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To Meinrad Inglin

Dear Herr Inglin, Bollingen, 2 August 1928

Please excuse my irresponsible silence.

I had to wait for the holidays before I could write any letters at all.

But I didn’t want to fail to thank you personally for your beautiful book,1 which I could read with passionate understanding.

I underline could because contemporary literature, particularly German, is to me the epitome of boredom coupled with psychic torture.

But with your book I knew what you were talking about-you talk about the great mystery of the Swiss lakes and mountains in which from time to time I blissfully immerse myself.

You are the only Swiss who had reacted personally to my article and on your own initiative!

I have to write to this unique personage.

If your name were not Meinrad Inglin, and if this genuine sounding name were a pseudonym, I would almost doubt you were Swiss.

But since I cannot doubt your authenticity, I say thank God there is at least one person whose head has grown out of the earth and who can consequently see it.

I would have liked to dedicate a copy of my criticism to you, but just now I am rapt in daily contemplation of the Buchberg in Schwyz facing me on the Upper Lake.

And shall be for several weeks.

If you look across from Nuolen you can see my little tower where I am now living.

With best greetings and thanks,

Yours sincerely,

C.G. Jung ~Carl Jung, Letters Vol. I, Pages 51-52