The Sun/The Book
It is 22:46 and I’m just getting to write here. Nearly everything else on my to-do list for the weekend has also been postponed to tomorrow. This is all because I spent most of my weekend reading Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. In the book, which is narrated by a robot, the sun is personified in a delightful way:
The kitchen was an excellent room for the Sun to look into.
The Sun, noticing there were so many children in one place, was pouring its nourishment through the wide windows.
It becomes a conscious source of life energy, one that affects and shapes the lives of the characters.
As I came to the end of the last page, my mind retaining the afterglow of the vivid descriptions of the Sun, I couldn’t help but draw a parallel with the way the book had illuminated my last few days.
The Book had surrounded me with a warm-coloured haze, drawing me into itself as all other activities lost their importance compared to the brightness within its pages.
Being engulfed in a book is one of my favourite states, and as derailing as it might sometimes be, it is also nourishing in a way that few things are.