But the dog and rat make a kite out of her dead body. And they fly the kite so high that you can't see her anymore.
Nonchalantly. Almost glibly.
Is that how how far we've come regarding death? From Victorian nonstop mourning to making kites out of dead bodies?
Is the kite supposed to celebrate death? Make light of it?
Is this a European thing? Is this a Faroe Islands thing?
I wasn't offended by the book. But I wasn't as amused as I thought I would be either.
I was puzzled.
The New York Times says the book is "quietly profound" so obviously something is wrong with me.
The Flat Rabbit by Bárður Oskarsson
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
This is a strange book. It's not offensive (or at least it wasn't offensive me); and not unlikable (I guess). It's more of a book that begets one of those genuine puzzling, wtf responses. The New York Times review said it was "quietly profound" but I'm not exactly sure the profundity is here. Something about death, yes. But what?
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