“There is still time. There is always still time.” — Florian Illies

The start of 1913 feels strangely familiar. The world looked steady, even full of promise, but there’s this quiet sense that something is about to break. It’s a reminder of how appearances can be misleading. Cities were alive with art and wealth, governments were exchanging polite words, and intellectuals were lost in thought over coffee. Still, every person in the story seems to be standing on a fault line without realizing it. That gap between what things look like on the surface and what’s happening underneath is what makes these early chapters feel so relevant.

I didn’t think this book would feel so modern. But the more I read, the more it reminded me of today. The economy is booming, tech feels unstoppable, politicians are performing for the cameras, and at the same time, people are quietly falling apart in the background.

That kind of energy showed up again during the 2000s tech boom and right before the 2008 housing crash. Money was moving fast, and no one really stopped to question it. Risk didn’t seem real anymore. People started treating markets like they were magic. All of it feels oddly familiar.

“The more restless the art became, the more worried the authorities grew.”

Kafka’s perfectionism hits close to home. I see it in the industries I'm interested in, but also myself already. Sometimes I think it's a good thing, after all the individuals who have this "issue" are all profound, but to what end.

It’s hard not to draw a modern parallel. Today’s leaders do the same thing. They put on a show of control while real instability brews underneath. The performance takes center stage, and meaningful action gets pushed aside.

The parallel today feels clear. Technology (AI, blockchain, digital identity) is moving faster than laws can keep up. Our legal systems are falling behind. Just like in 1913, we’re watching outdated frameworks try to control a future they don’t fully grasp.

“Society had already leapt forward, but its institutions remained seated.”

“At the very moment the world was speeding up, everyone seemed to be breaking down.” — Florian Illies

These chapters feel more personal and exposed. We are witnessing history unfold and people buckle under it. Artists lose control, political undercurrents turn turbulent, and the illusion of normalcy weakens. These months reminded me that the most dangerous moments in history aren’t loud, but that quiet ominous transition phase that we repeatedly see. Sometimes in our own lives as well.

From a financial lens: This collapse mirrors the 2023 Silicon Valley Bank shock. High-status institutions fell fast under hidden fragility. Redl’s betrayal is a financial metaphor: systems failing from the inside, quietly.

From a political perspective, it feels familiar. Today, almost every social issue turns into a political fight, and the idea of compromise seems outdated. Just like in 1913, we’re watching a slow unraveling of any sense of shared reality.

“The soul of the century wasn’t being nurtured — it was being fractured.”

If March and April were about tension, then May and June are when everything starts to catch fire. Illies shows a world growing more intense emotionally, politically, and artistically. Ideas aren’t being quietly shared in salons anymore. They’re shouted, torn apart, and rebuilt in bold, chaotic ways. You can feel the modern world taking shape in these chapters, and it’s not a comforting picture.

This is the moment when the promise of progress starts to feel hollow, and you begin to sense how little time anyone actually has left.

This kind of urban anxiety reminds me of today’s startup cities like New York, San Francisco, and London. Ambition, chaos, and burnout all mixing together. Everyone is chasing something but no one seems to pause. It's all very much the same as well in terms of what they are building and chasing.

This breakdown feels familiar. It mirrors what happens when innovation moves faster than people can make sense of it. In legal tech and AI, the ones building the future often burn out or split apart in the process. They were proof that even the brightest minds can buckle under pressure.

“Everyone felt it, but no one said it: the world was accelerating, and no one knew where it was going.”

These months feel like a storm building over a city that still sparkles on the surface. Illies takes us through a whirlwind of people trying to outrun collapse by chasing brilliance. They write faster, paint with more intensity, love with more recklessness. But nothing seems to stick. Everything is in motion, and nothing is settling.

This feels familiar today. Marinetti comes across as the early version of influencers who use style and spectacle to push ideology. The biggest example that comes to mind are Silicon Valley C-Suite executives, but primarily Elon Musk.

We still celebrate obsession today. In Gen-Z romcoms, the same themes show up again and again. And in finance, tech, and politics, being all in is treated like a virtue, even when it pushes people to the edge.

Personal tie in: This really reminds me of Batman and confuses me why this aura is glorified. It seems scary but powerful to experience from a third person perspective like a reader.

The palace feels like a metaphor for today’s architecture marvels (Apple HQ, The Line, etc.). They are impressive in design, but deeply out of touch. These are spaces built to avoid reality.

“Every genius of the age was busy finishing something — and none of it would save them.”

Illies’ world in early fall 1913 feels like a cracked mirror. Leaders double down on denial. Artists spiral into their own self-made universes. And the rest of the world keeps walking forward like nothing’s coming. These months feel like watching someone slowly spiral out of control.

There’s a clear echo in today’s politics. Nationalism still rises quietly, often wrapped in ideas like pride, tradition, or the promise of order. You can see it in places like India, Hungary, and even in certain U.S. states. In 1913, the political center was starting to fall apart. Now, it feels like it may already be gone.

There’s a clear modern comparison. We react the same way to disruptive technologies such as AI, crypto, digital surveillance. They feel exciting, terrifying, and impossible to avoid. Stravinsky reshaped music completely.

There’s a familiar pattern here. It echoes the early reactions to the pandemic, or the way climate reports are shrugged off while billionaires plan escaped to Mars.

History repeats itself. Think of tech founders in late 2021. Wall Street in late 2007. Diplomats in 1938. Everyone thinks they’re in control until suddenly they aren’t. That's what makes 1913 so eerie...no one got a proper goodbye.

My modern parallel: This is exactly how 2019 felt before COVID. Or how 2007 felt before the housing crash. It’s the illusion of control...the belief that because life looks normal, it is normal. I feel we also find ourselves doing this to ourselves on purpose to avoid reality or the heavy hitting truths of life.

“It was still possible to believe in the future — but only if you refused to look too closely.”

Illies doesn’t treat these final chapters like a typical ending. There’s no grand conclusion, no revolution, no breaking point. Just a slow drift into darkness. Life keeps going as if 1913 will stretch on forever. Kafka is still writing his letters. Klimt is still painting. Diplomats are still raising their glasses. On the surface, everything feels alive. But underneath, already dead.

This part isn’t really about endings. It’s about all the moments that slipped by unnoticed. The collapse wasn’t loud, but crept in quietly.