August 24–30, 2026
Dreamlike prose, blurred edges between real and imagined, stories that feel like waking from a nap you don’t remember falling into.
Three women slip in and out of sleep like fog, and in those thresholds—neither dreaming nor awake—Yoshimoto finds entire emotional landscapes. Her spare, spectral prose makes the blurred space between consciousness and oblivion feel like the only place where truth actually lives.
by Lee Geum-yi
A young woman arrives in early 1900s Hawaii clutching a photograph of a stranger—and discovers that displacement, not belonging, becomes the truest education. Lee's prose drifts between memory and longing, each small rebellion against an arranged life blooming like something half-remembered upon waking.
A man visits four old friends across Japan seeking answers to a sixteen-year-old silence — Murakami's most intimate novel, where the pilgrimage inward matters more than any destination.
Two parallel journeys converge across a landscape where libraries become doorways and fish fall from the sky — a novel that moves between the waking world and something stranger with the logic of a dream you're still half-inside.
by Kobo Abe
A man chases his wife through an endless underground hospital where corridors breed more corridors — Abe's bureaucratic nightmare has the stubborn, illogical persistence of a dream you can't quite wake from.