Afloat in an innured innocence

The narrative of Magic Mountain took me 50 pages yesterday, with Hans electing to violate the prescriptive codes of the sanatorium and begin skiing on a clandestine basis, finding literally himself amongst the crystaline purity of a snowstorm and then losing all teluric bearings, and desperate to live he exhausts himself only to be tormented by visions. These last of which constitue remarkable writing, as edenic pastoral settings are uprooted by witches who devour children and converse coyly with Hamburg accents. Borges said we create our own ancestors but one writhes to ponder what has been wrought on the page with such demonic fury! Hans eventually finds his way back only to discover that his cousin Joachim is returning after an unsuccessful attempt to return to the military and that, now, their roles of veteran and novice have been swapped. The text is really alive at this point and i hope to cash in on such encouragement.