Saturday, October 20, 2012


How much of modern fiction is just a record of that middle section of life's journey where the true path is lost and we are hounded by disordered passions?  And where does it lead?


  1. thought: most 'modern fiction' is made [functionally] to mirror its readers' latent relativistic 'victory' of realizing the fact that an individual is 'transcendental' consciousness in-and-for-itself. It leads the reader to self-congratulatory reflection on the foundational incoherence of their own experience.

    I hesitate to call any problem w/in the world of literary consumption 'dire', but maybe we could make exception in this case?