GEB returned to my mind only once, when one rainy afternoon I caught sight of the spine of an intimidating-looking copy, hiding in the mathematics corner of Trinity library (both me and the book). I was wrong in this regard, unsurprisingly: four years of the Trinity College Cambridge mathematics experience was more than enough to bond me to these folk for life. I felt that I would never truly be a part of their circle until I had read this book too. The memory fades, of course, but what remains is a particular perception, that these friends were all bonded by some remarkable shared experience. They were discussing it with great fervour, and in my growing mind that three-word title immediately held an air of mystery, a golden lustre. However it happened, I became aware that several of my mathematical peers had all recently read a certain book, and that this book was called ‘Gödel, Escher, Bach’. Perhaps I was eavesdropping, as the critical conversation returns to me now only in fits and starts. I can first recall its name cropping up around seven years ago, at one of the myriad of mathematical training camps I attended as a bright-eyed school student.
This book has been following me for a long time.
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