1Q84

This came in the mail today:



I don't think I have been this excited about a book, ever. About a year ago, I read that Murakami's latest novel was to be translated to English, and that it was so long that it would be coming out in two volumes. I got so excited that I tried to quickly make myself forget about it, because I don't deal well with anticipation.

When murmurs started up about 1Q84 again a few months ago, I immediately put the pre-order in my Amazon cart, probably got distracted, and forgot to check out, leaving it sitting there. I have 10 other books of his (8 novels and 2 short story collections); just as I was sorting through them all tonight (a very strange coincidence), Mister Toky knocked on my door, holding the copy he had pre-ordered for me with a smile. I hugged it and hopped around the apartment for a bit, read a random sentence fragment toward the middle, and then set it aside. Things are way too nuts right now to even consider starting a book of this length that I know will consume me, but in about 2 or 3 weeks' time... let's just say my friends might be seeing a bit less of me for a while :)

A Wild Sheep Chase

I just finished reading Murakami's A Wild Sheep Chase (1982). I was going to say that it's a little creepier than the other stuff of his that I've read, but... come to think of it, all of his short stories and novels so far have had a little weird twist to them. Anyway, this book was lovely and chilling at the same time. It's about a former ad exec from Tokyo who gets sent on a literal sheep chase through the countryside /mountains of Northern Japan.

Here are my underlinings (no it doesn't give anything away, don't worry!):

There was a small coffee shop near the university where I hung out with friends. It wasn't much of anything, but it offered certain constants: hard rock and bad coffee (4).

The air was alive, even as everything seemed poised on the verge of collapse, waiting for a push (5).

"The sun climbs high in the sky, then starts down. People come, then go. The time breezes by. That's like a picnic, isn't it?" (7)

She tossed the twig to the ground and stood up, brushing the dry bits of grass from her coat (9).

whiskey fog (15)

A short ray of sunlight divided the table, me in light, her in shadow (17).

The tip of the cigarette crackled dryly as its lavender smoke formed a tracery in the morning light (19).

"I still love you. But I guess that's not the point now, is it? I know that well enough myself." (22)

"I do believe that my ears aren't dying properly," (40)

...letting go a trial balloon (49).

Russians have a way with aphorisms. They probably spend all winter thinking them up (112).

The rain had been preceded by four or five days of crisp, clear early summer skies, fooling people into thinking the rainy season was over (113).

In a sunken area in the middle of the coffee lounge, a woman wearing a bright pink dress sat at a cerulean blue grand piano playing quintessential hotel-coffee-lounge numbers filled with arpeggios and syncopation.

With my eyes closed, I could hear hundreds of elves sweeping out my head with their tiny brooms. They kept sweeping and sweeping. It never occurred to any of them to use a dustpan (151).

Strings of tiny yellow streetlamps threaded everywhere below (152).

I got orange juice out of the refrigerator and popped three-day-old bread into the toaster. I tasted like wall plaster (161).

Far off, someone was practicing piano. It sounded like tripping down an up escalator.

He gave me a blank-white-sheet-of-drawing-paper look (195).

The conductor was so totally without expression he could have pulled off a bank robbery without covering his face (249).

...if the roof caves in, you got yourself some flat sheep (260).

My girlfriend appeared with coffee, and we faced each other as we drank. Drops of rain tapped intermittently on the windows. The time passed slowly as chill infiltrated the room. The yellow glow of the light bulbs drifted about the room like pollen (285).

Birds of a kind I'd never seen before clung like Christmas ornaments to the pin oaks by the front door, chirping away. The world shone moistly in the morning light (290).

It's hot and stuffy. ...Someone opens a window. Shivering cold. Seagull cries, sharp piercing voices ripping at my flesh (341).

The sea was shining when I arrived at my destination (351).

After Dark

A couple of weeks ago, I read After Dark, the newest English translation from Haruki Murakami (my favorite writer). It was absolutely lovely. About 9/10 through the book, I wondered "How are there only a few pages left? I would need 300 more to find out about what happens to these people." But when the book ends, it is perfectly clear as to what Murakami did. I can't really explain what exactly it was that he did do, but it's genius. Here are the parts I underlined throughout the whole thing, and they kind of sum the story up quite well. Cliffs notes, Johanna style.

The date is just about to change.

She reaches out at regular intervals and brings the coffee cup to her mouth, but she doesn't appear to be enjoying the flavor. She drinks because she has a cup of coffee in front of her:

"I'm kind of a low-key guy. The spotlight doesn't suit me. I'm more of a side dish - cole slaw or French fries or a Wham! backup singer."

"...it was great. ..The first time I heard it, I felt the scales fall from my eyes."

Music for the middle of the night.

This could be an Edward Hopper painting titled Loneliness.

The two live happily ever after. Love conquers all. It's like: we used to be miserable, but now everything's great. They drive a shiny new Jaguar, he plays squash, and sometimes in winter they throw snowballs.

...crescent moon... Strange that, viewed from one spot in the predawn city, such a big solid object could be hanging there free of charge.

"Historically speaking, it's quite a recent development that human beings have felt easy about going out after dark. It used to be after the sun set, people would just crawl into their caves and protect themselves. Our internal clocks are still set for us to sleep after the sun goes down."

If we could further sharpen our auditory sense, we might be able to hear bicycles on the street or people talking to each other or the weather report on the radio. We might even be able to hear bread toasting.