I Am A Strange Loop is thematically a little different, focusing more on the experience of awareness and experiences as ‘shared’ memory and identity. While it is considerably shorter and slightly cheaper than GEB (and lacks the convenient acronym) it is equally dense, albeit with fewer literary allusions and allegories within stories, a more direct and personal meditation. It also has a heartbreaking requiem to Hofstadter’s wife, Carol, who died suddenly of an undiagnosed brain tumor in 1993, leaving him a widower with two very young children. From Chapter 16: “Grappling with the Deepest Mystery”:
What hit me by far the hardest was not my own personal loss (“Oh, what shall I do now? Who will I turn to in moments of need? Who will I cuddle up beside at night?”) – it was Carol’s personal loss. Of course I missed her, I missed her enormously – but what trouble me much more was that I could not get over what she had lost: the chance to watch her children grow up, see their personalities develop, savor their talents, comfort them in their sad times, read them bedtime stories, sing them songs, smile at their childish jokes, paint their rooms, pencil in their heights on closet walls, teach them to ride a bike, travel with them to other lands, expose them to other languages, get them a pet dog, meet their friends, take them skiiing and skating, watch old videos together in our playroom, and on and on. All this future, once so easily taken for granted, Carol had lost in a flash, and I couldn’t deal with it.
…
On day, as I gazed at a photograph of Carol taken a couple of months before her death, I looked at her face and I looked so deeply that I felt I was behind her eyes, and all at once, I found myself saying, as tears flowed, “That’s me! That’s me!” And those simple words brought back so many thoughts that I had had before, about the fusion of our souls into one higher-level entity, about the fact that at the core of both our souls lay our identical hopes and dreams for our children about the notion that those hopes were not separate or distinct hopes but were just one hope, one clear thing that defined us both, that welded us together into a unit, the kind of unit I had but dimly imagined before being married and having children. I realized then that although Carol had died, that core piece of her had not died at all, but that it lived on very derminedly in my brain.
Stranger