Leaving the Atocha Station begins with a pair of set pieces that are simultaneously humorous and insightful. In the first, our narrator sees a man standing in front of a painting in the Prado museum crying; was he having a profound experience of art or experiencing grief he brought into the museum? In the second, his poor Spanish leads him to "form several possible stories out of her speech, formed them at once, so it was less like I failed to understand than that I understood in chords."
I would say that the book is about how we look for profound experiences in both life and art, and try to justify ourselves when we fail to have them. The first part of the book feels brilliant; the latter part seems like a typical story of an insecure artist worrying about his talent, level of engagement, and girls.
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