Having learned so much from Mr Curtis's previous work "Learning in Contemporary Culture", I was inhumanly excited to read this. Shaking like a maraca atop an active sewing machine, I held the cardboard box aloft, cradling it in my meaty palms. It was several hours before I had sufficiently fine motor control to break open the taped-up egg and retrieve the delicious yolk stored safely within.
Time seemed to slow down as I began reading, although that may reasonably be attributed to the time-dilation machine I had been working on earlier that day (I like to keep busy on Mondays). I could only read for an hour at a time, however, as the energy supplied by this weighty tome tends to melt skin if you do not limit exposure. When I was finished, I felt completely exhausted yet imbued with all the primal forces of education, studies and education studies.
As with his previous masterpiece, there is only one negative to be found here. Billed as a reflective reader, I fixed my eyes on the cover, expecting to see my crooked visage leering back at me. I was shocked when I saw what I now realise was some abstract art and text. At the time, however, I thought that it was indeed a reflection of my face - as a direct result of this, I suffered from body-image issues for nearly a decade, which is all the more troubling when you take into account the fact that this book was only released last year.
What price a third in this trilogy? What cost a suitable crescendo for this majestic orchestra? How much will my skin grafts cost me? These questions remain to be answered, but until they are I will be waiting in the darkness, waiting for a sliver of this textual light to once again grace my existence. Three stars.