I seem to have been reading a number of books lately in which the narrative frame lets the author get away with writing absolutely anything he wants (Laumer's Night of Delusions, for instance). Knight's Humpty Dumpty is another good example of the form, making mostly good use of the freedom to draw interesting or moving or comical pictures about reality and loss and love and illusion and all like that. The main character has perhaps been shot in the head, is perhaps dead, is perhaps the center of a plot involving a planet-freezing device and invading aliens and the dissolution of reality. Or perhaps not.
I would have more respect for this book if I hadn't just read Gardner's Grendel, which treats similar (or not entirely dissimilar) themes in a narrative frame that actually contains a story, and in which the author can't just write whatever springs to mind. Comparing Humpty and Grendel, I'm forced to the conclusion that structure helps; that when there's some consistent thing going on it's more likely that I'll get involved in the story, and actually care about what happens.
But taken on its own terms Humpty Dumpty is a good book. I admit I was somewhat disappointed that I never did find out what was actually going on (it's not impossible that I was supposed to, and that other readers do, and I was just too thick-headed to get it). But the experience of reading it was pleasurable, or good, or interesting, or whatever reading this sort of book is supposed to be like.

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