“It is the story of an Italian masseur who, enshrined in his villa at the foot of the Alps, near the castle of the long-dead Baron Racalli, is subjected to occult influences, of the forest, of the ancient East….” ∼ Brendan Connell
This reads like a found journal. A diary of sorts by one Guildo, a masseur. Superbly trained, gifted even, well paid, and revered by high-born clients. Or merely the rich. There is no chronological structure, being more of a ramble, although entries often call back to earlier jottings. Much of this is a jagged, non-linear, inner journey. As with most of us, Guildo has no inkling of any progression until the awareness that he is no longer who he was. NOT EXACTLY A SPOILER – BUT – this transition accelerates with Chapter XLII when our narrator ventures into a tavern and impulsively orders what another patron is imbibing - Erbaluce, which acts as a catalyst on his perceptions of those around him. Indeed, and of himself, as well. This is a challenging read, as you have to piece together the narrative from scattered entries and fragments. Highly rewarding. γνῶθι σεαυτόν