It looked as though Maki had another mouth below her jaw. Oozing from this second, smiling mouth was a thick, dark liquid, like coal tar. Her throat had been slit literally from ear to ear and more than halfway through, so that it looked as if her head might fall right off. And yet, incredibly, Maki was still on her feet and still alive, her eyeballs swiveling wildly and her lips quivering as she wheezed foam-flecked blood from the wound in her throat. She seemed to be trying to say something. . . .
this is an important advance in Japanese literature, and deserves 5/5 stars. a look at the criminal mindset of the average Tokyo dweller, the repressed feelings and absolute evil beneath the polite, refined exteriors. Ryu Murakami is a far better writer than Haruki Murakami, it's a shame that most people are too innocent to realize this.