There is a certain satisfaction in ending something long due, not so much as a glorious triumph but a quiet enveloping relief. Like the rain that melts the sunshine in mornings and sings lullabies to the sleepless at night. Like the death of a joke that made you cry.
Haruki Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase is a pilgrimage to the expanse of power, the solitude and chaos of control. As always, it is both unsettling and peaceful, paving the way towards reflections and the metaphysics of thought.
Some stories amuse, some stories disturb. Some stories leave a dent in your subconscious.
Christopher Priest’s Inverted World is an exploration of the madness in the intersection of persistence and lethargic existence.
It takes your hand and leads you to the parallelism of hope and despair, leaving you to ponder on the perverted irrelevance of infinity.
It forces you to believe in logic, then immerses you in its desolation. Offers you stability, then bathes you in fragile futility.
Perhaps the easiest explanation as to why Inverted World appealed so much to the small fraction of my uninitiated fanaticism is the faintest hint of the marriage of absolute binaries – how two unimaginable opposites exist in the same volatile thread among the unraveling strings of rationality.
To be completely honest, I began reading The Hobbit because I dearly miss having adventures of my own, despite clearly identifying with Bilbo Baggins’ initial adoration for comfort. Also, fiction shall always be the door that leads me to realities I seldom wish to see, to glorious pursuits I feel too small and inadequate to conquer, and to certainties too dynamic to believe as one’s own. Continue reading
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