So (to paraphrase Hume) if we are to be considered conscious because we are aware of our own awareness, what if a literary character is aware of their own awareness? Would they be conscious in a weird sort of way?

ahh, irony: "I do not trust any Russian. As soon as a Russian worms his way into anything, all hell breaks loose." - Marx writing to Engels

more headlines from Wyatt:
"Exploding beer bottles were the biggest health risk to Chinese consumers last year"

"College athletic trainer use to jam ice pick into his (unknown to them) wooden leg to motivate players. One day he picked the wrong leg"

"Today's 92-year-old woman backing across a busy street and crashing into a playground brought to you by Provo, Utah. Shpadoinkle."

"Ralph Nader emerges from hole in the ground, sees his shadow, announces intent to run for president again."