by Zilla N.
Reading Melancholic Parables is like listening to someone speaking what sounds like gibberish but you understand every word.
What is this book, this compilation of microstories? It’s about all those tiny thoughts that run through your head, which you’ve never bothered to ask if anyone else wonders too. How would it feel to live your life twice, if you remembered everything? Is that weird feeling of being watched because of time-travelling tourists? What if there was a language in the dial-up modem buzz? Bellatrix Sakakino wonders along with you, and lives through the answers. That’s part of this book. But that’s not all of it, not exactly. This is a book about being born in the wrong time, the wrong body, the wrong world. It is a book about failing to belong. It is a book about loneliness.
The microstories are absurd and deeply meaningful. I found myself wanting to quote them, but all-too-often unable to pull apart passages into neat quote-sized fragments, because sentences hung on paragraphs, on microstories, on the book.
“Not every book is for every reader. A book must rhyme with you, or you with it.”
This is a witty, clever book, but it’s also a dark work: a work of uneasy ghosts and climate change, of loving your abuser and hating yourself. It might be better for me if this book didn’t rhyme. But it does. This is a book for me. It might be for you, too.
(We received an advance copy of the book for review purposes.)