Chapter 36
Chapter 36 Shortly after Nin passed away, I found a vitriolic book called Henry Miller, Collosus of One. And while I knew it was mean, nasty and designed to slash hell out of Nin and Miller, it did contain some truths that deflated the myths that Nin had constructed with such genius. About the same time, her erotica, Little Birds, was published. I knew enough about her now that I could tell which stories were based on experiences in her life. Later, her own unexpurgated Diaries left me disappointed, and hurt. When, in one Diary, she told the story of pursuing, and then seducing her own father, I realized how confused and conflicted she was. I set her work aside and never picked it up again. I somehow accepted that she had a husband on one coast and a long-time lover on the other. I accepted that she had many lovers besides them. I accepted the fact that she was an artist and a free-thinking, free-acting woman. Then I started questioning how much was free-acting and how much was artifice. For all her beauty and the money at her disposal, Anais Nin was a very insecure person. There was a little girl in her crying out to be helped, to be saved. Seduction is an act of power. To seduce a man is to give him pleasure and leave him weak. Hopefully, to the seducer, the man will be under your control, wanting more, following you, worshipping you, pleading for more of what you have to offer. To seduce your father is to symbolically kill the person who helped give you life. I had the feeling that for as much as I believed in Nin, as much as I admired her, that I had been lied to. I had given a lot of hours of my life and emotion and thought to her. At the same time, I feel that my introduction to her was synchronicity, that she beckoned me into a new world that was large, wonderful, exotic and exciting. And she led me to Henry Miller (and many other artists I never would have known otherwise). I still have her letters and her inscribed books. Though I have mixed feelings about her life and lifestyle, I will always be grateful for her generosity to me at that time in my life. I will never be famous and sought out but if I were, I would like to think that I would take the time to write a note to a young, green, naïve fan who says the same silly things that every 22-year-old in every generation says. Fill in the blanks yourself: “I want to change the world. . . I want to write the great novel . . . I’m afraid I’ll be bald by the time I’m 30. . . I don’t think I’ll ever find true love. . . .” And I would write, like Anais did to me, something to the effect that every generation of older person writes to a younger one: “You can change the world . . .you have the potential to write the great novel. . . bald is beautiful . . . true love? Love yourself and true love will find you.” So, Anais, I know that thoughts precede written words and I am sure you know I’m writing about you. You know I love you, but like all relationships, I have questions and disagreements. You were a major influence. You gently brought me into the world of the feminine psyche, a feminine perspective and way of writing. I loved you immensely and put you on the pedestal of a goddess. Then I realized you built the pedestal and donned the goddess garb. Then I realized you were human. In the end, my disappointment is my creation and my responsibility, but my love and gratitude remain. (Commercial: If you haven't bought The Perfect Song yet, I do have PayPal. Go to the store and check it out. All profits from the book will be used to create a scholarship for future writers).
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