I can ascertain that this is a book review, and I'm familiar with Jung, but the prose employed here makes Gravity's Rainbow feel lucid and upbeat by comparison. There were several paragraphs in this essay where I just found myself entirely lost. Am I the crazy one for expecting a grounded response to a novel where the protagonist is dissected so his semen can be extracted? Should I feel bad, waiting for my suspension of disbelief to collapse?

Ironically, this essay about how UFOs solicit the shadows of our consciousness ends up being consumed by subconscious apathy and far-too-stretched faith. Between the banal reality we can observe and the wild fantasy we can imagine exists a pretty boring, almost unbelievable story that precipitates the truth.