That was it. Harold did not want to die. He needed to do something about it. He visits a physiatrist, who suggests that it’s schizophrenia. Harold doesn’t believe it. He knows the voice is real. He hears her. She’s a slight British accent. (Yes, she is British. She is real. And she is a writer. She is working on a novel, which by some strange reasons, is exactly like Harold’s life. And yes, he is going to kill him at the end.) Harold asks the doctor if there’s any other alternative. The doctor suggests, since it’s about narration, Harold should better see a literature expert.
So, here is the literature expert, who is trying to determine whether Harold Crick’s life is a tragedy or a comedy. In a tragedy, you die. In a comedy, you get hitched.












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