The individual experience is as close as one gets to reality

My thoughts/feels while reading were apparent but only clear in retrospect. As if, I wasn’t sure if I was getting it. I have to say I was tempted to put this one down from the first 20-30 pages, and the remaining couple hundred really, given how bounced around I felt. I’m glad I didn’t.

There is not a complex plot or any kind of linearity even in a single page or two. I find it difficult to say what it is “about” as I think the value for me is more in what it evokes. It deals with the subjective nature of experience and memory and madness. I found it held a mirror to my own experiences with various individuals and groups throughout life. Funnily enough, I underline and write in my books (a lot). There are just a few passages I felt compelled to underline herein and one paragraph relatively early on which explains more/less for me. It is below. This is not intended to imply that the rest is unnecessary. On the contrary I think the novel is necessary to go through for the intended effect.

“Well, I’ve had my fun; I’ve had it, he thought, looking up at the swinging baskets of geraniums. And it was smashed to atoms - his fun, for it was half made up, as he knew very well; invented, this escapade with the girl; made up, as one makes up the better part of life, he thought - making oneself up; making her up; creating an exquisite amusement, and something more. But odd it was, and quite true; all this one could never share - it smashed to atoms.”