book reviews
Book reviews by and for those seeking to understand the human mind for all its strengths, quirks and shortcomings.
The Silence Between Us
By Nadeem Shah It had been 472 days since we last spoke. Not that I was counting—at least, not anymore. In the beginning, I counted everything. The days since the argument. The hours since I thought about calling. The number of messages I typed and never sent. The seconds I stood outside your door that one night… and turned away.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Psyche
The Loneliness of Always Being Online
The Loneliness of Always Being Online There’s a moment—quiet, imperceptible—when the blue light of your screen becomes the only light in the room. It could be 2:00 AM, or 4:00 in the afternoon; the clock loses meaning when you're always connected. The feed scrolls endlessly, a stream of opinions, selfies, celebrations, rage, and humor. You like, you comment, you share, but your fingers feel cold, and your chest feels a little hollow. You are surrounded by people, yet deeply, stubbornly alone.
By Huzaifa Dzine6 months ago in Psyche
What If We're All Just Characters in Someone's Draft Folder?
What If We're All Just Characters in Someone's Draft Folder? Somewhere, beyond the veil of our observable reality, maybe beyond space and time as we understand them, imagine this: a cluttered desktop screen, a blinking cursor, a folder titled "Drafts". In it, thousands—maybe millions—of half-written stories, fragmented characters, speculative worlds. And what if we—you, me, your dog, the man who delivers your mail, the quiet girl who always sits in the corner at lunch—are all part of one of these drafts? Not final products. Not finished novels. Just characters in someone’s work-in-progress. A cosmic draft.
By Huzaifa Dzine6 months ago in Psyche
The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene: A Deep Dive into the Psychology of Influence
Robert Greene’s The Art of Seduction is often misunderstood as simply a book about romantic manipulation. In reality, it is a profound psychological exploration of power, influence, and human behavior. Through historical examples and archetypal analysis, Greene uncovers how individuals have long used charm, persuasion, and emotional intelligence to captivate others—not just romantically, but socially and politically as well.
By Farooq shah6 months ago in Psyche
The Complex Role of Dopamine in Our Lives: Understanding the Science Behind Pleasure and Motivation
*The Complex Role of Dopamine in Our Lives: Understanding the Science Behind Pleasure and Motivation* Dopamine is a neurotransmitter that plays a crucial role in our brain's reward and pleasure centers. It is often referred to as the "feel-good" hormone, and for good reason. Dopamine is released in response to pleasurable activities, such as eating, exercise, or social interactions, and it helps to motivate us to repeat those behaviors. However, when dopamine is released in excess or in response to artificial stimuli, such as social media or pornography, it can have negative consequences for our mental and physical health.
By Ikram Ullah7 months ago in Psyche
"The Interpretation of Dreams" by Sigmund Freud: A Journey into the Unconscious Mind
"The Interpretation of Dreams" by Sigmund Freud: A Journey into the Unconscious Mind "The Interpretation of Dreams" is not just a book; it is the foundation of modern psychology and a journey into the mysterious world of the unconscious. First published in 1899, this book revolutionized our understanding of dreams. Dreams are no longer seen as random or meaningless images; instead, they are glimpses into our hidden desires, fears, and experiences. Freud's writing is a blend of science, philosophy, and personal discovery. This book explains how dreams are formed, their connection to the unconscious mind, and how they reveal hidden truths through symbols. Although it can be challenging, for those interested in understanding the human mind, it is a feast for the intellect.
By Ikram Ullah7 months ago in Psyche
The Sewing Box
The box had been there for years — untouched, unspoken, and always in the same corner of Nana’s old attic. Covered in lace that had long since yellowed, it waited like a quiet witness. When Nana passed away that winter, I returned home after seven years to settle her affairs — not entirely ready for what I would find.
By Arshad khan7 months ago in Psyche
INTP Mircea Cărtărescu's BLINDING (vol. 2): the body (translated from Romanian)
I no longer truly experience anything, even though I live with an intensity that simple sensations couldn't possibly convey. Even when I open my eyes, I still cannot see. To no avail, I linger rigid in front of my oval window, chasing echoes that slip away. As if my being extends beyond ordinary senses to myriad ways of knowing--each unique, each responsive to different stimuli: one sensitive only to my coffee cup's form, another receptive exclusively to the pattern of last night's dreaming. Another attuned to that terrifying whisper in my ears, heard distinctly a few years ago, as I was sitting, in a ragged pajama, with the soles of my feet on the radiator, in my room on Ștefan cel Mare Boulevard. I no longer register modifications of light, variations in the pitches of sound, the chemical composition of the carnation and the kitchen dishwater, but whole scenes swallowed instantly by a virtual sense, opened on the spot in the center of my mind solely for that glassy and transient scene like a wave of water, reacting with it, altering it, flattening it, invading it like an amoeba and forming together another reality, primordial and immediate, illuminated by desire and made obscure by peculiarity. It is as though it were the case that everything that happens to me, in order for it to be able to come to pass for me, surely it is something that must have happened to me already, as if all of it already exists inside me, but not fully formed or complete: rather, dormant, in shriveled little layers, rudimentary, coiled tightly within each other, somewhere in the brain's structures--but also in the glands, in the organs, in my twilight, and in my ruined houses--all waiting for confirmation and nourishment from the modulated flame of existence, which itself remains unfulfilled and embryonic. I no longer feel except what I have already felt once, I can no longer dream except dreams already dreamed. I open my eyes, although not to perceive color or contour--for light no longer refracts into corpuscles to traverse my crystalline lens and the translucent layers of my retina, no longer produces rhodopsin in my cone-shaped cells; instead, whole images manifest fully formed, sculpted directly in rhodopsin, and accompanied as if by an aura of sound's fringes and delicate strands of tastes and aromas, alternating icy cold and searing heat, of suffering and compassion, of a head turning to the right--an action simultaneously verified and questioned by my inner ear's cochlear knowledge. Entire neighborhoods materialize, each bearing their own time, their own space, and their own emotional weather, and especially their own degree of reality--because they can be actual or dreamed, or imagined, or transmitted via the ineffable filaments that connect our lives to those who came before us--lips and genitals arrive, and streetcars sliding along iron tracks during winters with filthy snow, my mother comes once in a while to bring me food, sometimes Herman comes. I wouldn't be able to understand any of this if it weren't being reconfigured, in another way, in my internal landscape (my world), if it weren't opening the ocular buds from there, unless I whispered to myself every moment: "I have experienced this before, I have already been in this place," just as you cannot perceive light if light hasn't already existed in the back of your mind's experience, cultivating the faculty for light within you. Hence, my life is but a life already lived, and my book one already written--for the past encompasses all, while the future is but a void.
By ANTICHRIST SUPERSTAR8 months ago in Psyche
The Soul of Raskolnikov as a Mirror of Human Contradiction
Over 150 years ago, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky published one of the best-known works of Russian literature: Crime and Punishment. First serialised in a literary magazine in 1866, the novel tells the story of Rodion Romanovich Raskolnikov, a young law student in Saint Petersburg. Since then, readers have repeatedly returned to its central, haunting questions: What drives someone to kill in cold blood? What goes through the mind of a murderer? And what kind of society breeds such individuals? These questions have remained controversial and unanswered for generations, ever since humans began to explore philosophy, logic, and psychology.
By Sergios Saropoulos8 months ago in Psyche
