Shows Miller's usual generosity of spirit and his willingness to open doors for his worthy colleagues. This is also another interesting juxtaposition of Miller's and Bukowski's life, starting from the time when they were both printed in "Portfolio," during the 1940s, yet remaining on their own track of individual literary development. It's virtually impossible to make it on your own, no matter how talented you may be, or how much of a loner; it takes help and some continuing involvement with the human race, even if the worth of humanity as a whole can be argued against. I'm glad these two giants were on the planet when I came into my existence; hard to imagine life without them.
These men were so far ahead of their time, it's unbelievable. I have no problem mentioning Henry Miller in the same breath with Charles Bukowski. I consider them both brothers under the skin, and between the two of them they were like polarities to each other"”Miller was the irrepressible optimist, no matter how shitty life got, willing to eat from garbage cans in Paris in order to survive and write; and Bukowski had a more pessimistic view of humanity, but nevertheless mellowed with age and talked of the "light somewhere." Light represents something positive, perhaps even something reverent or wholly, and there are passages within the works of both men that say basically the same thing: that life is worth living, and that it's up to you to live it. And it can be done if you continue to look for a way out, which usually means finding a way in. Anyway, happy reading.