Word: nin
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...Nin transplanted many passages straight from the diary into books, yet they remain most striking in their original context. She often wrote on the spur of the moment--in the Paris metro, on an Acapulco beach--wherever she could prop a notebook, with an unusual felicity for sifting and sorting incidents barely finished. Most of us don't venture beyond the word "nothing" in summing up our day, but Anais reports her contacts and conversations with dauntless agility. Like Miller, she has discovered that unabashed observers fascinate people because they've learned to wade daringly into ideas and only skim...
...America frustrates Anais Nin as a writer, and her anxious struggle for understanding spills into the entire volume. Universities invite her to lecture, while publishers reject her as a sales risk and literary critics besiege her dreams disguised as leeches and tarantulas. In despair, she considers dropping out of the literary world altogether, yet her sense of identity as a writer persists unfazed and it finally sustains...
...would cut both an end from her existence--separating her from a "Kief, hashish, and opium pipe," a single staunch friend--and a beginning--because she filters her stories' "myth" and "poem" out of her diary's spreading tide. To Macmillan Co.'s rebuff of her novels as esoteric Nin counters: "An adolescent culture shows the adolescent incapacity to admire, to respect or to evaluate...
...friends often lurk unacknowledged in herself, so that an end to friendships ends external friction, while the sparks smolder inside her. When a printer named Gonzalo friendships ends external friction, while the sparks smolder inside her. When a printer named Gonzalo no longer intimidates her with his violence Nin sees it in herself. She resists the "physical and mental promiscuity" in Henry Miller while they are together in Paris, and later traces the same gleeful audacity in hereself back to childhood, when she solicited strangers on the street by inviting them...
...review of Tennessee Williams's play, The Rose Tatoo, Maxwell Geismar--a Marxist critic--deplores Williams's detachment from the mainstream of American literature. Convinced that literature should be a function of politics, any preoccupation with sheer emotion irks him. The "people," he contends, aren't infected. Nin perceives an undercurrent in American life that sucks in more than a peripheral minority--making neurotics less than special. Williams, she responds, has prophesied a cultural illness...