Dag Solstad

I finished the novel T. Singer by Dag Solstad last week. I've read two others he's written: Shyness and Dignity and Novel 11, Book 18. I've loved all of them, and I can't compare them. I wouldn't know which was better or why. In the reading experience, I feel totally connected to the character's mind-states, which I think is incredibly rare. Most writers don't accomplish this. I also feel totally immersed and connected to the flow of life, the confusion and delusion of the character, and in this case, his resistance to growing and changing - I found it very beautiful and incredibly sad, while also being amusing throughout, sentence by sentence and paragraph by paragraph. The most impressive thing about T. Singer to me is that hte book seems to be about a person who has no "inner self." Who is unknown to himself, in the same way that he is unknown to others. This is fascinating because, as Buddhism posits, we all have no inner self - the self we believe we are is a kind of fiction. BUT. Buddhism doesn't just do away with personality, character, or any of that. This is the confusing part about Buddhism for most people. How can there be "no self" and also people exist and have specific personalities and traits etc. The thing is: Buddhism is talking about a metaphysical self. There is no metaphysical self that holds a person together, essentially - there is only consciousness moving within the sea of birth and death. And so, in Buddhism, what one comes to be intimate with is not the metaphysical self or soul - what one comes to be intimate with is the self of reality,  oneself as an interconnected phenomenon, fully complete in each moment, fully one-self. In other words, beyond the "little self" that is our ego self, there is a kind of larger self, the radiant and pure light of consciousness or buddha-mind or buddha-nature or interconnection or whatever you want to call it. This is what begins to be one's self over time. Interestingly, in T Singer, Singer knows he doesn't have an essential self, a soul, but he does no further looking - this is fascinating because it's almost as though he's taken a step on the path of Buddhism - he is often calm and immerses himself in banal tasks like stamping books at the library and he takes joy and pleasure in these simple acts - but then he gets stuck. What I think is happening is that the fact that he believes he is no one, that he believes he is a mystery to himself and others, which causes him anxiety and loneliness, this belief becomes his self. In other words, his belief that he is no one and a total mystery to himself hardens into an ego reality, and then this is who Singer is, and from there, there's no escaping who is. Of course, what's most tragic about this is that this is how most people are: rather than allowing growth and change, rather than investigating beyond the little self, the self they believe they are hardens and stagnates until the ego dictates all they do, even though the ego itself is a fiction. I thought Solstad depicted this in a unique and moving and amusing way.