The Shawl - Cynthia Ozick
Some foods are in my favor while the others are not.
Some songs make me repeat them again and again, while
the others are not attractive for me at all.
It's a matter of preference, thus there's no correct answer.
Same is it for me, novel.
Novels enthralls me, which draws a landscapes that corresponds with
my own sentiment.
This kind of novels, in most case, provides atmosphere making readers
withdraw into their gloomy emotions.
It has been a long time to read a novel that has aforesaid atmosphere.
The dusky inside of me was aroused by The Shawl.
To be honest, The Shawl is not close to the atmosphere that I mentioned.
It would be appropriate to say that it feels like
someone is scratching my skin with no nail on fingers,
as extending her arm desperately.
The title itself describes its whole story.
The Shawl throws up a story of someone who is
struggling to escape from a shawl suddenly thrown away on her.
It's not a talk.
Literally it's vomiting and throwing up.
Fear, sorrow, shriek of somebody who is not able to
take control even herself at all.
Once we reach the end of her vomiting,
you will find out the trails on your skin,
which nail-less fingers made.
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