I'm done with Hard Boiled Wonderland. True, I didn't take to it till I was quarter-way through it, but for the first time in a life full of impatient reading I sense the futility of judging a book by its first three pages. Do you know, that really is how I select books at stores sometimes..I read the first page and if it engages me, I buy it. What a waste. A lot of them dull down drastically on page 4..
I need to get another Murakami now. Actually, I need to get the entire stack and take a vacation and go devour it. Though I'd say its not good for me after some point..it'd make me want to go solo and do only just what I wanted and tell the rest of everyone to stuff it. And I really cannot do that. I have very little faith in my ability to make it without a plan to begin with. Plus, I almost completely lack the ability to plan. When I was an Organizer at Malhar, and when I was production head for Ithaka (which is a tiny job in most cases except I chose to complicate the production on that play so much that I could have died), I had to make Lists all the time in order to be organized, and then make copies of the Lists and put them in various places cos I really suck at being organized and end up losing Lists and Files and Such..
In any case, even if I could Plan a future, I can't go solo. Partly because I'm too attached to life as I know it and partly because I'd be too scared at night to sleep..fucking pansy. That is an oversimplification of things of course, but you get the picture.
And now I'll try not to digress.
Anyway, I Really intend on getting more Murakami soon. And I don't mean borrowing, I mean buying. Which is rare for me, but there's things that need to be done. And you know you've got to do them when a book you're reading hits you twice in the same day. Here's the two things:
Just last week I was beginning to wish I could take a break, go on vacation and leave my mind behind. I was even starting to write a song about it..
Today I read Hard Boiled Wonderland, and thought back to Kafka, and I realized how much both books deal with that particular genre of the human desire for escape. Both Kafka and the guy in Hard Boiled have access to a listless utopia of sorts where everything is always neutral and thoughts don't trouble. And both must give away their memories and their minds before they can be swallowed into the pseudo-perfection of these places. Pseudo-utopia. I learn from your stories, Haruki, I take notes in my head and everything. Anyway, the guy in Hard Boiled sees how horribly huge the sacrifice is, but stays..Kafka returns to the real world, but somewhat unwillingly. What does it all mean? Probably nothing. I have no idea, and I think it would take me ages to figure every bit of these three books out, and then some, and even then there'd be pieces that don't fit. But its just..uncanny..when you pick up a book and its bang on about something you were so privately thinking about just a few days ago.
Thing number two: there's a line I wrote more than a year and a half ago. If you've been here long enough you've seen it too.
We aren't much but we're all we have..
Now Zonk, I don't think I've really explained this before..for good reason too. But now that I'm on the topic and explaining why Murakami is turning out to be so important, I think I might as well go for it. I suppose you know by now what the most important line in all literature is to me (all literature I've read so far): 'You see, I'm scared no one here will look for me again.'
Put that next to that other line. Its all about the same thing. A big concern in my mind, for no reason at all. Or for whatever reason. Point being, we are tiny transient things and we are bound to be forgotten and that is the tragedy of it all. Because tiny though I am, I'm ME. And there is only one of me. And I care enough to be Depressed by the thought of leaving no trace behind. And so, I'm sure do you..I must hide this post. Not things I talk about in general you see.
Anyway, now I've made my case. And you'll get why it really hit me when I turned a page and read this:
'I may not be much but I'm all I've got'.
Its like he knew I'd be reading it.
How can I not fall in love with this guy who seems to know all about everything I ever brood for. And thing is, he does it with no sense of brooding at all, no lament. Just a bizarre, matter-of-fact mundaneness thats so fucking smooth I can't even put my finger on why exactly its so awesome.
Its depressing, lying in bed reading all day. But so worth it.
Goodnight Zonk. Read some Murakami someday..I'd suggest Dance Dance Dance but hopefully I'll find more killer books by him soon. Also, I read that he's very accessible to fans and replies to mail and stuff. Wooooooo!
(Never thought I'd ever send fan mail. Sheesh. This is Our Secret.)