Old George Orwell got it backward. Big Brother isn't watching. He's singing and dancing [...] He's making sure you're always distracted [...] He's making sure your imagination withers. Until it's as usefull as your appendix. He's making sure your atention is always filled. And this being fed, it's worse than being watched. With the world always filling you, no one has to worry what's in your mind. With everyone's imagination atrophied, no one will ever be a threat to the world".
Human beings, in the final analysis, have to survive on their own.
So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen form us - that's snatched right out of our hands- even if we are left completely changed people with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to our alloted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of immeasurable emptiness.
loneliness, sadness, ever so gentle loss of memories, struggle to find human understanding and connections, hopeless love and questions, no answers...the style is light as a feather and characters and style bear much resemblance to "Norwegian Wood". although not "pure Murakami", both novels definetly worth reading.