’t quite understand it: the first seemed to paint a world so perfect it probably never existed, the latter a world so grim that I wonder why Miller didn’t try to swim his way back to the US.

The prose is obviously innovative for its time, but that doesn’t mean that it’s particularly pleasant to read. At least the sections set in Paris manage to show a glimpse of hope for the author’s life, his future, and possibly the future of mankind. But the pages about his experience as a teacher in Dijon are some of the driest – and possibly rather useless – pages I have read lately.