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reading (Incest)
While on vacation I finished reading the next installment in Anais Nin's journal "Incest (1932-1934)" In this journal we see the departure of June from the scene, the continuation of Henry, and the addition of several new lovers. Seriously, her black book would make The Fonz feel inadequate.
True to the title, as a married woman of thirty (or almost thirty) with two affairs going already, she decides to sleep with her own father. Not once, but as an ongoing affair. Surprise, surprise, this doesn't release her from her early childhood demons or lesson her feelings of guilt. She quickly becomes bored of the affair, like the others, and seeks out another psychiatrist to seduce.
I have to admit I've lost most of my interest in the ongoing journal at this point. It's like watching a train wreck in a slow motion loop. Anais keeps falling back to basic thinking patterns that set her relationships up for failure since she was sixteen. She's enamored with experience, but where she used to justify it as material for her writing now justifies the damage it does by a sense of entitlement. I want to, therefore it's right. But she doesn't get fulfillment or happiness out of it. In a lot of ways she's starting to resemble a hardcore heroin junky.
The later (unexpurgated) journals have lost a lot of the charm of the earlier ones because they lack the flow of everyday life. They come out disjointed and uneven. Maybe if they were integrated back in with the edited versions of the journal Anais might not appear so blind, vain, and downright mean.
18. Anais Nin "Incest"
True to the title, as a married woman of thirty (or almost thirty) with two affairs going already, she decides to sleep with her own father. Not once, but as an ongoing affair. Surprise, surprise, this doesn't release her from her early childhood demons or lesson her feelings of guilt. She quickly becomes bored of the affair, like the others, and seeks out another psychiatrist to seduce.
I have to admit I've lost most of my interest in the ongoing journal at this point. It's like watching a train wreck in a slow motion loop. Anais keeps falling back to basic thinking patterns that set her relationships up for failure since she was sixteen. She's enamored with experience, but where she used to justify it as material for her writing now justifies the damage it does by a sense of entitlement. I want to, therefore it's right. But she doesn't get fulfillment or happiness out of it. In a lot of ways she's starting to resemble a hardcore heroin junky.
The later (unexpurgated) journals have lost a lot of the charm of the earlier ones because they lack the flow of everyday life. They come out disjointed and uneven. Maybe if they were integrated back in with the edited versions of the journal Anais might not appear so blind, vain, and downright mean.
18. Anais Nin "Incest"