As I said, up to these last few chapters life was rather tranquil for both Kafka and Nakata. Then McCarthy stepped in with blood and guts and now, Marquez. Raining fish and leaches. Two of my favorite authors though, so for me, the novel has taken a hold of my heart.
There is the thread of relationships here, and the understanding and acceptance of people as they are regardless of what they appear to be. So that the characters themselves may be the metaphors.
A connection between these two characters’ stories has been made, though not in a simple straightforward meeting.
The man who Nakata believes he has killed may in fact be Kafka’s father, though Kafka wonders if he himself didn’t manage it since it was the night he woke from unconsciousness, his shirt covered in blood.
I’m finding great new things to like about Murakami. Who else would suddenly open the sky and rain down sardines with the occasional mackeral? Marquez used yellow flowers.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology