I started reading this book – in Swedish, but no one would understand the swedish name if I used it as the title of this post and using the English might be misleading because that isn’t the language I read it in, so French original it is – with no real intention. I knew briefly what it was about, but had no idea why I wanted to read it.
At first I was confused, upset even. I had to read every sentence thrice to make sure it really was that strange, which it was. I couldn’t find any depth in the characters, they had no emotions and no sense.
Then, I realized it’s a surrealist painting. I wasn’t supposed to think, rather let myself meditate in the beauty.
At the end, I was close to tears. I had, somehow, fallen in love with these people and their world. In a way, that is all I want from a book.