Read this in its entirety starting last night, ending this evening. I never know if I like Murakami. Norwegian Wood tore a hole in my heart, Wind-Up Bird Chronicle left me feeling awful and perplexed but not wrong, and I couldn’t get more than a hundred pages into A Wild Sheep Chase before I was disgusted with the nonchalance and dispassion of the narrator. I’ve been told to finish it anyway. I will.
This is a partial portrait of Mr. Murakami through his own lens “as a runner,” and touches only tangentially on his life as a writer or as anything else. Obviously I thought it was compelling, as it took less than a day to read. I’m not really trying to record deeper thoughts about books here; I just want to note that I have read them, and give a quick impression. No, it doesn’t feel sufficient, but that’s what I’m doing. Maybe I’ll try to write more about it later.
From reading this, I’ve acquired a new running jacket and the idea that I will run briefly before work in the morning. We’ll see. I’m trying to remember that it’s okay to be influenced and excited by the things I read, and to try on different styles of living to find what fits. I need more room in my mind, and Murakami reminded me that physical activity can create a mental void, can create room. And I want to be passionate, when all I’ve been for weeks is stifled or angry. Broader than the book, but reading it gave me some clarity, and a clue as to how to get more. Good.
