In fact more than a precise portrait, a profound one. Elayne W. Fitzpatrick, in short sharp paragraphs reports on a long investigation of Henry Miller's years in Big Sur: 1943-1962. Over many decades she interviewed many men and women who knew him during his stay in that magical corner of Northern California. She interlaces her information with many written sources including Henry's own writings. Out of all this comes a wonderful , profound book that goes far beyond Henry Miller. A book that asks fundamental questions about human relationships, creativity, and love. Of course, Henry Miller is still the central theme. Much has been written about Henry Miller. Here Fitzpatrick focuses on his later years. He was already 51 when he first rented a log house in Big Sur.Big Sur is a magical place south of Monterey and Carmel-by-the sea, ridges overlooking the Pacific, rocks, surf, a rugged coast. Here, during those years, Henry found nature, married twice (He married five times during his life) and sought to understand and create. His portrait is precise in the sense that Fitzpatrick interviews many people and they tend to concur in depicting the man who emerges in her book. He does not always look good. He surely did not treat his wives with the consideration or even the sexual passion depicted in his own writing. The author does one more thing , she tells us at the end her own reactions to the Henry she has searched, encountered and so well painted a written portrait.Do read this book, it is a good book, it is interesting and, as I said, Fitzpatrick writes in short, pithy paragraphs that say something. The few persons among the many she interviewed, whom I happen to know, sound just like I knew them to sound. I met Henry Miller only once in September 1959. I was with a party at the Nepenthe restaurant just South of Big Sur which Fitzpatrick often describes. Henry was at the bar. Later I would find out that while married to Eve McClure, he was just starting to date Caryl Hill who was a waitress there. Later, his affair with her would end his fourth marriage. But I did not know that then. I was surprised to recognize him alone, waiting at the bar. He was waiting for her. I went up, nervous, I was young and asked in French if he was Henry Miller. We spoke for more than half an hour about the Dordogne region of France where I had just come from. We spoke about many things I no longer recall. But the man I met that evening at the bar of Nepenthe, overlooking the vast Pacific, is the man I discover again in this admirable book.