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  • Personal Review: “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami

    I first heard of Haruki Murakami somewhere in 1995 or 1996, when I read a translated short story of his in The New Yorker. I’m pretty sure it was “The Zoo Attack,” and I think it was all tied into the article about the upcoming publication of his novel, “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.” The short story made enough of an impression on me that I went to the local bookstore, and found a copy of his short story collection, “The Elephant Vanishes.” I mean I read it almost 25 years ago, but I remember that the collection was great; funny, surreal, and feeling very honest. Murakami does a great job on creating these fantastical stories where the characters reactions to this unreal situations land true and authentic. (Other surreal short story writers could learn a great deal from this man.) He is a great talent, truly a world talent.

    And there was one novel of his that for a long time, you couldn’t get in English; “Norwegian Wood.” Being a huge Beatles fan, the title of the novel always stuck with me, clearly, because it’s one of their more famous songs. Published in 1987, this was the novel that made Haruki Murakami a famous author and household name in Japan. Whenever anything was written about him, “Norwegian Wood” was always mentioned as his best novel. Sadly, being that there wasn’t an English translation until 2000 of the novel, in the late 90’s, it fell off my radar as a novel I had to read. Every now and then, I would see the title show up on reading lists of writers, and friends, and I would think, I need to read that book.

    Then back in April, when I took the kid with me down to The Strand to go book hunting, I found a huge stack of paperback copies of “Norwegian Wood” sitting on a cart that I am sure had yet to be shelved. Looking at the cover, I thought it’s time for me to read it. And when September rolled around, I finally got around to it.

    I liked the novel, but I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be. I had read that this book was a “normal” and “straight-forward” story, and not at all in the surreal vein of his earlier stories, and that was very true. It was a memory story, and used that formula. Toru, the narrator, is on a flight and he hears the song, “Norwegian Wood” as the plane is taxing to the gate in Hamburg, Germany. This song causes him to remember the time in his life where he had just started college, and first fell in love. Thus sets in motion the story, and Toru tells us that though he hasn’t thought of these events in years, the memories come back to him in vivid detail. It was a little caveat trick that Murakami used to give agency as to why the narrator is so detailed in his memories, and also to signal to us that what we are about to hear from the narrator is the truth.

    The setting is 1969 Tokyo, and all the cultural changes that come with it. I liked learning that the upheavals that hit universities in the US and France during this period, also hit Japan as well, but Toru seems to exist just adjacent of all of this turmoil. It is a lonely life this very normal young man lives; living in a dorm, going to class, working a part-time job. Soon he reconnects with the Naoko, who had been the girlfriend of his best friend, Kizuki, in high school. We learn that Kizuki had committed suicide their senior year, and this tragic loss still hangs over both of their lives. Though they come together, they both handle the death in different ways, and with different compounding struggles.

    The novel is more complicated, and there is a theme of loyalty, duty, and commitment as well. But also, the desire to go into the world and experience and discover. I can see why the “coming of age” moniker would get thrown on this story, but I feel that is more used for marketing that an actual description of what the novel is. The characters didn’t feel like they were coming into their own, but discovering how the death of a loved one can change the prism of their world, and viewpoint; some felt guilt, some felt relief, some had a rebirth.

    But as I write all of this, and I just finished reading it yesterday, I have this feeling in the back of my head that I need more time with the novel kicking around in my head. Let it marinate, and see where it takes me. Though it wasn’t as profound as I thought it would be, it hasn’t shaken my opinion of Haruki Murakami’s talent or status as an author.

    (And, since you are still here. Please be kind, and give a like, a share, a comment, or follow this blog. It drives the traffic engine that keeps the whole world running.)

  • ODDS and ENDS: North London Derby, Apple Picking, and My Flute!!!

    (My weekly segment and , you know, I like soup.)

    Here we are – Tottenham v Arsenal. The North London Derby. The #1 and #3 team of the Premiere League go at it. Will Spurs stay undefeated? Will Arsenal stay on top of the League? I won’t know because NBC is showing the match in USA, and I don’t have cable. I have Peacock, and the more I say that out loud, the sillier and more embarrassed I feel. What the hell am I paying for if I can’t watch matches live. (Yes, I sound like a bitter old man, and yes, I will start yelling out a cloud next.) Anyway, I saw a report that Dejan Kulusevski got injured this past week, and might not play. On paper that shouldn’t be an issue with Kane, Son and Richarlison up front and Dier anchoring the back line. Still, it is Arsenal which has been playing really well, and if there is a team that can get under Tottenham’s skin, it’s Arsenal. Should be a fun match, but I’ll have to catch it on the replay, because NBC’s Premiere League coverage sucks.

    Tomorrow starts October, which means I will go apple picking with my family, and I will have flannel on. Even if it is too warm out, I will be decked out in Autumn appropriate clothing, even if it kills me. It just was the season demands.

    Apparently, according to our American Conservative friends, Lizzo isn’t allowed to play an old flute that no one knew existed three days ago. I can’t prove any of this, but I have a feeling that the idea of Lizzo playing the Madison flute probably was thought up by someone in the Library of Congress with the intention of expanding kids’ interest in American history, and Lizzo was all for it. Good intentions, you know… I bet there are a bunch of history nerd at the LoC looking at each other wondering how this flute situation has become “controversial.” I bet the “H.E.R. Playing Lincoln’s Guitar” idea is now out the window.

    (Say, before you head over to another blog, do me a favor, huh? I need you to like, share, comment on, or subscribe to this blog. Every click I get helps an angel keep his wings.)

  • Love What You Do

    I had a conversation about work and working yesterday with a friend of mine who used to be my boss a couple of years ago. It was a video chat, as my friend lives on one side of the country and I’m on the other. Part of the conversation was to catch up, the other was a semi-interview as my friend was doing a little research on the jobs and careers that people choose.

    As we talked, I admitted that I have never had a job that made me excited to get up in the morning. I never rolled out of bed ready to greet the day and tackle work. I have had jobs that I enjoyed, but to be honest, what I have really enjoyed about working is the people I have worked with. I have made some really great friends, and I sure have laughed hard with a great many people. That is what I think of when I share the good memories of being employed.

    I can never get past the thought that my time is being purchased by someone, or an organization, for the purpose of making them more money. Sometimes it is a very equitable exchange, well balanced, thus not causing any friction. Other times, I have felt like I am being taken advantage of, and I don’t want to be there.

    My friend did ask me, what do I think would be the one job that would make me excited to get up in the morning, and I answered, none; I don’t think it exists.

    I do believe there are some people out there that do in fact, find that perfect job or career, and they are sure excited to go to work every day. My mom was a nurse, she always wanted to be a nurse, and she loved being a nurse. I know teachers that are like that, and small business owners – that is totally true, they love what they do.

    But the rest of us?

    What gets us excited in the morning are our kids, or our spouse, or our garden, or sports team, or travelling, or creating art, or whatever. I believe that there is a large group of us who feel and believe that working does not and will not make us happy. Working is a necessary evil to get us to the things that make us happy. Be honest, this isn’t a revolutionary thought. We all know this to be true. Most of us don’t like working no matter what job we have.

    When I finished my conversation with my friend, I started thinking, where did this idea come from that we should be joyous and contented with our employment? That if you are not loving what you are doing, then you somehow have messed up in life. That one’s being has to be related to their labor.

    I think it might be rooted in the question we were asked as kids; What do you want to be when you grow up?

    (But before you go! I need you to validate my labors, simply by liking this post, commenting on it, or even sharing it. It will help keep the unemployment rate below 4%.)

  • Short Story Review: “Easter” by Caleb Crain

    (The short story “Easter” by Caleb Crain appeared in the September 26th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Photograph by Ana Cuba for The New Yorker)

    (I SPOIL EVERYTHING!)

    The short story “Easter” by Calen Crain is set in Ft. Worth, TX, so my interest in this story was peaked rather early. Set in the recent past, or at least before cd Walkmen players, this story has no reason to be set in the recent past, or in Ft. Worth, TX. It could take place anywhere, and take place as far back as 1967, if you replace the Walkman with a turntable.

    It’s not a badly written story, as it does contain one really great line in it, which I will point out in a minute, yet this work taps on just enough modern short story clichés that it did make me roll my eyes.

    The protagonist, Jacob, smokes pot, which appears to be the literary go-to action to show that a character is lost. Besides smoking pot, Jacob has a shake in his hand. Jacob is travelling from Houston, where he was visiting a Harvard classmate, to Ft. Worth to spend time with his mother, grandmother, and his retired doctor and elderly grandfather. Once all are together, granddad notices Jacob’s shake and offers to prescribe a drug to help him. After going to a specific pharmacy, and dinner, the family returns to the grandparents’ home, and settles in. Jacob is called to his grandfather’s bed, where the grandfather is unable to speak to him. In the morning, the grandfather has died in his sleep, and Jacob’s mother wants to know why there is a bottle of pills in the grandfather’s room with Jacob’s name on it. Then we jump to a new section where Jacob and his Harvard friend are driving out of Houston to go shoot guns in the country, because doing something new that might kill you is fun.

    Sadly, Jacob is the least interesting person in the story, and it isn’t a “charming” not interesting. Much time is spent on him being high, even showing that he is bad and hiding that fact when he is around people. (I guess pot has become the replacement cliché that drinking used to be in the 50’s.) He is detached from the world around him and just seems to float from person to person, but we are never given a reason why he is this way. (The hand? Maybe.) The grandfather seems very interested in giving Jacob an opportunity to become something more than himself, which is shown in the comment and the prescription for the drug to help with the shake. But, you can’t build sympathy for an apathetic character who has access to great opportunities in life; Jacob goes to Harvard, and it also appears that this is not a family struggling for cash, so Jacob is just lazy and spoiled. (Cliché) And the grandfather is old, and this is a short story, so we all know that he’s going to die. (Cliché.) AND then, this story does that, “last section has nothing to do with the climax, but recalls a recent event in the past that ties the whole story together” thing. (Cliché.) [For the record: This end of story literary trick with the new section that comes out of nowhere and tries to tie the story together, it should have a name to identify it. I propose “Chick in the Wastebasket.” It’s the last line in “Just Before the War with the Eskimos” which I think is the first story I know of that used this trick.]

    It’s too bad because Crain’s writing is good, and the story contained a few phrases and observations that stood out. My favorite was in reference to the grandfather: “…old people are sometimes a little ruthless about their pleasures – about taking from the world they have survived into tokens that remind them of what they loved about the one they grew up in.” That’s good. That’s really good, and I noted it the second I read it. But one line, even a really great one, can’t save the boat here.

    (I have returned to the short story reviews, and I need your help. If you enjoy these takes that I have, please give a like, leave a comment, or share this post. Eustace Tilley would approve.)

  • Sleep

    We are so tired in our home. Like, sleep isn’t working out for us. Lord knows I try to sleep, but my body just doesn’t want to go to bed. My wife is the opposite; she goes to bed early, but still wakes up tired. Though I feel like I could blame the kid on this one, it’s not her fault. She has started sleeping in on weekends, and even if she does get up early now, she’s old enough to work the tv and feed herself.

    Even when we were on vacation, and we slept hard, but it never seemed like enough. In fact, I don’t think I can tell you the last time when I was sleeping well. Somewhere in college, my grasp of getting restful sleep left me. Classes, long hours in the theatre department, building sets and costumes, rehearsing and performing plays, and then closing out the bar each night. Yup, I should have slept more.

    I keep thinking that someday, I will arrive in the promised land of sleep. That at 11pm, I will drift off, and then wake up at nice and early with the sun, feeling refreshed, and eager to take on the day. The only thing I am eager to do when I wake up is to go back to bed. I might need to start entraining the thought that there is no holy land of restful sleep for adults.

    Honestly, think about everyone you know. How many of them say that they get a good night sleep and feel refreshed in the morning? Now, be honest; deep down you know they are lying to you, right? There is just something unnatural about their behavior. It seems forced. Just like people who claim cross-fit is fun.

    Right now, the wife is sitting on the couch with me and we are both yawning. We are one little snuggle away from taking a solid nap. It won’t happen, but man, it is tempting.

    (Biddie-biddie-biddie! Give a like, or a share, or comment on this post, Buck! Or I’ll make more obscure references to old TV shows! Biddie-biddie-biddie!)