A quick read that sketches a primordial quality of the human psyche. How can we know if we exist? Does imagination weave together this body, this mind, this projection of an inner self that stretches outside and takes control of reality?
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The relevancy of this book... the fabric it's made of... is banal. A book I'd recommend to everyone to read at least once. Complement its standpoint, its philosophy, with the help of other books of a similar nature. While the history of the world exists. The chronological aspect of the mind is held intricately together by such works. It's brutal, immersive, electrifying. Its effect is of one standing in front of a mirror, as if for the very first time, unable to recognize the patterns that emerge.
The gradations, the mystery, the creases. It's real but it isn't. Your psyche breeds your existence. So when it's lost, do you drown and recede into oblivion?