The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through the Madness Industry Read Online Free PDF

possessed. I frequently wrung my hands in much the same way. I couldn’t help thinking that—in terms of getting much too obsessed about stupid things that didn’t matter—Petter and I were probably peas in a pod.
    “I’m surprised you’re here,” Petter said.
    “I hope it isn’t too unpleasant a surprise,” I said.
    There was a short silence.
    “If you study Being or Nothingness ,” Petter said, “you will realize that you will never find out the author.”
    “I think I know the author,” I said. “I think it’s you.”
    “That’s easy to . . .” Petter trailed off. “That’s an easy guess,” he said.
    “Is it a correct guess?” I asked.
    “Of course not,” said Petter.
    Petter (and Petter Nordlund is not his real name, nor is Lily her real name) bounced up and down on his feet a little. He was adopting the demeanor of a man who had received an unexpected visit from a neighbor just as something was boiling over on the stove. But I could tell his air of friendly distraction was a mask and underneath he was feeling quite overwhelmed by my arrival.
    “Petter,” I said. “Let me at least ask you this. Why were those particular people chosen to receive the book?”
    At this, Petter let out a small gasp. His face lit up. It was as if I had just asked him the most wonderful question that could be asked.
    “Well . . . !” he said.
    “How would you know who got the book?” Lily quickly interrupted, a sharpness in her voice. “You only translated it.”
    And, with that, the moment passed. Petter’s face once again took on the mask of polite distraction.
    “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I really am sorry, but I’m going to have to end. . . . My intention was just to say hi and go back. I have said more than I should. . . . You talk to my wife now.”
    Petter backed away then, smiling, back into the shadows of his house, and Lily and I looked at each other.
    “I’m going to Norway now,” she said. “Good-bye.”
    “Good-bye,” I said.
    I flew back to London.
     
     
    There was an e-mail waiting for me from Petter: “You seem like a nice man. The first step of the project will be over soon and it will be up to others to take it to the next level. Whether you will play a part I don’t know—but you will know. . . .”
    “I would be glad to play a part if you give me some guidance as to how I might do so,” I wrote back.
    “Well you see, that is the tricky part, knowing what to do,” he replied. “We call it life! Trust me, when your time comes you will know.”
    Several weeks passed. My time didn’t come, or if it did come, I didn’t notice. Finally I telephoned Deborah and told her that I had solved the mystery.
     
     
    I sat outside the Starbucks in the Brunswick Centre, Russell Square, Central London, and watched as Deborah turned the corner and walked fast toward me. She sat down and smiled.
    “So?” she said.
    “Well . . .” I said.
    I recounted to her my exchanges with Levi Shand and Douglas Hofstadter, my meetings with Petter and Lily, and my subsequent e-mail correspondence. When I finished, she looked at me and said, “Is that it ?”
    “Yes!” I said. “It all happened because the author was—according to Hofstadter—a crackpot. Everyone was looking for the missing piece of the puzzle, and the missing piece turned out to be that .”
    “Oh,” she said.
    She looked disappointed.
    “But it isn’t disappointing,” I said. “Can’t you see? It’s incredibly interesting. Aren’t you struck by how much action occurred simply because something went wrong with one man’s brain? It’s as if the rational world, your world, was a still pond and Petter’s brain was a jagged rock thrown into it, creating odd ripples everywhere.”
    The thought of this suddenly excited me hugely: Petter Nordlund’s craziness had had a huge influence on the world. It caused intellectual examination, economic activity, and formed a kind of community. Disparate academics, scattered across