Among certain moments of my day these days, I read The drifters bits by bits. It’s such a shame, not being able to spend a significant amount of time on such a good book like that. The drifters at first appeared to me like a bunch of micellaneous stuffs connecting to one another by means of invisible linkages. I didn’t have a good impression on how the author starts every chapter with run-on quotations or a fragment of a sudden something from somewhere. It seemed quite inaccesasible and uncomprehensible to me, on the first chapter, the way a conflict between national pride and personal belief can lead to a generation who took solace in drifting about to find something worth living for. Then, luckily, another chapter unfolded pulled me out of the interest which merely resulted from curiorsity. I see a reflection of myself, of my own conflicts, doubts and pain from all these portraits. I see a reflection of a world, once seemed to be too faraway and too out of my concern.
The drifters (1)