Some books let out war cries as they make their point, some are mere noise but no impact. Some books are quiet as they pack a punch that you will remember until the end of your days, and some are quiet and lazy, giving you a much needed respite from everyday life; they are like vacations in a seaside resort – scenic and calm, but put you in touch with yourself. But yet others are so quiet, move so slowly, and make no overall point whatsoever that it just gets on your nerves. The adventure that you seek in reading, in literature, seems to be missing from such books. And one of my recent reads, Mieko Kawakami’s All the Lovers in the Night, is a prime example of that last type.
I don’t like to diss a biography or an autobiography because after all, it is someone’s life put on paper for the world to read. There are enough detractors anyway, for every celebrity out there. Just a picture on Instagram is bound to poke the haters to spew venom. So imagine what a 300-page book about your feelings and thoughts will attract.