Ishiguro’s When we were orphans is proving a little daunting.
Not because of its gravity or its language. It’s quite easy to read and such and its obviously nose-glueingly interesting to read.
But for some reason, I can’t seem to handle more than a few pages at a time.
Its not boring, Its not mind-numbingly simplistic in writing and I remember far too little about it from when I first read it for it to be spoiled for me.
This is perplexing.
1. When you’ve exhausted all your reading spots, all the multitude of comfortable positions you can sit in and such, maybe it’s a sign from the universe. Maybe you’re not meant to re-read this magnificent book. Maybe you should move on to the Murakami Novel you have.