The unshared was as much a part of what was shared. We all read between the lines. To declutter and express clearer was an immediate preoccupation.
The perception of the individual inevitably came through in their pieces, springing one surprise after another.
Around the table: each one resonated in a rich timbre, all her own. We listened, we imbibed, and we were entranced.
Murakami’s construct leaves all of his stories open to a myriad interpretations, and that’s the beauty of his narrative.
He manages to etch distinct characters in each of his tales with remarkable dexterity and the Murakami mind observes quietly, much like the Lamprey, who live off life itself. I was agog by the sheer brilliance of an imagination that defies coherence yet draws you in, makes you believe.
Majumdar writes with great sensitivity- delving deep into the young lad’s mind, drawing from both the light and the dark that exist in tandem within. Ori senses the resentment his mother’s stage life provokes in others around him, the family and neighbours.