The mind blowing ending is worth the plot-emaciated slog. In fact, the ending is earned through the vexing difficulties of the story. I think you're meant to be exhausted right alongside Maskull by the last chapter, desperate to find answers to life's deepest questions and frustrated by the ellusive drugery of the whole all.

By last third of the book, I wasn't even phased by the hypnotic LSD-resonant landscapes anymore. The way a child finds wonder in every new moment on Earth, I began this book delighted by the fire it lit in my inner eye. By the end, I was jaded by the interstellar opulance, yearning to find some meaning in the insessant brutality of Tormance, right beside the protagonist. Yet, the last few pages gripped me and shook me into a cognitive frenzy made more intense by my prior resignation. Perhaps that's what David Lindsay wanted.

I don't think I've ever read anything so incoherent that made so much sense on a visercal level as the finale of this book. I'm strongly considering a reread.