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    A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 15
    A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 15
    A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 15
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    A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 15

    By Anais Nin

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    This is the final issue of a 15 volume series, and it contains excerpts from Anais Nin's unpublished diary; previously unknown correspondence by Rupert Pole; essays on Nin, Henry Miller, Lawrence Durrell, Gonzalo More, Helba Huara, and Paco Miralles by scholars from around the world; interviews with John Teunissen, Nobuko Albery and Beatrice Commenge; memoirs, including one on Nin by Tristine Rainer; poetry, short fiction, rare photographs and artwork. Included are book reviews and an index to all contributions to A Café in Space during its 15 year span and notes on this year's contributors.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSky Blue Press LLC
    Release dateFeb 16, 2018
    ISBN9781311503848
    A Cafe in Space: The Anais Nin Literary Journal, Volume 15
    Author

    Anais Nin

    Anaïs Nin (1903-1977) was a French-born American novelist and diarist. After publishing over a dozen books, she gained notoriety with the publication of The Diary of Anaïs Nin. There are thirteen published volumes based on her diary. The film Henry and June was also based on this diary.

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      A Cafe in Space - Anais Nin

      Acknowledgments

      The Editor would like to thank the following for their assistance in the realization of this issue:

      The Anaïs Nin Trust for permissions to use quotations from Anaïs Nin and for photographic material.

      Sara Herron, without whom none of this would be possible.

      Texts by Anaïs Nin are copyright © The Anaïs Nin Trust.

      All articles, reviews, and other writings are copyright © by their respective authors or estates.

      Cover photo: Anaïs Nin, 1920s. Courtesy of The Anaïs Nin Trust.

      Other Photos:

      Gonzalo Moré and Helba Huara: PhotArchives André Kertész, Donation Kertész © Media Library of Architecture and Heritage, dist. NMR-GP.

      Drawing by Gonzalo Moré: Anaïs Nin Papers (Collection 2066). Library Special Collections, Charles E. Young Research Library, UCLA.

      Eloise Bethell: Louis Liotta/New York Post Archives © NYP Holdings, Inc. via Getty Images.

      Helba Huara: Galería Artistíca Mexicana. Collection of Eduardo Pineda.

      Paco Miralles in St. Petersburg, ca. 1900: Family Archive of Eduardo Ranch Fuster.

      Paco Miralles as Premier Danseur Classique-Franco-Espagnol. Paris, ca. 1912: Paul Darby & Wyss. Personal archive of Rosario Rodríguez Lloréns.

      Paco Miralles, ca.1928: Family archive of María Lourdes Rocher Tallada.

      Fernanda Ferrer with Paco Miralles: L’Art Vivant. No. 47. p. 899. Personal Archive of the author.

      Miralles’s death notice, 1932: Family archive of Eduardo Ranch Fuster.

      Rupert Pole: Courtesy of the Anaïs Nin Trust.

      All rights are reserved.

      Editor’s Note

      Last year, 2017, saw several new Anaïs Nin or Nin-related publications, the most significant of which may be the fifth in the series of unexpurgated Nin diaries, Trapeze, which covers the years 1947 to 1955, the beginning of Nin’s double life with a husband on the East Coast and a lover in the West. Not only does this diary reveal the nature of the relationships Nin had with each of the two men, but also the great struggles and leaps of faith necessary to maintain a secret bicoastal life. Anita Jarczok’s book-length study of Nin’s life and career, Writing an Icon: Celebrity Culture and the Invention of Anaïs Nin was released in 2017 by Swallow Press, and is reviewed in this issue. Tristine Rainer’s Novoir (a hybrid of memoir and fiction) Apprenticed to Venus: My Secret Life with Anaïs Nin, was published by Arcade Publishing last year and is excerpted here. Britt Arenander’s Anaïs Nin’s Lost World: Paris in Words and Pictures, 1924-1939, was published as a print book in English for the first time by Sky Blue Press. It should also be noted that Anaïs: A Dance Opera, scored by Cindy Shapiro, had an amazing run in Avignon, France last summer.

      Looking ahead, one of our contributors, artist Colette Standish, opens Anaïs Through the Looking Glass and Other Stories, a mixed-media art exhibition inspired by Nin, on March 9, 2018 at the Center for Sex and Culture in San Francisco; the show will run until May 9. A sample of the artwork appears in this volume of A Café in Space.

      This issue contains an abundance of valuable work from writers around the world, not to mention never-before-published dreams from Anaïs Nin’s diaries and some of Rupert Pole’s letters to Nin at the dawn of their relationship, revealing a verbose and poetic style absent of most of his later correspondence. Besides Nin, the other two members of the self-titled Three Musketeers are well represented here—a study of Henry Miller’s fascination with and inspiration by famed surrealist director Luis Buñuel, whose film L’Age d’or was a catalyst for Miller’s Tropic of Cancer; and a study of Lawrence Durrell’s chef d’œuvre, The Alexandria Quartet. Michael Haag’s book, The Durrells of Corfu, is reviewed here by Bruce Redwine, and The Art and Life of Jean Varda, is reviewed by Benjamin Franklin V.

      Fascinating essays by Eduardo Pineda help demystify Nin’s fiery Peruvian lover Gonzalo Moré and his wife Helba Huara, providing previously unclear facts (such as Moré’s death date, incorrectly stated in the unexpurgated diaries as 1966), as well the couple’s post-Nin lives and relationships. One of Nin’s Spanish dance teachers, about whom she wrote at length in her diaries, Paco Miralles, is also present with several rare photographs in Rosario Rodríguez Lloréns’ essay; and the last living persona in Nin’s novel Collages, Nobuko Albery, is interviewed by Toyoko Yamamoto.

      Steven Reigns helps present the other side of the story of Evelyn Hinz, Nin’s official biographer—who not only did not publish a word of the biography, but was also legally removed from The Anaïs Nin Trust several years ago—by interviewing her husband and collaborator John Teunissen about the astounding fate of Hinz’s biographical research.

      There are memories of those who encountered Anaïs Nin near the end of her life; studies of her writing; accounts of how Nin inspired not only writing, but living itself; excerpts from books by some of Nin’s friends and devotees; as well as short fiction and poetry in this issue of A Café in Space.

      While Volume 15 marks the end of the annual publication of this journal, there will be an anthology of selections from every issue that will be published in 2019.

      And there are other forthcoming projects—the final two unexpurgated Nin diaries, a collection of correspondence between Nin and her father from the 1930s, as well as others not yet conceived. There will be no slowing down at Sky Blue Press, only a shift away from an annual literary journal towards other Nin projects begging to be done.

      This journal has helped keep Nin’s work and influence alive for fifteen years. It is the result of a progression that began with Richard Centing’s and Benjamin Franklin V’s Under the Sign of Pisces in 1970 and continued by Gunther Stuhlmann’s ANAIS: An International Journal from 1983 to 2001. To say I’m proud of what we’ve done with A Café in Space would be an understatement.

      I have plenty of people to thank. First of all, the contributors—there would be no journal without them; Roger Jackson, whose encouragement to create this publication is greatly appreciated; the support of the late Barbara Stuhlmann, wife of Gunther, shall never be forgotten; Denise Brown, whose early encouragement and support of Volume 1 was invaluable; Benjamin Franklin V, in my view the pre-eminent Nin scholar, has not only supported my efforts by contributing to Café and several other projects, but also has reminded me of how important this work is; The Anaïs Nin Trust, who made this venture possible by granting permission to use Nin texts and images; and my wife and partner in crime, Sara, for all of her contributions to the appearance and quality of this journal.

      I’ve been asked what will fill the void left by the cessation of A Café in Space—and the answer will come from someone else, someone who recognizes the value of a Nin periodical, in whatever form it may be, and who has the love necessary to make it a reality.

      Copyright Information

      A Café in Space: the Anaïs Nin Literary Journal has been published annually by Sky Blue Press and is edited by Paul Herron.

      Our website, found at www.skybluepress.com, allows users to browse the contents of past issues of this publication. Our blog (http://anaisninblog.skybluepress.com) is a place where readers can keep up to date on events and publications concerning Anaïs Nin, and you can follow us on Twitter (@anaisninblog). It is our sincere hope that with the journal, blog and website we will be able to form a café in which Nin scholars, readers, and those with parallel interests will gather. Nin study is hampered by a lack of communication between those of us who engage in it, and this is a way to address the problem. We encourage you to spread the word so that we can build a strong, interconnected community of Nin scholarship and readership.

      Submissions or proposals are no longer being taken for A Café in Space. Send other inquiries to skybluepress@skybluepress.com.

      Copyright © 2018 by Sky Blue Press. All rights reserved. Copyrights for original material remain with their authors or their estates. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, translated, or transmitted in any form, by any means whatsoever, without prior written permission from Sky Blue Press.

      Anaïs Nin

      Dreams

      From the unpublished diary, 1955-1966

      While Anaïs Nin’s diary-writing became less regular, and in some cases non-existent, from 1955 to 1966, she continued to document her dreams, sometimes hastily scribbled on scraps of paper, other times written out in detail with interpretations.

      The following excerpts are taken from what will be the next unexpurgated diary, tentatively called The Diary of Others, and they give us a glimpse of Nin’s state of being during a very critical time in her personal and professional life. In 1955, as noted in the most recent diary, Trapeze, Nin bigamously married her California lover Rupert Pole, unbeknownst to her New York husband, Hugh (Hugo) Guiler, so she was leading a nearly impossible, complicated and draining—both physically and psychologically—lifestyle, flying across the country to spend time with one man while offering the other elaborate excuses for her travels.

      This period was also one of extreme flux in Nin’s writing career; after many missteps, she finally signed with a dedicated literary agent, Gunther Stuhlmann, who would painstakingly direct her towards fame in 1966 upon the publication of the first volume of The Diary of Anaïs Nin. The road, however, was full of wrong turns, dead ends, and numerous obstacles that often left Nin feeling hopeless and fearful that she would never escape critical misunderstanding and obscurity, which she had endured in America for more than two decades. Ironically, one of her greatest fears was with the Diary itself—the fear of hurting those whose portraits were included in it.

      The aforementioned turbulence and uncertainty of Nin’s life and career certainly fed her dreams, as did reverberations of Nin’s former relationships, particularly those with her parents and former lovers. Nin’s recordings of her dreams, with occasional analysis both by her and her psychologist, Dr. Inge Bogner, give us a glimpse of inner reactions to outer circumstances.—Ed.

      New York, April 1955

      Revolution dream: There are men, many men, in a place like Mexico. They have just finished a revolution and are surreptitiously returning to work. The leader does not want me to hear of the details, but I say with exaggerated detachment: Oh, don’t be concerned over me. I understand revolutions require violence and terrible acts, but the end justifies the means.

      After the revolution dream, Bogner led the talk to the three things I failed to do: to make money, to drive a car with pleasure, to operate a camera. The three were symbols of Hugo’s prerogatives, leadership, excellence. I was afraid to take over his masculine expressions. He was in the driver’s seat. All the more reason, if he did not do it well, for me not to take over and humiliate him. As soon as this was clear (which means actually to separate the impure from the pure), Bogner said, "When you took a job to help your mother, it was seemingly a pure motivation, but you felt guilt not because you stepped in to help in a crisis, but because originally you had wanted to take your mother’s place in your father’s affection, because originally (original sin!) you were angry with her for driving away your father, angry with her for bringing you to America when you were happy in Spain, etc. So these hidden angers, covered as they are by good reasons for taking a job, because in the dream you’re moving into your mother’s place when she drove badly."

      This may even explain why I repudiated music (my father’s prerogative), why I never entered politics (Gonzalo’s[1] prerogative). But writing? I did not fear to write when Henry did… Anyhow—the impure and the pure mix. The conscience is aware of the evil thought—and is uneasy.

      New York, April 12, 1955

      After the revolution dream came the dream last night where Hugo and I are drafted to fight a war. My job is dangerous. I have to push some earth into a pit and I’m in danger of sliding down into the pit with the moving earth.

      And before that: the lake which cures everything. Hugo and I are swimming in it. Other people take boats. Boats are like Carnival floats. They ride over us and endanger our lives. Hugo never notices them. I feel I have to watch out for both of us. I get angry at the boats and bang on them.

      Another dream: Confusion between my brother Joaquín and Rupert. Rupert is driving my car (the car Hugo gave me). He is attempting to scale a steep and rugged hill. I protest. But Rupert (full of determination as he is on such occasions) tries anyway. Of course we fall off. I hear by the sound that the car is utterly smashed. I am aware that Rupert smashed it because it was Hugo’s car.

      New York, September 8, 1955

      Dream of walking up a façade of a house, looking into an apartment. A mother and a boy of seven or eight years scream. Everybody is alarmed. I go down and explain: I am a trapezist practicing. Two handsome women are listening to me. I explain: I must first get my handbag, which I left hanging between floors. I climb up; it is difficult. I climb on to a porch (similar to our apartment on 215 W. 13th) and finally reach for my handbag, which is resting on a rotten box full of earth (the flower boxes on our porch have rotted away). On the porch there are half-emptied bottles of champagne. I think it is a party such as only Hollywood can give—extravagant and wasteful. Now I am in bed with a boy—seven years old—he has an erection. I am amazed. He holds me and we lie quietly with his sex between my legs.

      New York, September 15, 1955

      And last night the inevitable dream: Rupert and I are in his car driving to Mexico. He is taking me to see my family. On the way he notices a beautiful girl. He tells me: While you’re visiting your family I will go and find the girl. And I cry out: But why do you tell me this?

      Bogner suspected my extremes of violent compassion for Hugo when I am far away, and violent irritation with him as soon as I am near.

      Today we focused on irrationality—my fear of it (Lloyd, Reginald, Gonzalo, Helba, etc.)[2], my effort to dominate, to control it (by creation, psychoanalysis).

      Dream: A married couple. But the husband always has another woman living with them as part of the household (like the life of Shelley). I realize the wife is tortured, so I force her to listen to me. She is hostile, suspicious. I say: You must be objective and understand this and then it won’t hurt you. It isn’t that he does not love you, circuitously (like Paul Mathieson with Renate Druks), and you are too direct. So he gets shocks from you, and the other woman is there merely as a shock absorber, as a kind of deviation to deflect your storm. I am very eloquent and very forceful, and finally pacify her.

      A Science Fiction Dream: Twelve people who do not believe in astrology. They are invited to take a tour of the planets in a special rocket. At first their characteristics are feeble. As they approach each planet, the planet’s characteristic traits grow stronger, even violent.

      New York, November 1955

      Dream: Hugo looks grey. I say: I cannot tell him the truth that I want to leave him because I identify with the deserted.

      I say to Dr. Bogner: I still feel the same way. Hugo and I have reached tenderness and understanding, but no physical contact. I cannot live this way. It makes me destructive. I do not give Hugo my best self. I feel we have a dead relationship. I know I can’t ask you: is Hugo ready? Lately I have interpreted his not sleeping well and his destructiveness as being caused by not having a basically alive, lusty, physical relationship.

      "This is your interpretation," Bogner said.

      She has spent all these last hours trying to find a flow, a break, a pretense, a weakness in my decision. But I have felt no ambivalence. I only hesitate in order to not damage Hugo. I want to time it right. I am losing patience because Hugo, with twice as much analysis as I, is so far from lucidity. He lives in a fog. He sends me to the bank to cash a check and there are no funds in his account. I waste an hour. When he re-balances his checkbook he finds his error. At a cocktail he burns a cigarette hole in my best dress. He shows Len Lye’s films at film group, returns home to get one of Len’s films he owns. The can contains only blank leader and is marked in his own hand as Len’s film.

      I gave him a planetarium to throw little constellations on his ceiling. When you awake at night you will think you are out of doors, watching the stars—to open his room to the infinite. He was very touched. I spent three weeks fixing the house. It is clean, refreshed, repaired. Finished redoing a whole wall of black engravings—reframed…

      But I bought my ticket for the 30th and I am glad to escape.

      Thanksgiving Day, 1955

      Dream: Friends of Hugo’s, a noisy group of young show people and a very vulgar red haired girl, drop in on us at 7 AM. I am sleepy, not dressed, and feel at my worst. I am not very pleased. Hugo offers to make breakfast for them. In protest, I get dressed and leave them. As I step out I step into another period, 1800, I imagine—horse carriages, and good manners and gallantry, etc. I sit in a fancy tea shop, and charm a very elongated man—I feel very feminine and at ease and I wonder if all my difficulties might not be merely a matter of living in the wrong century. In that one I feel comforted. I meet a girl from Indonesia—petite and dainty as I imagine them. She is in trouble. She asks me if she can share my room. She has been cut off from her people. She has a disease. She has a lump on her throat, right side, and a tendency to epilepsy. I let her share my room. We are evidently staying in a big Hotel like the Plaza. When we go downstairs first she has an attack. I take care of her. But then she sees her people—many of them—all in colorful clothes and rushes to meet them. I am left alone and distressed. Then to my great delight I find she has persuaded her people to move into my room. I am wondering how they will manage but she explains they do not need beds: they squat. By this time, I become aware that it is time to return home, that Hugo’s guests must have left. They are leaving as I arrive. I still maintain my objection to their intrusion at 7 AM, but Hugo looks delighted.

      New York, February 4, 1956

      Dream (after calling up Bogner): Bogner is very busy as I can see, so I offer to wash her dishes and tidy up her house. This creates an informal, intimate atmosphere.

      Dream last night: I drive Rupert’s Forest Service truck somewhere, and it is stolen from where I park it. I drive the other car (probably our own Ford) and it too is stolen. I want to telephone Rupert. I find that I am dressed in a transparent nightgown and I am distressed.

      New York, February 16, 1956

      Dream: Bella Spewack is there. I insult her violently for the cruel, destructive letter she wrote me.[3] And when I am all through, I come up to her weeping and I say: And the worst of it is that I love you.

      Dream: Hugo leaves door of the car unlocked so that I will fall out and die. When I realize he wants me to die, I am very undone.

      Following the Spewack dream Bogner and I examined the three cases of women who turned against me: Bella after I showed friendship and listened with sympathy to her confessions; Frances Keene after demonstrations of friendship and admiration for the work (recommending Spy to New Writing, etc.) and then writing a treacherous review; Mary Green, who was employed to publicize Spy, then printed Keene’s review and booked me for all the wrong programs on the radio (such as Barry Gray’s insult interview, as it was called).

      Sierra Madre, March 1956

      Dream: I was talking over the telephone with my mother. I could hear myself saying: Mommy. But after while her voice grew faint and she was silent. I kept calling her in vain. Then I tried to find her. She had shrunk. She was so small. She was small and looked like a long, thin cat (as Hugo’s cat Mitou does when we hold her straight by her two legs—he looks as long as a rabbit…). I felt terrible sorrow.

      I did tell Renate Druks and Paul Mathieson when their cat died of a snake bite: Be glad, as it takes the curse off the house and family. They say cats sometimes deflect our misfortunes.

      Dream of a few nights ago: My wallet (like my real wallet, which is the large one called international traveler, big enough for airplane tickets, traveler’s checks, etc.) lay on the sidewalk, between Hugo and an artist. I felt I had to do an errand, concerned about the wallet, but feeling the two people would take care of it. When I returned it was gone. In the dream I was very angry with Hugo. But as I awakened gradually it occurred to me that it was my fault and I should be angry with myself because I knew Hugo was absent-minded and therefore not capable of taking care of the wallet, and I knew that certainly I, the artist, was completely irresponsible.

      New York, Thursday, May 17, 1956

      Dream last night: We are at an orgy with soldiers, another woman and myself. When we see a woman who has been raped, we try to run away. She is running far ahead of me down the stairs when a young man, by a trapeze act, swings on a rope and catches me and lifts me up in midair. I experience pleasure at being caught. He says he has a role for me in a play. The play is put on. I notice the audience is very small, and in fact there is no audience. There are a handful of people connected with the play, and the props are made of the discarded blue felt curtains I cut up in strips for my rugs in Sierra Madre. Then the young man and I go off together. He takes me to the house of the woman who was in the play, to show me why she cannot be in it any longer: she has grown fat and wrinkled. She exposes her belly—I feel badly that she let herself go. I feel young by comparison.

      Sierra Madre, June 27, 1956

      The one thing I had never been able to face was Hugo’s selfishness. All our life together he prevented me from living. He was a weight around me, and now, in spite of all, he still refers to the shock. He still laments for himself. The one love I had believed selfless… We spent a month healing up. I not so much from the fact of the mistress, but of Hugo’s wails and agonies over my having a lover![4]

      Then my feelings were mixed: pity for his neurotic vulnerability and anger at his weakness…great anger.

      I concealed the disappointment and the anger. It made me physically ill. I behaved humanly towards Hugo—but I also knew in my heart what he is: a coward. He could only live with help from every side.

      So once more, lies. I wanted him to be what he is—and to let me be what I am. But what he demanded was a sickening softness and pampering for his great suffering.

      Then last night I had a clear dream: I returned to New York. Hugo was making love to me. A woman interrupted us (a maid?). Then Hugo, I noticed, was absent-minded and thinking of business. He did not complete the lovemaking. I found later many bottles of perfume on the dresser. I said: You gave this woman more perfume in one month than you ever gave me in my whole life!

      To get well after the dream (I had a burning, painful stomach and nausea) I had to face my anger. Hugo’s attitude angered me. It was ego-centric. All his reactions to life are to go into shock. His most recurrent phrase is I died. He died when he broke with his family. He died when he chose to go to London and I would not go (he balanced a raise against my love of Paris). He died when I said we had not given each other what we most wanted.

      New York, August 1956

      Dream: I am taking care of Tia Antolina. I want her to return to New York where my mother is. As soon as I say this I realize I have forgotten that my mother is dead. Hugo goes off with Tia Antolina’s nurse.

      Dream of Saturday night: I am traveling on a submarine. This means that I am holding on to it by a long strap like the strap of the airplane seats. I glide along the surface as water skiers do. Other people are traveling the same way, in the opposite direction. Some are on horseback. The sea is dotted with travelers, and all the ships are under the surface. But I feel my submarine is traveling too deep and if it goes down any deeper it will pull me below where I can’t breathe. I contemplate letting go of the strap. But someone tells me that if I do, the submarine

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