I recently came into possession of my grandfather's collection of existential books.
The first book, entitled Something from Nothing was three hundred blank pages. I think that is my favourite. It's the kind of book you can dip into and get a good vibe off every page.
I had to stop reading We do not Exist on account of my slowly fading from existence as I got to page fifty. I fear had I carried on, I wouldn't be here to write this now. Still it started well. If I was more sure that I existed, I could probably have finished it.
I also didn't finish reading The Meaning of Nothing. Not because I didn't like it, but because the book ceased to exist by page one hundred and twenty seven. Such a shame, as I'd really got into the central character.
Still. What can you do?
Nothing according to What can you do? This was another book I didn't finish, as I could no longer read before I'd got half way through the book. Neither can I remember what the first half of the book was about.
I do remember Memories Are Made of This very well. Every twist and turn, every development and exposition. Slightly odd, as it was the one book I didn't read. I can thoroughly recommend owning this book to those who don't have time in their busy schedule for reading, as merely owning it imparts its wisdom.
What is Time Anyway? is another good book for those with hectic schedules. I either finished this book really quickly, or I'm still reading it, I can't quite decided which it is. It could be both, according to The Schroedinger Fallacy.
Existentialism for Beginners should have been the first book I read, for it alerted me to the pitfalls of reading the other books. However, upon completing it, I no longer had any of the books. And I'd never had a grandfather. Indeed, I am the only person in the world, and the rest of you exist solely in my memory. Sorry to have to tell you this way.