Are there any good books to recommend?

I recommend the novel A Feeling of Sadness by Japanese writer Yoshimoto Banana.

The sad prophecy describes a story of loss and recovery. The hero Yayoi lost his parents in a childhood car accident, and also lost his childhood memories. Later, although her adoptive parents gave her a warm and harmonious family life, she always felt that "it's not just a childhood memory, I have forgotten something important." A strong premonition made her find the "aunt" of Xueyuan, slowly recovered the lost memory, and "found her sister and lover in her own way".

The ending is not the point. What attracts Yoshimoto Banana is the emotion flowing silently in the book, the subtle emotion, which is the most easily pretended to be ignored in the world, but permeates everyone all the time.

The story is still related to death, which seems to be a theme used by Yoshimoto Banana. Some critics call it "the modern writing of daily death events is an important feature of the death theme in Yoshimoto Banana's novels". Undeniably, death, as a non-special perspective, is indeed an element that easily leads to stories. It represents a hidden story and a hidden emotion. But how to tell stories other than death is different for different writers.

Interestingly, even if it was a death, my sister handled it in a completely different way. My sister's snowfield was frozen for a while, and her loneliness seemed to pause. She missed it in her own way.

It took me an hour to finish reading it at noon yesterday. Actually, I should have read Yoshimoto Banana's article "From the Kitchen", but the cherry on the cover of this book appeals to me more.

To tell the truth, there are good and bad books. The good thing is that the brushwork is exquisite and even some contents are amazing, with the unique feelings of Japanese writers. The bad thing is that the plot of this book is really not so good. There is a sense of loss when you sit on the merry-go-round and lose power. Everything was faint, and nothing I expected happened, and finally it came to an abrupt end.

The empty and clear light from her body filled the surrounding space. When she lowered her long eyelashes and rubbed her eyes lazily, she looked as dazzling as an angel. Her slender legs and ankles stretched out on the floor are perfect like a statue.

In that shabby and messy house, everything seems to rise and fall like the tide with my aunt's gesture.

There is a world without time. Until the moment I visited, my aunt was there alone, living quietly like a deep sleep.