A man chronicles his strange journey while marooned on an island with strange machinery in his diary. As he obsessively dissects the island with his considerable perception to understanding what is happening, he, in turn, ends up disassembling and learning more about himself.

This book is masterful in its thematic throughline. I have always been fascinated with perspective and perception. Without feedback from other people, we become disturbingly reliant on motivated thinking. It is so crucial to a persons' identity that we interact with other people; without it we never really know ourselves at all. How much of what we see is actually just a projection of ourselves? Without any means of distinction, reality takes on an unknowable Otherness.

With the stream of consciousness that fits very well with a diary written in blissful, straightforward prose, the mind of the man cultivates almost uncanny anticipation of the readers’ thoughts. Even as he does something absurd, or has not taken something crucial into account, or is overly cruel in his observations—you have only to turn the page and discover he himself knows this and wrestles with the same problem.

It’s also more frenetic than a modern thriller, almost genre-bending as our man desperately tries to make sense of the goings-on. And as such, the reader establishes synchronicity with the story as it unfolds. Something of a feat given how old the text is. It still feels fresh and original and regards a human experience that will forever be, (ironically, if you’ve read it), timeless.

It made me think about more than that. But any more would be considerable spoilers and this is a book with a reading experience where the less you know, the better, in my opinion.