This novel comes blurbed as an account of Miller's education and emergence as a writer, and that theme does indeed come to the fore in the last third of the book. His prose poems on what goes through a novelist's head as he writes are fascinating and the quality of the prose poems he uses to fill us in always magnificent. The first part of the book, though, is a bird of another feather. It actually has a plot, of sorts, and the plot centers around his kaleidoscopic relationship with his wife and her dippy girlfriend. I enjoyed his mastery of the language every bit as much as he tells this story, and there was frequent hilarity--always an underappreciated aspect of Miller's writing. I suspect that most readers might find this segment of the book a touch more engaging than the slightly abstruse final part, however brilliant the writing remains. ( )

Nexus es la tercera parte, tras Sexus y Plexus, esta novela recrea mediante flashbacks la infancia del genial escritor, y, desde el presente narrativo, su abandono contra viento y marea de toda otra ocupación que no sea la escritura, librándose para ello de cualquier atadura con las convenciones, las rutinas o los supuestos deberes. Atrapado en un empleo insatisfactorio que finalmente decide abandonar, su lucha denodada por conseguir publicar su obra se convierte en una obsesión, que las dificultades de todo tipo (económicas, afectivas, sexuales) van contrapunteando con notas a veces humorísticas.

El espacio que se concede a la reflexión sobre literatura, sobre el funcionamiento de la sociedad capitalista y sobre el componente espiritual del hombre acrecientan el interés de una novela intensa y de un ritmo arrebatador.

Dreams of dog collars. ( )

I can't remember ever reading a book of essays before that made me want to date the author. Ok, Jeanette Winterson maybe. But what Gilb has done here feels very rare. These essays are smart without ever becoming egotistical. They are full of love but never sentimental. They are deeply observant without ever becoming cynical. Gilb's essay about traveling in Mexico, "Blue Eyes, Brown Eyes," reminds me of Paul Theroux, but better, because Gilb highlights human frailty without ever becoming mean. "Vaya Con Dios: Rosendo Juarez" is just amazing--a mini lesson on systemic racism but told so disarmingly that its effect is all the more devastating. Then segue into a sympathetic look at the "sport" of cock fighting--details about the culture and the practice that I never would have otherwise known. Gilb has a lightness of touch that reminds me of Sherman Alexie but Gilb never descends into folksy self deprecation. I was very happy to spend time with this author and I'll look forward to reading his fiction. ( )

ES la cosa mas rara pero , desde que empece a leer literatura con sexo explicito (empezando con DH Lawrence a los catorce años) , siempre mi idolo fue Henry MIller .

--Siempre me gusto mas Miller que Anais -

ESto es mucho mas que su reputacion ; no es solo erotismo explicito , va mas alla de su fama . ( )