This was a weird book for several reasons. At a meta level, I really like the ideas presented, and sometimes how they’re explored. Especially the idea of winding up a character with chivalric stories as a way of showcasing how nonsensical and unrealistic what those tales communicate. They function as puritanical propaganda essentially and if you’ve ever read them, then you know they are often don’t make an effort to make actual sense, in terms of a through line narrative or keeping to tone or the expectations that they set.

Having an older Everyman embody those qualities and loose him upon (then) modern times showcases how, whatever your beliefs and value systems, the person that is most well liked and is willing to inflict violence is the person who decides what social constructs are going to be accepted by everyone else. And obviously those notions embodied in Quixote butt heads continually with people that don’t subscribe to them, and is seen as a someone who is mentally ill and he and his squire Sancho get regularly trounced.

Regardless of your perceptions there are physical limitations to imagination; things that can be dominated and things that cannot be. Most conflicts and situations see the duo interrogate class and values, to varying degrees of success.

It’s also wonderfully and terribly aware of itself. The author exercises a heavy hand in inserting himself in the narrative, further commenting outright on the themes and the art of writing itself, and our relationship to fiction as we consume it. How what we consume works on us has always fascinated me, as it obviously informs how we construct our lens of the world. Whether people admit it or not, absolutely everything we consume—on the page or otherwise—informs how we interact with any number of things. It’s how advertising works. It’s how propaganda works. It’s how socialization and social dynamics works. And so on.

The high level concept, various themes, and some of the humour I appreciated and resonated with. But, for me, the low brow humour and continual inserts from the author immediately stymied my enjoyment whenever I would get into the fiction. The craft is obviously good to me, and I got something out of it. But it’s a book I appreciate, will absolutely only remember the take away, not plot details whatsoever, and can’t say it was a pleasure to consume. Very glad to be completely done with it.