and The End of the World
By Haruki Murakami
Here, the most apparent themes would be of consciousness, reality, and the dislodge from one to another.
The juxtaposition of two parallel but almost separate narratives in the book reminds me of my own strange dreams where logic is overwritten by never-known mind manifestations, where I am seemingly unaware of neither the concept of time nor space. In dreams like this the door in my bedroom opens to a faraway land, and a walkway in that faraway land leads to a familiar corridor in my school, except that it isn’t my school, but my house, planted in the midst of a raging storm. In a dream like this I am liberated from motion sickness. In a dream like this I can drop a raw egg and it wouldn’t crack.
This is poetic surrealism and existentialism binded in a novel (like most of his other works I later read are). It is also my first and favourite Murakami.
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