In New York, Miller was a Bohemian manqué, living the lifestyle but never embodying it because he never created Art.  (Yes, with the capital A.)  He continued this posing when he moved to Paris, where he lived until the early 1940s.  But here, he also got serious about writing, and turned out three great pieces of American literature, Black Spring, Tropic of Cancer, and Tropic of Capricorn.

It was also in Paris where he met Anais Nin, with whom he fell in love.  Hard.  As his biographer Robert Ferguson notes, Henry Miller had to make a choice in order to keep up with Nin.  He had to either accept psychoanalysis or astrology, in both of which her work—and thought—steeped.  Certain aspects of psychoanalysis—especially the more mystical, such as Jung’s theories—resonated with Miller, but in general he never subscribed to it.  (He preferred Algernon Blackwood, who thought encompassed psychoanalysis and much more.)  Astrology he did come to embrace—although slowly.

In the mid-1930s, he told Nin that astrology was “absurd.”  “I am not taking this stuff seriously—as prognostication!”  Around this time, she introduced him to Conrad Moricand, a French astrologer, who continued his education in the subject as well as Rosicrucianism, a mystical, Gnostic branch of Christianity.  This last took better, as he titled his crowning trilogy “The Rosy Crucifix” (made up of the novels Sexus, Nexus, and Plexus.)  But he did find some things to look about astrology, at least by the early 1940s.  One was that it seemed to confirm his life’s opinions.  The other, as he told Moricand, was that it was a language to use, one path toward life’s ultimate truth:

“For me it was just another language to learn, another keyboard to manipulate.  It’s only the poetic aspect of anything which really interests me.  In the ultimate there is only one language—the language of truth.  It matters little how we arrive at it.”

He seems to have approached Theosophy similarly, admitting in the 1940s that Madame Blavatsky had invented the gurus on which her wisdom relied, but not being bothered by it because the language—the poetry—of the synthetic religion appealed to him.

There are obvious touches of astrological symbolism in his writing of the period--Tropic of Cancer and Tropic of Capricorn, the names of which already proclaim their astrological alliance.  But there are also other mystical elements to his writing—indeed, as Thomas Nesbit argues, his books, although best known for their sexuality, were essentially religious tracts.

As Miller tells the story, for example, the writing of Tropic of Capricorn was itself almost a religious act, a form of that Fortean staple automatic writing.  Ferguson argues that while Miller was indeed a fast touch typist who could write as he conversed, he exaggerated the degree to which his work was done without revision.  Still, it is worth noting how Miller himself interpreted his work.  He remembered,

“I didn’t have to think up so much as a comma or a semicolon; it was all given, straight from the celestial recording room.  Weary, I would beg for a break, an intermission, time enough, let’s say, to go to the toilet or take a breath of fresh air on the balcony.  Nothing doing!  I had to take it in one fell swoop or risk the penalty: excommunication.” …………