As I forgot to recommend something last week, here we go. The man without qualities, Robert Musils opus magnum is one of my favourite novels, mainly, because of its meticolously precise construction. When you look at his manuscript, you can see how he planned the text like an architectural structure, with different layers, generes and references pervading and penetrating each other. I can assure you that this will be the most heterogenous reading experience, you’ve ever had.
Until his death Musil wrote 12.000 pages and 100.000 remarks complementing them - the actual novel, that you can find in a shop only contains about 2.000 pages. So to actually tell you, what this novel is about, is nearly impossible. Just like Prouts recherche, it’s about time itself, about how everything that is written is fleeting at the same time, and how making concepts about anything is therefore pointless. How paradox, that the author himself made one of the most extensive concepts in the history of literature.