Not as interesting as it sounds. The novel is a lightly-fictionalized account of Strindberg's 1890s sojourn in Paris, during a time when he abandoned literature to pursue "science" -- in particularly chemistry/alchemy. He claims he extracted carbon from sulphur, thereby proving it is a compound rather than an element. He is also convinced an enemy of his is shooting electricity into his room while he sleeps. Some of the magic he describes comes from synchronicity: finding meaning in the impression his head left on his pillow, noticing that the stones in a garden resemble a symbol he was studying. You also see what a horrible husband and father Strindberg was: he's deserted his wife #2 and has never seen their infant daughter. In order to get her off his back, he tells her he's having an affair with another woman. Towards the end of the novel, he's taken in by his mother-in-law (I imagine she understood he was struggling with mental illness) and he gets to spend some time with his daughter, suggesting that he might be getting his act together. You can definitely read the book as a first-hand account of a man going through a psychotic breakdown, but if you're looking for secret societys or dealings with devils you'll be disappointed. I also thought the translation by Mary Sandbach was antiquated and left something to be desired.

10/3/2026