What Is The Main Theme Of Illogical?

At its core, 'Illogical' is about the stories we tell ourselves to stay sane. The protagonist, a data analyst obsessed with patterns, loses his mind when he discovers the universe doesn’t follow consistent rules. There’s this brilliant scene where he tries to prove 2+2=4 to a skeptical colleague, only to watch the equation change mid-argument. The book’s strength lies in its emotional truth—we all have moments where life feels arbitrary, and the narrative weaponizes that feeling. I adored how minor characters represent different coping mechanisms, from denial to religious faith to hedonism. It’s less about the plot’s twists and more about how people react when their fundamental assumptions collapse.

Imagine your GPS suddenly insisting left is right, or your best friend claiming you never had a pet cat—except you’ve got photos. That’s the unsettling vibe of 'Illogical,' where reality itself becomes the antagonist. The main theme? The fragility of shared truth. Through surreal scenarios (one character’s memories rewrite overnight; another finds handwritten notes in their own handwriting about events that never happened), the book explores how much of our world is built on collective agreement rather than absolute facts.

What’s genius is how the author uses genre tropes against us. At first, it reads like a psychological thriller—is the protagonist going insane? Then it morphs into sci-fi, then almost horror as the rules keep shifting. My favorite detail was the recurring motif of broken clocks, symbolizing how time and causality unravel. It made me question whether I’d notice if my own reality had subtle cracks. Not for readers who crave tidy resolutions, but perfect for those who enjoy stories that punch holes in your worldview.

I picked up 'Illogical' on a whim, expecting a quirky sci-fi adventure, but what I got was so much more profound. The story revolves around this brilliant but socially awkward protagonist who starts questioning the very fabric of reality when he stumbles upon inconsistencies in the world around him. It’s not just about logic versus chaos—it’s a deep dive into human perception and how our brains construct meaning. The way the author plays with paradoxes and unreliable narration kept me up at night, scribbling theories in my notebook like some conspiracy theorist. By the end, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hug the book or throw it across the room in existential frustration.

What really stuck with me was how the narrative mirrors modern anxieties about misinformation and AI. There’s this eerie scene where the protagonist debates a version of himself from another timeline, and it feels like a metaphor for how we all have conflicting voices in our heads. The book doesn’t offer easy answers, which might frustrate some readers, but I loved how it trusted us to sit with the discomfort. It’s the kind of story that lingers—I still catch myself staring at random objects, half-convinced they’ll glitch like in the novel.