Listen to the Migration
About This Novel
The past is all covered with dust, coiled silk and webs, with no one to clean it, no one to look after it, and no one to idle around and talk to themselves. Our common reason is: someone or something we seem to have seen somewhere or happened somewhere. I tossed and turned and beat my chest, but in the end I could only recall a rough idea. In fact, the past is so fast that we always stay on the shore and stare at it, as if the fish that occasionally jump out of the water are worthy of our fight to catch them alive. Why don't we set up fishing nets in the river in advance, and after a few days, years, or a lifetime, we close the nets, and there are many, many fish there. This book tells the story of my "dusty" experiences and thoughts.
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