Heavy Earth

“The earth is heavy and opaque without dreams”
– Anaïs Nin 

I loved, and eventually in disappointment, parted company with Anais Nin, having first been exposed to her diaries in my early twenties. From admiration to betrayal and finally a sort of acceptance. Deirdre Bair’s biography was central to my demythologizing Nin, who now occupies a sort of half-remembered, Pessoa-esque place in my own dreams, a gently erotic and elusive voice challenging my own preconceptions and inclination to ossified points of view. The author of the piece below put it more succinctly than I:

“Never before have I been so obsessed, so emotionally tangled with a writer and their work as with Anais Nin and her journals. From reading her erotica and short stories (Little Birds, Winter of Artifice, Under a Glass Bell, Spy in the House of Love), to her journals, my emotional response to her has swung from adoration, gratitude and pity and then finally to hatred and revulsion.”

– Nancy, In a K hole (her intriguing blog statement: Celebrations, lamentations and bewilderment: musings on a mad world.)


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