From autumn to winter with Haruki Murakami

Those days I'd been on a journey with a Japanese writer Haruki Murakami. Well, not literally, but with two of his books that I read.

But let us start at the beginning. If you have read my blog of GRRM, you probably already know that I have two favourite writers. The first one is GRRM and the second is Murakami. Actually, they are not a first and a second for me - they are equal. Yes, they do write differently, but I find myself in both.

I really found myself or my style of writing in this book of his.

'The Elephant Vanishes' (original title: Zō no shōmetsu) was his first book in my 'from autumn to winter' journey. I got this book as a present. Well, more as a self-treating gift. I got these gift cards, that were to be used at some book shop, from my school mates at the end of the year and, because I was about to buy a book and didn’t have the money at the time (being a student is hard, you are constantly “poor”), I'd get myself this one (thanks mates!).

It is a collection of short stories, which were originally written from 1983 to 1990, therefore they are from his early days as writer. And gosh, some of the stories (style of writing) are so similar to mine (sometimes I write a little, if I get inspired). Most of the stories in this book are a sort of a set up for Murakamis later novels.

My personal favourites are: The Sleep (about a woman that does not sleep), The Silence (a story of a boy, who was victimised by a school mate for an ego revenge), The Window (a guy who works at a small firm as a letter writer, meets a woman who makes a minced-meat steak for him), … 

I could list almost all  of the stories from this book, but then this blog would be way too long. But all of them have something in common. They all talk about things we an see daily and live in the real world, such as loss; pain; loneliness, and then Murakami wrappes them up in mysticism and surrealism (in some cases). But still, stories are much likely  the every-days peoples lives.

While I was still reading the vanishing elephant, one day I stopped at an antique book shop, not looking for anything, just harmlessly passing by. And there I found the book, that I had been looking for a long while. 'A Wild Sheep Chase' (original title: Hitsuji o meguru bōken). 

I was a bit disappointed by the Slovene translation and by the design of  the Slovene edition. The story is great though. Actually it's a thriller, where the main character is literally looking for a sheep, which shouldn’t exist. Again, in this book (it’s divided on two parts), we can find Murakamis parallel worlds. It was a book to feed on. I'd read it in a week; reading it while I was working (I work in a phone centre - a student work -, so I have some time to read while calling out). And the book was so unpredictable, that I didn't know what will happen, straight to the end.

These two books were my companions since the end of autumn to the beginning of winter. And I sure enjoyed it.
One of his books though, was with me a few years ago during a summer. Oh, gosh, when I remember the reading and the story of the book, I can still smell those summer breezes and the sound of the tree leaves, played with by the wind, behind boarding school …
Many times I wanted to read it again, but I really have to wait for the right summer. Well, this is my favourite book.

Kafka on the Shore (original title: Umibe no Kafuka)

How did I get this book? 

Once I had a magazine in front of me (like at the time, when I discovered 'The Game of Thrones') and I found a short passage into the book. Probably it was the talking cat from there. I bought it and started reading it.

This book is really something! Talking cats, imaginary friends or living conscience, raining fish, Oedipus syndrome, stones that open doors … it can give you so much. It’s quite a heavy book to read. Well, shortly it is about a boy that runs away from home, away from his father, and he is companied by a boy named Crow.

Oh, it’s hard to put in words, the description of such a great book, so I will just write you a passage from the book and hope that it will get you to read it.

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjust. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Somethinginside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine, white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

…

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flash like thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hand, your own blood and the blood of others.

 And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be shore, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

And here is the same passage to listen (prologue and first chapter of the book, just to taste):

So, read you next time!

Uroš