Eleanor Rigby

People talk about our subconscoious like it's the South Pole and it required vast amounts of technology and determination to finally reach the place. How do we know there aren't five or six hidden layers of personality. Or sixty-two.
If you believe in Freud's Es (id), try answering that one. By now, psychologists have established beyond reasonable doubt that there are cognitive processes that never become conscious (yet have the potential to influence behaviour)*, but this has no resemblance to the Rwanda ca. 1994-style place that Freud envisioned our subconscious to be.

The quote is from p. 205 of the novel Eleanor Rigby. What's it about? Let's ask the book cover:
Liz has red, curly hair. She has never been married. She is lonely. [You know the concept 'lonely', right? No?] Her house is like 'a spinster's cell block' [Get it? No?] and she may or may not snore - there's never been anyone to tell her. [That'll really have to do.] Now, all at once, the loneliness that has come to define her [Just a reminder. Sorry, I was on a roll.] is ripped away by a funny, smart, handsome young stranger. His name is Jeremy. And he is her son.
Yeah, I know, that sounds like the plot of a bloody tearjerker/romantic comedy that has Sandra Bullock in the starring role (and this is what my copy's cover looks like). But fear not! The book is by Douglas Coupland and hence good (7/10). Really, it's a reminder that knowing the plot tells you next to nothing about a narrative work of art's quality - just compare, say, Much Ado about Nothing to whatever soap opera you can think of first.

*As an example, the first abstract I came across googling subliminal priming.

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