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Author makes his point and then keeps going. Reading "I, Pencil" is like having someone explain the same math problem to you over and over again, thinking you couldn't possibly understand, and then, to make matters worse, Read goes off on a tangent about how interconnected things are, before abruptly switching gears to talk about how important unfettered creativity is. It's like he wrote the intercennectedness stiff while half-awake at 11Pm the night before his paper was due, meaning to delete it before sending it off. Thoroughly unenjoyable in an unironic fashion.