How can I think about my brain when it's my brain doing the thinking? So is this brain pretending to be me thinking about it? I can't trust anyone these days, least of all myself. I am a mysteriously generated consciousness, and no comfort to me that it's one of billions.
Andrew's Brain is Andrew talking to his psychiatrist about how he unintentionally brings catastrophe to everyone he's been close to in life. The book is pretty short which was just the right length for me not to lose interest or get frustrated with the style of writing. I liked it more than City of God but not as much as Homer & Langley.