they nonetheless pulled him into another world, a world of subtle yet exquisite imagery, of space without boundaries, and of ideas but no substance. It spoke of things in ways so abstract as to say almost nothing at all. It seemed to apply a kind of meaninglessness to everything in the world. The Sun and Moon were mentioned frequently, but as trivial, passing things. Opposites were made to seem dependant on one another. It all seemed completely inapplicable to real life, as though the author were merely imagining the world, but had never lived in it.

When he finally laid the book aside, he felt no different. He looked at his hands, he looked out into the glaring heat, he looked up to the deep blue sky; nothing had changed. Relieved, but greatly unsettled, he inspected the front cover of the book once more.

...

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