I found a used copy of this book in a local store. One of the very few Miller's books I did not own, I was eager to read it. It is not often, actually almost unprecedented, that I give up on a book after a few chapters. In case of Miller, this is the first for me. I have been an avid Henry Miller reader for the past fifteen plus years and read anything by him I could lay my hands on. Most of his books even five or six times and I consider Miller to be the main reason why I started writing myself. However, after a few chapters, I could not connect with the story, I could not "live" with the narrator and his voice. It is Miller's writing, and therefore there are gems within the text, but unlike his other works, the narration here appears artificial, almost pushed out with a great effort. I miss the fluidity with which Miller wrote, I miss the rambling, I miss the metaphors. Unfortunately, at this time, I will not continue reading this work. Perhaps, in the future, a time may come when I will try again, but there are many, many more Miller's books I'd rather re-read. It almost hurts me to say I didn't like a book by Miller, especially since his writing has provided me with many sleepless nights when, thinking of his words, I was unable to shut an eye. 99% of his other works are a true inspiration to me and I have the utmost respect for this writer. This one, for me, has missed the mark.