I have been a huge fan of Henry Miller since I read Tropic of Capricorn many years (ok, decades) ago. I ran across a later book of his, Books in my Life, and decided to give it a read, mostly on the hope of finding some other good books to read, on his recommendation. He mentions lots of writers from the previous century that I have heard of and might get around to one day (Hamsun, Rider Haggard, Celine). But the book rambled on, a bit like listening to a talkative fellow in a bar. An interesting fellow no doubt, but I kept wondering when he was going to get around to something interesting. Maybe never, but it was worth soldiering on.
Somewhere around page 200 he goes off on a tangent about Walt Whitman and Dostoevsky. As good as anything the has ever written. Been meaning to read Dostoevsky for a long time. Might have to take the plunge. After a bit of Krishnamurthy (also from this book by Miller).