Dance, Dance, Dance

I'm not entirely sure why I'm so so so in love with Murakami. He is not the greatest writer this era has to offer. I've read (just about) enough literature to know that. Murakami doesn't really use hard vocabulary (that I gather from the translations, as I cannot read his works in original Japanese) or even intricate sentence structure. In fact, everything about his books (the ones I've read) are .. just imperfect. Phillip once told me that the more you read his things, the more they would bleed into each other, ie. you'll find yourself reading similar things.

Despite all that, I'm enjoying my Murakami phase every little bit.

The latest book I finished (which took me an awful lot of time) was Dance Dance Dance. Unfortunately, I didn't know there was a prequel to this piece (which after I found out, I bought .. just today in fact. The Murakami books are JUST perfect. The way they look - the cover, the illustration, the back sleeve, the fonts, the way Haruki Murakami is written ..), so .. it's like .. I know how it ends for the un-named narrator without knowing his roots.

It seems stupid to talk about Dance Dance Dance a second time since I'd already talked about it in another blog. But baby, I'm in the mood for writing.

Majority of the reading had been spent on buses to and from work and uni. Also, the Botanical Gardens along with a few Kent-Blues. No, I don't really smoke .. it was just one of those things. Start of Spring, sun-baking in a park with gorgeous views, Murakami and cigarettes. One day, I would like to get an apartment right in front of the bridge, the opera house and the botanical gardens - spend quiet times with a book and a glass of red wine. (Mmm .. I seem to really love red wine too .. a new acquired thing .. must have been that cheese and wine night thing at Sydney Uni. As I say, all I dream of is a soul mate and red wine). I fall in love with Sydney everytime I venture out to Circular Quay.

The Review:

It didn't occur to me for a long time that the narrator's name was never revealed. So, I'm guessing that I was really really sucked into the book. Which is odd because I don't ever recall reading a huge chunk in one sitting. I took my time with it .. like how you would with wine (maybe that's why I can't do straight shots .. so much of life still unlived and I'm turning twenty-two next week .. it's depressing). The plot wasn't exactly this intricate maze of ... maze .. but the unravelling .. was just so incredibly sexy (which is true for most of his novels in-my-humble-opinion). I remember reading Kafka on the Shore and thinking how much it reminded me of the whole Moroccan slow cooking thing .. well .. not the best analogy .. but one of my greatest love happens to be couscous and Moroccan food (and Moroccan tea and their traditional tea-cups .. speaking of tea, I must blog about T-2 one day).

I'm doubtful whether the book had a happy ending. Though it's implied that he .. unknots his life and gets back into the wheel of life, somehow I didn't buy it. Or I didn't want to believe it. Dance Dance Dance was definitely not as .. trippy as Kafka. I always wonder about the grubby pubs in Japan, whether they really play La Boheme and Bach like Murakami always implies. (Which is why I'll be heading to Japan end of next year, given a few financial kinks and life-difficulties somehow work out). Behind all the pretentious references to things I consider cool .. there is never any deep philosophical pretention that I find absolutely unbearable .. adding to the list of things I love about Murakami's books.

.. I've just realised how incredibly attractive Robert Downey Jr is.

.. And I end here.

Kafka on the Shore - a review?

It took three years to join the bandwagon and read Kafka on the Shore. It took even longer to get started on Mr. Murakami. Apparently, he has been 'the-in-thing' for a while now. I discovered him around six months ago, and finally read his stuff four weeks ago (and finished Kafka on the Shore two days ago). Despite the fact that the book is very much sexually charged (which in turn has made me feel sexually depressed - not the best of feelings one can have), it was .. a good read. Here is my take on it (not that anyone cares post-hype).

When a book is translated (in this case from Japanese), you have to wonder how true to the original was the translation. Did the author really mean to be so crude when he referred to the protagonists' privates as his 'cock' or did he actually mean 'penis'. Structurally, there is a huge difference between the two words- the mood, the vibe changes quite dramatically depending on which word you choose. That's something I will never know unless I became fluent in Japanese and read the actual version. (In fact, the sibling is becoming fluent in Japanese, and I have a feeling that this is actually pushing out all the algebra out of her brain - it happens!).

Mr. Murakami is well-read and you don't need to Wikipedia to tell you that. Yes, I know everyone has heard of the Oedipus Complex and everyone has their own take on Freud and almost everyone is street-smart about their German Philosopher Nietzsche - which makes this book so wonderfully readable. Thanks largely to contemporary literature era it's alright to make constant references to other diverse (and sometimes pretentious) fields. Murakami tells us about his take on Bach, Beethoven, Schumann, the Greek tragedies - almost every page has his interpretation on .. something someone else has done and said. I Googled (Google has come so far that we've turned it into a verb - that is true accomplishment!) Murakami, and this is precisely why people (critics, general public) love him and why I'm a few inches short of loving him.

I have to admit it's a great literary tool, something I automatically do in my own .. dabble into words. I realise how pretentious I sound.

I've written nothing about the book so far and dare call this a review? This is where critics come in handy- they always have just the right words. To put it in plain words .. I've read very few books where the progression and 'unraveling' has been handled so delicately well. It would be wonderful (I assume) to make love to Kafka.. no, actually it would be wonderful to have him dream that he is making love to me (but we won't go into any details on how he rapes his sister in his dreams).

The Boy Named Crow!

Happy New Year!

The new year didn't start with a bang .. as usual. The new year didn't bring any sweet promises of love, lust and happiness .. as usual. There were no Y2K bug to look forward to (perhaps Z3L bug?). Legend has it, that on the eve of the new year, whatever one ends up doing last, will be what one's life will be filled with the rest of the new year. So I purposely went to watch the fireworks with the sibling and our uncle-aunt's soon-to-be-proper family. Let's hope that the rest of 2008 is filled with sitting around under the scorching sun for hours followed by fireworks .. and of course, tuna filling between whole-meal breads.

I promised myself that I would write. Since this promise doesn't come with any consequences for breaking the promise, I think I'm fine!

Just updating because I'm bored. Updates on life in general:

- The parents own a huge 46 inch Bravia LCD TV with a wicked 5-speaker surround system as of last month and it is on ALL the freaking time and it's loud.
- I'm still at university STILL finishing off a Bachelors' Degree in a subject I shall have no use for in the future.
- The new hair-cut is awfully similar to when I was 12 years old- decreasing my perceptual age from 15 to 10.