It is the second time I have read this short story. First time, it moved me to tears. Second time, it still hurts to read it. Haruki Murakami writes the most bizarre things most of the times and then he writes stories like The Seventh Man and Norwegian Wood which cut through all the crap and aim right where it hurts.
There seems to be a steady pattern in what I have been reading in the last few days. Very emotional, very draining books that get finished faster than I’d like because I get too involved in them. I have read a lot this year. Doesn’t feel that way but I have. I never feel that I read a lot. I guess it may be because many of the books I read were close to a 1000pages. And the fact that most of these books happened to me only in the latter half of the year. Doesn’t matter. Fact is, they made me happy.
As this is the last month of the year, I am going to make a list of books that I have read. Hopefully, I wont forget any.
So here goes,
- The Immortals of Meluha
- The Secret of the Nagas
- How to lose my virginity and other dumb ideas (no judgment please)
- Paths of Glory (I think it was during this year only)
- A Game of Thrones
- A Clash of Kings
- A Storm of Swords – Steel and Snow
- A Storm of Swords – Blood and Gold
- A Feast for Crows
- A Dance with Dragons (half of this, as I quit half way)
- Fifty Shades of Grey
- Fifty Shades Darker
- Fifty Shades Freed
- One Day
- Nobody Can Love You More (currently reading)
And the year hasn’t ended yet.
I also attempted to read 1Q84, which I abandoned for the second time. I think that book doesn’t like me.
If this does prove anything, it isn’t that I read a lot or anything; it just proves that I spend too much money on books. None of these were borrowed. Except for Fifty Shades trilogy that I found online.
Books were the saving grace of the very bad year that has started to get better only towards its end. I loved all of the books mentioned in that lists. With an exception of one or two I think. If asked to pick one out of all of them, it will be Narcopolis. The Song of Fire and Ice series doesn’t count. It is a bloody saga. Deserve a whole post and different comparison scale altogether.
Here’s hoping the New Year is filled even more of such awesomeness.
I was a bit a disappointed last week when Haruki Murakami did not win the Nobel Prize for literature. I am not the sort who usually follows this kind of news but I was a little excited for my favourite author. Over the years, I have fallen in love with his writing. In fact, I even considered learning Japanese to be able to read the books without the barrier of translation. Although, I am sure his translators do a great job.
I remember during my college years, Kafka on the Shore was a huge hit. I came across so many people who were reading it. Finally a year or so after college, I read the book. I was totally hooked on to his style of writing. I guess I would describe it as realistic surrealism. It might just be an oxymoron but it is true. There is no logical way to explain Murakami.
While Kafka is a beautiful book, it isn’t my favourite book. I borrowed Norwegian Wood from a library. Read the book during boring work hours and coffee breaks and it just became one of my favourites. It is a simple story of a boy scarred by death and love trying to figure out life. And like all of his novels, it is set with a vivid backdrop of Japanese history. Though I know nothing about it, I am sure for Japanese readers it is something that helps them connect with his imagination a lot more.
Life, love, death, depression, friendship, comfort or should I say need for comfort, and even pointlessness. These are feelings that we all deal with at some point of time in our lives. No one thinks that these feelings are unusual. No one thinks that any of them can scar us. But they do. At so many levels. Having felt many of those, I can relate to the emotions, if not the story. And hence, it is one of my favourites.
If you are new to Murakami, start with this book. But know that this is the most “normal” of his stories. And then read Kafka to know the real Haruki Murakami.
PS: I doubt I am going to see the end of this challenge. I might blog without the compulsion of these topics. I wish writing wasn’t so difficult.
It is very unnerving. Not knowing what to do next. I am listlessly wasting away time rereading books that don’t really deserve another look. It is nice. To read and see things that don’t make me think. To disappear in some words that aren’t mine and don’t mean anything special to me.
Sometimes, I draw weird parallels with my own life, which makes me feel melancholic. I find them in every love story that I have read, starting with Erich Segal’s Love Story to E L James’ sultry Fifty Shades. Why me? I wish I knew.
It’s been over 5 years that I have been single. From embracing aftermath to being glad that I am single to what I am now. It’s been such a long journey. I still gasp when I realise that it has in fact been five years. What I am now, is an extremely confusing state where I am glad that I am not in a complicated relationship but at the same time I realise the importance of having someone in my life. And it hasn’t alarmed me into drastic steps (like arranged marriage) but it has made me more aware of what I want. It is strangely liberating and sad at the same time. Liberating, for obvious reasons. Now I know what I really want out of life and love. And sad, because it has been evading me for so long. A part of me wonders for how long. But then what’s the point of wondering about things that no one has the answers to?
It is just, all this time and nothing to do is like putting a child in a candy shop. So many things to ponder about, things to worry about and things to feel thankful about. It makes one aware. Even when awareness can’t help you do anything.