Incest: from "A Journal of Love": The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin [Paperback]

Continuing the journey of intense emotions, conflicts, self-discovery, and fearless questioning scorched onto the pages of "Henry and June", "Incest" smoulders with the passion Nin so eloquently expresses. Chronicling the years from 1932 to 1934, and detailing her relationships with Henry Miller, Hugh Guiler, Antonin Artaud, with her analysts Rene Allendy and Otto Rank, and - most electrifying - the reunion with her father, this volume sizzles with emotional tension. June Miller - the woman, the caricature, the mysterious enigma - still imposes a vivid presence in this drama of turbulent love - a presence in no way diminished by actual proximity to the main events. But, although Nin is exceedingly generous in her portraits of these characters, she towers above them all - intellectually, artistically, emotionally, and by the sheer expansive spectrum of her mind, and because of her intensely intimate and brave connection to experiences. The truly exceptional always defy narrow definitions, and will always struggle - even with extreme compromise - to find anyone who might be a suitable and inspiring match: Dali and Dylan suffered at the hands of those who previously praised them as geniuses, purely because they would not be confined by the conservative conformity that the lesser beings of radical, alternative, and superficially bohemian counter-culture movements generally default to; and - despite Nin being prepared to indulge her lovers, and receive from several that which she could not get from just one - even collectively, ultimately they all disappoint. Hell has no fury like an inadequate scorned, and sometimes Nin suffers from the vicious scorpion stings and malefic manipulation of her lovers, often pre-emptively: Rank attempts to brainwash her with his self-proclaimed intellectual superiority, Allendy - consumed with jealousy and sexual inadequacy - tries to impose his narrow and defective wisdom, and the impotent Artaud has transparent motive for accusing Nin of terrible cruelty. Miller is much more empathetic, at least in dialogue and action, but, he too, not without distinct flaws. But the journal is not about the tragedy of love, nor the romanticization of love, and Nin bravely, and relentlessly, commits to life and to love with honesty, and anyone who does so will feel the extremes of emotion, and experience the eviscerating contradictions and conflicts - and she gives voice to this in compelling and beautiful manner. The boundaries are pushed beyond the sensibilities of some - the mutual seduction that takes place between Nin and her father, or, indeed, simply being intensely in love with more than one person - but in all cases she is simply daring to question what all but the most unimaginative, self-deluded, and easily satisfied wonder about, or act on; the majestic triumph is how powerfully, and how sublimely she uses words with the same intense love she experiences and invokes it in others, and with genuine mastery of her art - something that Miller never quite managed. No coincidence that Miller inspired the similarly hit-and-miss Beat crowd, more content to pose in predictable and contrived caricature than create, and that Nin continues to speak strongly to those with greater artistic integrity. No coincidence that her detractors always seem framed in jealousy and fear, and subject to a zealousness which is always indicative of lack of faith in their own way of living, and symptomatic of dissatisfaction with the same.

Nin's is an exceptional mind, and a beautiful mind - it is always a rare treat to be granted access to such. If one is excited to leave the comfort zone of the mundane, this is an exquisitely provocative book - not due to subject matter, but because of the refreshing nature of a mind confident enough to stand naked without servitude to established `wisdom' and tradition, and a psyche able to withstand asking any question, no matter the consequence; it is the product of a mind emancipated from many of the restrictions the prosaic cling so fiercely to; and it is a tremendously liberating read. More than this, it is a book of great beauty.

Anais turns and twists caught within the bonds of inner emotion with a variety of avant garde shapers of the mid 20th century. She is the bridge between psychoanalysis and the avant garde.

She sets herself out like a market stall of emotions, someone embraced within passion but she comes over as needy, needing to consumate with others to retain a sense of her wholeness. Wrapped around several lovers in some avant garde wrestling match she flits from each describing their strengths and weaknesses in a no hold barred description of daily emotional struggle. Hugh the husband meanwhile supports her in this bout of frenzy.

Meanwhile a few hundred miles away Hitler was being asked to take over the Chancellorship and Natioal Socialist violence was enacted on a daily basis. Nin is sealed off from real life as she is locked within her aquarium of sexual desire, trysts and flits, as a butterly flits to feed from each tender flower that blooms in her undersea world. It is a revealing picture of a woman who has no centre. She later matured into someone with profound insight in her lecture book. Here however she just appears tortured by emotions.

It leads up to the relationship with her father, the man who betrayed her in her childhod and she seeks to revenge this betrayal through breaking his heart. Undertaken after she has had therapy and seduced or been seduced by her therapists. This sums up the book as no one appears to have any personal boundaries. It is a group or people who have no sense of a beginning and end all interlocked. This appears as no Oceanic flux a melting or union of souls but people lost lonely dislocated seeking some form of comfort in a solipistic world locked within the need to taste each other.

She provides a fascinating insight into a form of psycho-pathology, a lost world of wandering souls all tortured by each other as they seek release from their desire. It also a book based on deceit throughout, all playing a role of lover and upending the person they are connected to, a profound form of decadence.

The writing style is oceanic as Anais lays herself bare for all to consume. Less titilation and more poetic prose. The description of emotions over rides any sense of action as she explores her conflicts. It marks a time and place but to have been involved with her was tantamount to touching a Greek siren before she pulls you under the sea to your doom. Anais lured men with her beauty but underneath she constantly sought revenge whilst she projected liberation. She had a profound sense of will to power as she marked each emotional breakage in her diary as she rose tot the surface of her dream.