This was a remarquable reading experience. I read this when I was 16, in Dutch, and immediately was swept away by the powerful imaginative language. More then 30 years later, after devouring Joyce and Proust, I started a reread of this book, but found it almost disappointingly indigestible: there are very little points of reference in this monologue by a crippled man, wrestling with the world and himself, craving for his mother. Yes, undoubtedly this novel contains flashes of genius, but I'm afraid too little of them to sustain the story and make it an overall success. (rating 2.5 stars)