the thirty‐ninth book in the visitor recommendation series;
suggested by Kyle Asay

So, let’s see what we have here…

The woman pushed on the baby’s stomach and sucked its penis into her mouth; it was thinner than the American menthols she smoked and a bit slimy, like raw fish.

Goddammit, Japan. 

All right, that’s just the first sentence.  Maybe the rest of it won’t be like this.  Let’s flip ahead and see what’s coming up—

Kazuyo ripped off her blouse, wrapped the dry cloth around her hand, and began to peel away the tentacles one by one.

I give up.

This accidentally got bounced down the list because I read too fast and took it for another Haruki Murakami book.  When I discovered my mistake I moved it up.  I guess I should have left well enough alone.  I actually did end up reading about a quarter of this, enough to discover that it’s one of those quirky things where one character has a pet crocodile and another becomes obsessed with pole vaulting and what have you.  Not for me.  But maybe I got things really mixed up.  With a first sentence like that, perhaps this book was intended as a Lyttle Lytton entry.

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