When I read books about philosophy or science, I'm struck by an undercurrent of tone that is complacent and too comfortable in those worlds. As if the attitude of the writers grew slowly into their brains like a large and happy fungus.
When I read books that are a bit more speculative in nature, I'm then struck by a tonality of credulousness that makes me wince.
Maybe the kind of perspective or attitude that would please me -- involving a mixed tone of stubborn equivocation and metaphysical paranoia -- doesn't exist in the authorial or academic world.
Maybe my desire for a different tone and approach is actually a symptom of my head beginning to dissolve or becoming unstable in space-time.