End

Well, it is finally over, and I must admit I am at a loss for words. It has truly been a rush reading this novel, and though I have ingested far more philosophical topics than I can stomach within these past few days, I cannot say it was for nothing. It is difficult to read a book you do not enjoy, and I do suppose I will enjoy it more when I read it for a second time (many, many, many years from now), but for the sake of the assignment, I will try my best to convey my emotions.

I must confess I re-read the book from the beginning to the end in one sitting, and this is because I would rather understand any work of art as a whole instead of weekly fragments- it just helps me tie it all together, and I remember key elements from earlier parts of the book more easily that way. I do not regret it, either, because I noticed that I had overlooked a great deal of information from the first half of the novel. For example, I was still confused by the identity of Phaedrus even after beginning Part 3, but when I reread it, I felt pretty stupid to have completely passed over the explanation at the end of Part 1, with the electrodes and whatnot. Everything made sense afterwards, and I felt more appreciation for the narrator. He went from sounding like a pretentious know-it-all to someone I had great sympathy for, if not, some pity, too.

I became less interested in the plot, since the mystery had been solved, and more interested in the philosophy, which is not something I usually do. I also found it funny that I went from believing everything the narrator touched upon was common sense that I had already contemplated to having completely different ideas and learning new things. I should be less stubborn.

Philosophy is not a field that I sit with easily. It makes me uncomfortable to think deeply, but it makes me even more uncomfortable when I do not; once the spark is lit, putting a blanket over it will only cause it to catch fire and rage on. So, with this, I must also admit that the anxiety I felt while reading was pretty bad, and you’re lucky I didn’t fall into psychological turmoil like the narrator did (especially whilst studying Dostoyevsky and Kafka and all that good stuff…). But I digress.

The novel as a whole was fantastic, considering its genre. It is not entirely a manual, nor is it entirely a novel- it is a lovely mixture of the two. The change in font towards the end still leaves me a bit rattled. It’s ominous. Especially when you realize, the majority of this is autobiographical.