This book was suggested to me by a well learned friend. I read it twice withn 2 year period. Only when I was approaching the end of my second read that I said to myself this sounds a bit familiar. To me personally it was one of the dullest books I have ever read. Perhaps I did not understand it and that is not uncommon when it comes to books written by modern writers particularly western writers so busy with angst inflictig the modern european. These people lead easy lives, torn between their material satisfaction and spiritual emptiness. I can't tell how many times I finished books not even knowing what the hell they were about. Famous Australian writers fall pretty much in this category.Dull and boring. I never forget a book written by a Nobel prize winner. Up to page 85 he was still talking about one afternoon. In the end I couldnt take the boredom anymore and never came near that writer again in spite of all the accolades.
"Breton did not unequivocally decide to abandon literature for psychiatry, but rather hesitated between the two, again hoping for some external resolution to his internal dilemma. On one level, however, his choice had been made, for poetry in the larger sense was never far from his mind. Breton’s attraction to the phenomena he witnessed at the center derived less from their therapeutic value than from their applicability to the roots of artistic creation. “Nothing strikes me so much as the interpretations of these madmen,” he reported to Apollinaire. “My fate, instinctively, is to subject the artist to a similar test.” For him, the genius of the insane (or those labeled as such) lay in their instinctive ability to fashion “the most distant relations between ideas, the rarest verbal alliances”—in other words, to create poetry of the most startling, unusual, and fertile kind. At the same time, he had seen ample evidence of the degradation and decrepitude their condition entailed, and he harbored few illusions about the fate of someone who gave himself over entirely to delirium, fertile though it might be. He resolved to keep his patients and their uncanny insights at a safe distance. For the moment, he studied the discipline, observed Leroy on his rounds, and flirted with the idea of leaving his literary persona behind—all the while keeping poetry firmly in the corner of his eye."
Mark Polizzotto. Revolution of the Mind: The Life of Andre Breton (p. 47). Black Widow Press. Kindle Edition.