I'm trying to unhook my brain off the Murakami frequency to ease into some Jerusalem's Lot, some Stephen King and musty preserved villages, Satanic energies, Portland, Maine, and less fluid form, but I still can't forget "Time trailed off into death. And over this dead time, a silent snow was falling.
"I guess I felt attached to my weakness. My pain and suffering too. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound of cicadas--if I like these things, why should I apologize. The same with having a beer with you..." The Rat swallowed his words. "I don't know why."" (A Wild Sheep Chase)
This novel has the most sobering ending to a cotton candy plot that reads like a vacation--a mere feeling of loneliness becomes reality, the seasons slow to a cold silence, dark outlines the pencil sketch of the sheep chase. I love it.