Josh

Arthur really padded this limp story with a hefty monologue to explain everything away that Sherlock supposedly knew anyway.

In the mid 1800's, Dostoevsky wrote the predecessor to early 2000's autistic 4chan basement dwellers. This socially dysfunctional character is in a world where they can't adequately interpret their own feelings or the feelings of others. The author of the notes is constantly at odds with their own desires and with other people intents. Their ability to discern what they want vs what they are anticipating to be the expected outcome of that want is fragmented. I mean to say, they don't know what they are feeling as much as they are feeling a first emotion, then a counter emotion, then a tertiary emotion, and then they feel compelled to rationalize these conflicting feelings and thoughts into a fractured philosophy and moral compass.

The book consists of the shallow notes of a poor and mentally isolated man that tries to convince himself (us?) that it's great to be in the “underground”.

It's late and I'm not organizing my thoughts well, but this book doesn't feel like a deep philosophy like other discussions suggest. It's not filled with “deep hard questions”. It also doesn't feel comical. Even if you manage to keep up with the frantic pacing, the comedy would be if you find being manically mentally exasperated funny. Is he making a fool out of himself? Yes, but, that's because the character is necessarily foolish due to their environment. They don't fit. If there's a joke, the joke is the world that necessitates their existence in such a state.

Dnf