Through exploring the psychopathology of Capgras syndrome, in which a patient mistakes a loved one for an imposter, The Echo Maker offers a sustained meditation on the ways in which we project our own problems onto other people. As a reflection on the mysteries of consciousness, the novel offers some interesting if not especially new insights into the fuzzy boundaries between scientific and literary interpretations of the mind. Read more
Sadly in the night’s the time I mind
The gap. Day's activity blurs the space
With the general pain of being generally nice
And of not smoking in all the correct places.
For the patchwork of signs which quilts in clarity, guides
And clutters, I am grateful. Without these we'd
Be nervous as nomads, wondering still on the die
Of death and god – and always missing the last
Bus home to where a man can lie in warmth,
And have a mind’s peace spoiled by the absence-quirk
of the dark.
I want to fumble freely by day
As the blind man, independent, makes his way.
- Hold me, hold me strictly on red.
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