March 22^nd,

Went to sleep after starting Tropic of Cancer, Henry Miller’s banned book. The book has been on our shelf for years, but I never thought much of Henry Miller until we visited his Library in Big Sur a few years ago. Then, during my obsession with Richard Jefferies, I discovered that he also inspired Miller. Karl Shapiro's introduction to my edition (1961) is terrific. He talks about Miller and the idea of an ‘auto-biographical novel’, which today we might call creative non-fiction. I’m interested in the difference. He says about Miller, "that it is not art that he cares about; it is man, man's treatment of man in America and man's treatment of Nature. What we get from Miller is not a sense of superiority buy fury, even the futry of the prophet of doom." I wonder what Miller would be saying today.

Which makes me eager to finish the introduction I'm working on, for Back of Beyond. 

There’s something to the incessant details I’m finding in the first chapter which remind me of Karl Ove Knausgaard, the Norwegian novelist who’s writing that 6 volume memoir I’ve only read about (a NYT piece on him which goes on and on about his dilemma of not having a valid driver’s license yet needing to rent a car for a writing assignment.) Part of me wonders why, even though writers like Zadie Smith think this guy is the real thing, I should care about this level of life’s minutiae while another part wonders if I might be missing something. I might have to try some of it.

I’ll load the last boxes, fill up my coffee cup and head to Colorado. My plan is to drive to the southeast corner (Los Animas?) stopping along the way at Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park. I've never seen it even though it's so close. That'll be after Grand Junction for an adapter to hook my I-phone into my car’s speakers to listen to the audio book of David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest (which after 8 attempts to read the actual book, it may have the captive audience it requires.)

Terry is now on a plane east out of Jackson after a stressful cab ride with a man from Nigeria who was half-an-hour late after not being able to find her house. My, that town has changed.  

The air is cool this morning as I'm walking out the door. It feels thick and soft, different now than in June when I'm back to find it throbbing and buzzing with heat. 

Leaving Castle Valley

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