Rather more palatable ruminations on the Wolfe's Book of the New Sun tetralogy rather than the original book itself. It poses the same questions, albeit in a more direct fashion, has similar structure and physics, but it arrives to the same answers (or disagrees with the Severian's tale) in a very different fashion. It'd be worth reading only because of that, but it also has a lot of very interesting and on-point observations.
Current political turmoil regarding identity, stagnation, progress, collective vs individual were reflected here almost 10-15 years before they went mainstream. Also, where would you find extremist Ayn Rand / Thatcher-like individualists, which impose their principles with the iron fist of Khmer Rouge/Maoist-like regime, and basically late-Soviet communists (with all supplementary inefficiency, tardiness and mindless rituals no one really understands and values anymore included) that actually respect individual choice and try to be more humane than their rivals.
And you have to respect the author for the courage to look at the dark side of nu-age "atheism+" - it's no longer an act of freedom, but mindless oppression and exploitation. Also, he strikes at the crux of the trap that various forms of anti-scientific and anti-reason postmodernist ideas present to humanity. Here's why - my favourite excerpt:
"After that came the long hours of argument in which the pedagogues set out some trivial truth and used it as a wedge to open a door onto a bewildering landscape. It seemed to Pandaras that everything was allowed except for that which was forbidden, but it was difficult to know which was which because there were no rules. The other prisoners had the same problem, and all their objections and expressions of bafflement were met by the same answer.
"You do not see," the pedagogue would say in its sweet, high-pitched voice, "because you cannot see. You cannot see because you have not been allowed to see. You have not been taught to see. You are all blind men, and I will open your eyes for the first time."
At the heart of the heretics' philosophy, like the black hole at the center of the Eye of the Preservers, was a single negation. It was so simple and so utterly against the self-evident truth of the world that many of the prisoners simply laughed in amazement every time the pedagogues repeated it. It was that the Puranas were not the thoughts of the Preservers, set down to reveal the history of the Universe and to determine the actions of right-thinking men, but were instead a fabrication, a collection of self-justifying lies spewed forth by the victors of a great and ancient war that was not yet over. There would be no resurrection into eternal life at the end of all time
and space, because the Preservers had fled from the Universe and could not return. They had created Confluence, but they had abandoned it. The fate of each man did not lie within the purlieu of the infinite mercy and power of the Preservers, but in his own hands. Because the Preservers could not return from the Eye, they no longer existed in the Universe, and so each man must be responsible for his own fate. There was no hope but that which could be imagined; no destiny but that which could be forged.
The pedagogues were more fervent in their unbelief than any of the pillar saints or praise chanters who had devoted their lives to exaltation of the glories of the Preservers. They would allow no argument. This negation was the central fact that could not be denied; from it, all else followed. From the first, Pandaras was quite clear on what the heretics did not believe, but it took him a long time to understand what they did believe, and once he had it, it was so simple that he was amazed that he had failed to grasp it at once. Like the woman in the pictures in his master's copy of the Puranas, the heretics wanted to live forever.