I must wonder, have I misjudged Anais Nin's
writings? I imagined her books and stories to carry on the overly romantic, idealizing style of her journals, but it doesn't seem so as I page through one of her book, "House of Incest". A strange title that gives you a whole world of wicked ideas (even more wicked now after the Fritzl case...), but it isn't so. Her writing is far stronger and collected, more unanimous and "imposing" than her journal. Her journal... her diary is such a soft collection of human flaws! Beautiful, yes, but HUMAN, human above all, with things that make you want to slap her in the face and tell her "oh grow up already!". Filled with insecurities and dark spots of which people usually keep silence. Well, it's a journal, and she takes the bravery of putting down things, admiting them to herself and then to the rest of the world. Would anyone ever dare to such things?
Judging by her journal, I imagined her novels and stories be just as candid, as soft and "boneless" as her entries. Soft and delicate, yearning to prove herself strong when she is soft and fragile, and aware of her nature, her image, she strugle yet to project a different image, an antagonic image without breaking the one she is and she has grown into. The eternal strugle between the human and its many masks. Who is Anais Nin? Which one? Is she any of these? Has she grown up from the girl that loved and feared her father? Has she evolved from her eternal, romaticized, bonding Electra complex? In the pages of her journal, she remains this XX century Electra, soft and caring, loving her father from far, scared of him, resenting him, ahdn yet yearning his aproval as she learned from her mother and her environment. But her books... in her novel she doesn't question "Who is Anais", but Anais is the axiom that defines the universe. Alpha and Omega, and she makes her mind and her vision into a ubiquitous rule inside vibrating pages of strenght and color, sophisticated words that wove themselves into the threads of forward, passionate energy. Beautiful, lifting. She don't question, she creates and defines and the world becomes a space thickly filled with her. You breath her, drink her, live her and eat her, and there's nothing but her, so hard, so strong so there, it is impossible not to see her big and dominating, managing that perfect balance between far and sophisticated with ubiquitous and self assured.
If June would have met this Anais, the story would be different. Oh Anais, why couldn't you be more yourself?
writings? I imagined her books and stories to carry on the overly romantic, idealizing style of her journals, but it doesn't seem so as I page through one of her book, "House of Incest". A strange title that gives you a whole world of wicked ideas (even more wicked now after the Fritzl case...), but it isn't so. Her writing is far stronger and collected, more unanimous and "imposing" than her journal. Her journal... her diary is such a soft collection of human flaws! Beautiful, yes, but HUMAN, human above all, with things that make you want to slap her in the face and tell her "oh grow up already!". Filled with insecurities and dark spots of which people usually keep silence. Well, it's a journal, and she takes the bravery of putting down things, admiting them to herself and then to the rest of the world. Would anyone ever dare to such things?Judging by her journal, I imagined her novels and stories be just as candid, as soft and "boneless" as her entries. Soft and delicate, yearning to prove herself strong when she is soft and fragile, and aware of her nature, her image, she strugle yet to project a different image, an antagonic image without breaking the one she is and she has grown into. The eternal strugle between the human and its many masks. Who is Anais Nin? Which one? Is she any of these? Has she grown up from the girl that loved and feared her father? Has she evolved from her eternal, romaticized, bonding Electra complex? In the pages of her journal, she remains this XX century Electra, soft and caring, loving her father from far, scared of him, resenting him, ahdn yet yearning his aproval as she learned from her mother and her environment. But her books... in her novel she doesn't question "Who is Anais", but Anais is the axiom that defines the universe. Alpha and Omega, and she makes her mind and her vision into a ubiquitous rule inside vibrating pages of strenght and color, sophisticated words that wove themselves into the threads of forward, passionate energy. Beautiful, lifting. She don't question, she creates and defines and the world becomes a space thickly filled with her. You breath her, drink her, live her and eat her, and there's nothing but her, so hard, so strong so there, it is impossible not to see her big and dominating, managing that perfect balance between far and sophisticated with ubiquitous and self assured.
If June would have met this Anais, the story would be different. Oh Anais, why couldn't you be more yourself?
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