I closed this brilliant work disgusted by the outcome of the plot. I thought, “How will this book resonate in me in the future?” I reflected on the reading: from the beginning, I was delighted with the sharpness and precision of the psychological descriptions of the misanthrope, self-destructive and depressing Harry Haller, who seemed to me as a brother. The narrative develops instigating, seeing Harry sprout, through a woman — Hermine, — his human side, then facing a fierce psychological battle because of his ambivalent personality. Psychological tension is constant, and Harry’s reflections are noteworthy. Comes the book summit, where Harry looks in delirium. I felt, shortly before, the physical presence of Goethe and Mozart, evoked by the author. I am not moved at all with what might be called the climax of the plot — or, if you prefer, with what immediately happens after the climax. A few pages later, I close the book: “What then? What will I remember in the future?” It has been some months: I can barely remember the outcome; the rest of the book, however, remains alive in me.
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