Without love it cannot be seen. Very lovely story. It's my favorite of Maijo's non-mystery stuff thus far.
I always feel conflicted with Maijo's novels because the overt focus on the interiority of their narrators are the best thing about it, and it allows him to convey some really interesting feelings, but at the same time it makes it so that none of the other characters feel like real people, but only objects that serve the narrator (and I guess you could point out that there's something a little iffy about making the female love interest simply be an object to serve the male narrator). And yet it's that same thing that made this book work so well, and I don't know that expanding on the other characters would actually improve it or only take away from the point it's trying to serve. So in conclusion, I have no idea how to critique a Maijo experience, but he always brings something that I've never seen or felt before anywhere else with his works, and for that I'll always be thankful.
I’m okay with being stupid. I’m okay with piling up mistakes. That’s what loving too much is about. And that’s about the right intensity for one’s love to be.
Love, Love, Love You, I Love You! , with stress on the "I": the narrators in Maijo's short stories are selfish lovers, and aware of it. Their love interests - most of them dead or dying - barely have personality, barely exist as characters, but it's the narrators who constantly call attention to this.
Are these stories good? Of course they are. The Kakio ones were my favorites, for one because they're the most meta, the most concerned with writing and stories, and because I like the way they deal with grief, including its ugly sites. Kakio II almost made me cry on public transport, and then Kakio III almost made me cry at home. So thanks for that, I guess.
This might be my favourite thing Otaro Maijo has written, several times it almost sent me to tears, welled emotions into me that I couldn’t fight the feeling of, every second forced me to look no matter what. This is a beautiful piece of work I urge everyone to read.
This is a masterpiece, I love love love Love Love Love, I Love You.
When does too much love become too much? And when does that love devolve into egoism? How much is too much? How can we live after love? And what happens when that love we talk about is towards none other than life itself?
With those feelings in mind, I shall continue looking for answers until the end of my days.