Henry and June
What a stinging, florid account of Anais Nin's harsh love and sexual awakening. The account in her journal of her year-long affair with Henry Miller is one of the most torturous, living pieces of great literature that I've ever read. She is Miller's counterpart, refined, sculpturesque, flowery and feminine; she lacks his cruelty, his harsh demeanor, but reveals him in such a new light that his writing is forever changed for me. The complement each-other as eternal literary giants, massive and inimitable. The scope of their combined writing is so broad, so all-encompassing, so destructive and gorgeous at once. This fraction of her journal is utterly matchless. Perfect. I am in love with a book.