So for the last twenty years or so I’ve been reading a book. I started reading it somewhere around 1994, and have yet to finish it. It’s my white whale. One of them, anyway.
The book is Magister Ludi, by Hermann Hesse. It has barely a plot, is basically four hundred pages of prewar German existentialism, and I’ve never managed to get beyond about half of it. Every couple of years I take another swing at it, figuring that eventually I’ll either plow through and be free of it, or finally get the more sublime underlying message that scored it a Nobel in 1946. And every time I get about a hundred pages in and get distracted by some other book and back on the shelf it goes.
Been doing this now for almost half of my life, and now I’m doing it again.
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