Wow, what a jerk this guy is. I mean seriously, what a narcissistic, misogynistic creep. I don't think a book like this could be considered a classic were it written today, because that sort of macho posturing isn't as popular as it once was.

The book begins rather interestingly, with Miller expressing a desire to just be honest and say what is and eschew artfulness. But for what I read of it, which was perhaps 50 increasingly tedious pages, it was basically a book of him badmouthing his friends and lovers while taking advantage of everyone he could find.

But then, I like artfulness, and have never cared for the books that trade craft for immediacy. And I don't like creeps. So it's not the book for me.