Henry Miller

In Walking Up and Down in China, Henry Miller Speaks of two separate lives—a life in America and a life in Paris. With his surrealist literary style, some might read him as extremely negative and hateful towards his own country, America. The way I look at it, Miller seems discouraged by his country, feeling like an outsider. He states, “I could not believe, being a man of the American continent, that there was a place on earth where a man could be himself. By force of circumstances I became a Chinaman—a Chinaman in my own country” (387). By the term “Chinaman” I see this as him calling himself an outsider. He speaks of the “hideousness of a life in which I had no part”—I interpret his hate towards this life as not about life in general, but more of a lifestyle. I think that things have happened to him in his past that have made him pessimistic towards so.

Within this reading, I see hostility towards the aesthetic of “perfection”. The way the avenues and streets are spoken of, I believe Miller is at one point describing New York City. The “smiles” of the population surrounding him are what piss him off the most. He states, “The living walked right over the dead, smiling all the while to advertise their beautiful white teeth. Its this cruel white smile that sticks in my memory. I see it in my sleep when I put out my hand to beg—the George C. Tilyou smile that floats above the spangled bandanas at Steeplechase. America smiling at poverty. It costs so little to smile—why not smile as you ride along in an open barouche? Smile, smile. Smile and the world is yours. Smile through the death rattle—it makes it easier for those you leave behind. Smile, damn you! The smile that never comes off!” (389). There is a sense of fakeness within America that Miller seems to be longing to separate himself from. The act of performing as if everything is fine and dandy, when in all reality there are troubles surrounding you.

Contrasting to his perception of Americans, Miller speaks of the faces he witnesses in France and appreciates and is impressed by the blemishes within because he believes that there is truth being shed. There is no sense of fraud attempting to be exhibited, just reality.  This theme of reality is constant throughout this piece. There is a question of what is real? Is it reality or is it all psychological interpretation? This is where I can see eye to eye with Miller. Dealing with reality can be so difficult at times that it is necessary to create our own realities whether it is actually real or not.  I feel like with Miller, it is hard to tell what is real at times because he is not sure himself what he is experiencing is real or not.  

Ford Madox Ford

The past year I have been confused. I have been so confused to the point where it has made me sick. I have been making myself; me, myself and I sick. I have been lost. There are so many things that I haven’t been able to understand, and because of that I have been sick. My sickness has been depression and anxiety. I am not a depressed person. I am a happy person. I love life and I love people. I appreciate the small things and enjoy seeing the good within the world. The past six months I fell in a black hole because the person I loved didn’t love me back and took me for granted, manipulated me, messed with my mind, made me think these things that were happening right in front of my eyes were simply psychological—this has never happened before. I was betrayed. I was blinded by the fact that I wanted the love between us to be real so badly that I denied the toxicity this person was injecting me with. I have been so angry with myself for being depressed and anxious because of it. My anxiety escalated to a point where I only felt safe in my own bed. I couldn’t even go into the subway or the grocery store, let alone school, without feeling like I couldn’t breathe and that I was taking my last few breathes before my deathbed. I didn’t understand how one person could make me feel so much. I was so angry with myself for being this way. I had no idea who I was anymore—what I liked, who I liked, what I wanted to do with my life, for I had been living through another’s life the past year.

            In the second chapter of Ford Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier, he describes the relationship and betrayal of a husband, wife and her lover. Ford writes in a way that is straightforward but also hidden. I interpret his literary style in this excerpt as a display of the psychological character of the husband. I can relate to this technique because I too was straightforward but hidden with myself emotionally. I see this as denial, therefore producing the unreliable narrator.

I cannot speak for The Good Soldier as a symbolic extension of Paris, however for myself, I see my personal situation as such. For the past six months I have been punishing myself for being the way I was—I felt stupid. Like “The Lost Generation” I came to Paris looking for answers, and in such a short amount of time being here, the past two months I have found some. This is how I view one representation of Paris—a place to go when one is stuck and looking for a way out. Bliss has found me again. I am a person who can feel. And isn’t that better than not being able to feel at all even if it is darkness? I have been so upset because sometimes I feel as if my kindness only backfires. Maybe it does at times, but that is just life. I know for a fact that kindness in the end is always appreciated and taken in, whether it goes the way that can be seen clearly or not. There is something special about the air and energy in Paris; it can open the eyes of those whose have been shut for a long time. When those eyes are opened, the inspiration and feeling that has been lost appears within and out of the soul effortlessly.

The Lost Generation

The "Lost Generation" is what Gertrude Stein Hemingway as Indicated to His generation. Being one of Post World War I, this generation is One That Was HAD Suffered and looking for an intellectual haven. These expatriates Decided to renounce US citizenship and Their Fled to Paris to ease Their confusion of the war. For a group of young artists DURING a time like this, Paris Was the ideal place to be. Pendant thesis times, it has-been written how Paris felt free with the sun always shining, the white buildings and the Seine River. These Were the times, as you know of May, "The Roaring Twenties". With the prohibition of alcohol going on in America, Paris Was full of freedom; freedom to drink, dance, have fun, etc. After a period of Suffering, thesis young artists found happiness and liveliness dans le city of love; There Was romance everywhere, warm food aromas swarming the streets, and artists Struggling to make a living by selling Their creations. 

I Believe That What Was MOST importantly for this "lost generation" Was That Was no one alone. Everyone was in Paris together Attempting to find Meaning in Life and Any kind of intellect whether it be cultural, philosophical, political, etc. This is why the outcome of amazing artists Was Produced DURING this era. It Was like it Was a social group and Gertrude Stein Was the head, the one everyone Went to for approval and advice. Because There Was so much art being white Produced in various kinds of ways- writing, music, painting, etc.- There Was an open possibility to achieve achievement inspiration from Reviews another's peers.

The Generation That I am Currently growing up in today has-beens Given several titles by many association. I think one of the Most Popular Might Be the generation of technology, due to the Advancements in the 2000's that grow more and more Every Day. ALTHOUGH this Might Be one of the assorted titles Labeled to my "generation" in the United States, I Consider Associating myself in a different kind of "generation". When I think about "The Lost Generation", I think a group of artists confused with life, Who Traveled to-have unknown year instead of beauty to try and find answers through intellect with --other artists in the Saami tract. With this, I have myself thinking of The New School. Like the Lost Generation, I see The New School as a Place That people, injustement than coming from one place, come from all over the world to find truth in the art They Want to Pursue. Some come Knowing Exactly what Art That Is Specific, others come in searching of it. I can not compare The New School and The Lost Generation with the Saami Meaning of "lost" Because it is not the Saami Suffering. HOWEVER, Each and Every individual at The New School is lost in Some way or another in Their Own Way. And by this, we gather in social chat of culture, philosophy, literature, politics, religion, etc., whether it is over joined in the courtyard, a class seminar, was critical of one's own art work in the studio, gold happy hour beer at a local bar down the street.        

            Not only do I Consider my generation as simply The New School, I Consider It as a generation of artists in New York Who-have absolutely no boundaries, as one can see, I live in a time Where I have to issue exist anymore Even if boundaries . Everywhere I turn in New York, I am Surrounded by young artists, like myself, try trying to find Meaning in What They want to Produce, and how to do it in a way That Is Unlike anyone else. And These Days, to me at least, it semble like the Crazier and more "explicit" one's work is, the better it is and the more fame and / or credit it / you Will receive gold. Like The Lost Generation, deep down I Know That it Gives comfort to all Of Those in the position Sami Because if you are Struggling with your work, There Is Truth That You arent Entirely alone. And with Those Who-have made it, it aussi Gives comfort That Provides hope and inspiration. Goal aussi comfort comes with competition and jealousy. I Would Say That my generation Might Be one of the MOST competitive ones, Especially at The New School. As great as it is To Be Surrounded by talented youth That You can share your thoughts and idea's with, in the end you find anyone That All The New School in New York and is truly looking out for is for Themselves and Their own success. As much as this is true, I assure You That Alongside of this, do you find your group of artist friends That arent in competition with you and supporting you do and do wish to share success. I'm not sure what i would name Even my generation, maybe "the generation of no boundaries" or "the daring generation"; maybe even "the generation of no fear," Because That Is what it seems to-have come to These Days. Youth, Especially in New York, Because I Can not speak for Any Other hand of the United States, has come to this point of being white Where free and living on the edge is a way of life; I've Said Earlier about current art, the Crazier the better. This aussi goes for how we treat our bodies, portray Ourselves in person and now since technology HAS boomed, through social media.