Tokyo purple

Tokyo in the spring. A colorful stream of people rushes through the streets of Sibuja, the lights of Roppongi pounding a pulsating dance, the cherry blossoms with the freshness of renewal on the banks of the Meguro. Who is not a part of it. His soul has been wandering in some gray gloom, barren desert for months. Even a spirit on the verge of existence. Neither his family nor his best friend could break through the wall he had drawn around him. Just Kakasi, the mysterious musician he meets at a basement jazz bar. Purple's gaze seems to find gaps in Akiko's wall, and the purple creeps little by little into the depths of darkness, somewhere through Kakasi's trumpet playing and somewhere through his words. His story is about a sake master for himself, his love, war, calligraphy, tastes and smells, life and death. Boris Martinović's first volume is a complex psychological novel in which human destinies, subtly nuanced moods, scenes of reality and visions of mysticism are magically intertwined. The locations, the characters, the images and the atmosphere are purely Japanese, yet the author creates a unique world that speaks to the reader in an intimate voice.