Thread replies: 6
Thread images: 1
Thread images: 1
"How about we play our game?" he says.
"All right," I say. I close my eyes and quietly take a deep breath.
"Okay, picture a terrible sandstorm," he says. "Get everything else out of your head."
I do what he says, get everything else out of my head. I forget who I am, even. I'm a total blank. Then things start to surface. Things that-as we sit here on the old leather sofa in my father's study-both of us can see.
"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions," Crow says.
Holy shit, I've never seen a novel get so bad so quickly. Do I have to keep reading?
The context is that these are two 15 year old boys. Two 15 year old boys engaging in an imagination game where one delivers a soliloquy on the nature of fate.
>>
>>9001495
Boy named Crow is not a boy, he's an imaginary construct.
anyways if you couldn't stomach that I'd honestly drop it because you're in for a bad time
>>
>>9001495
People say stupid things and are impressed by stupid things, especially when they are 15. If you can't stomach following a 15 year old for 500 pages then stop reading that book.
>>
>>9001495
In fairness, that's just Murakami's style. A lot of his characters don't exist independently from who he is as the author and often espouse views that clearly come from him. They're basically a cipher and I guess people dig it.
>>
>>9001495
It's like you never were fifteen.
>>
>a stanza about him washing his anus and ballsack
dropped
Thread posts: 6
Thread images: 1
Thread images: 1