I picked up this book without having any knowledge about the plot or the writing style of the author. Well, that’s what I do now a days because I feel like when I am trying too hard on shortlisting a book for my next read, I keep exploring more plots and reviews, than actually picking up the book itself. I wanted to end this never-ending drama about choosing my next book. It should not be that difficult, right? So anyway, all I knew about Kafka on the shore was this:
First of all, there is no need to get defensive about my review here. We all know how many times people recommend this book in their TBR list, I was too. If you love this book, all I am saying is that, I didn’t hate it.
How many of us know such people in the real world? People who seem rude, arrogant, know-it-all. And what do we do when we cross paths with them? We judge them. Left, right and center. Maintain our distance thinking who has the strength and patience to deal with such an ass.
I was looking for an interesting read in the huge pile of books that lay before me during a book sale and at that instant, The Killing Lessons popped up and lay itself in front of me. And when the cover looks like that, you have no choice but to grab it before anyone else even gets a glance. Believe me, I literally pounced to get this book off the table. Have you read the disclaimer on the cover? Do not read this. No reader deserves to be terrified like this. How could I let it go?
Halfway through the book I couldn’t make up my mind if I was really liking it or hating it. When I finished about 80 percent of the book, it became interesting to the point where you start reading faster. What’s my verdict? I think that it captures the essence of being a teenager beautifully.
How many months have I taken to finish this book? I can’t even remember. Blame my hectic work hours or my laziness, it was difficult to take out time to read. In fact, I didn’t even touch my kindle for a WHOLE WEEK because I was so exhausted at the end of the day. This book also must share some part of the blame since it started on such a boring note. The chapters? Longer than ever.
One book. 112 pages. And a timeless read. I am so emotional moved by this book, I can hardly write this review. I am forced to love John Steinbeck and his art. Who says only fat books can make an impact?