I keep loving Japanese media that in some way metabolizes Macbeth. Hmm. I really loved this book. Oe's prose has a constant density of simile and imagery that some might find overwritten, but I couldn't help but enjoy. This sounds very stupid (and it might be), but the prose has a very American quality to it? There must be better words to place this quality in his writing I think I'm picking up on, but that's all I got for now. This novel is able to seize the vertiginous feeling of existential crisis that Nausea only wishes it could.