Dreams and poetry are born from the same lyricism that hangs over reality with its transforming intention. In both spaces we border that same unconsciousness full of meaning about our most intimate existence. Our vital baggage carries the passing of our time towards that utopia that is to control our destiny.
In essence, this book tells us about all this from a disruptive character, at the height of a Gregorio Samsa invaded by his dream of "Metamorphosis" only with a longer narrative and, for me, of greater existential significance.
Gilbert finds in the excuse of a dream his final reason for tackling that turn of the wheel that he feels like at times when the routine is eating you up.
Imbued with the hazy state of his recent awakening from an intense dream, Gilbert catches a plane and leaves for Japan. In a kind of initiatory journey towards the deepest answers, already in Japan he meets Yosa, a suicide who outlines his plan to leave the scene.
Except that the story, as announced, offers that reading adjusted to each reader that can be interpreted in the brief composition of the place of a haiku. In fact, I'm sure that each and every one of us finds a different meaning when reading and wanting to delve into an example like this:
«Rain of flowers
A raven searches in vain
his nest »
The point is that, with the excuse of that flight of any kind in a Western world, in whose strange determination we magnetically empathize, we undertake a very special journey through the pages of this book. The idea of failure represented in Gilbert, his hateful comparisons to an environment in which everyone seems happy and capable ...
And suddenly Yosa, with his suicidal plan, Gilbert finds in him the desperate man on whom to atone for his faults, his failures. Together they travel through places in that enigmatic Japan, like constant haiku, rarefied by dreams that are more and more disturbing for a Gilbert who is intuiting what the hell he has traveled there for.
A different novel that, in some way, in its precise language, however full of exuberant implicit aspects, points to life as a sum of haikus that we never understand but from which we can always extract the juice of eternity for each of our acts. .
You can now buy the novel The Islands of the Pines, an interesting book by Marion Poschmann, here: