Category: Art

  • Personal Review: “First Person Singular” by Haruki Murakami

    I got The Elephant Vanishes when it first came out in the US, and for years I loaned that book out. In fact, I have bought three copies of it, and currently, I will need to go and buy a fourth copy. It makes me happy when I see that one of Haruki Murakami short stories in The New Yorker, and at bookstores, I gravitate to his name in the fiction section, just to see what they have. So, I am a big fan of Haruki Murakami, and for that reason, this personal review will be biased.

    You have been warned.

    I purchased First Person Singular about a year ago, and I am embarrassed to say this, but I read it slowly over the past four months. Normally, I try to read a book, especially one of his, as fast as possible, as I do have a stack of books calling my name. Yet, this time around, this book sat on the end table in my livingroom. Occasionally it would call out to me, but on the whole, I read a story here and there, in a very leisurely way. That’s not to say that the stories weren’t engaging, I just never felt the urge with this collection to finish it now. It was more like, “We’re here when you need us.”

    What I love most about Murakami is how effortlessly he can move between contemporary realism, then switch to surrealism. With other writers who write in these two worlds, it becomes pretty clear as to why they choose these two styles; contemporary realism is the “drama” story, and the surrealism is the “comedy” story. Murakami keeps you on your toes, never sure which will be which. It makes his works fresh and unpredictable.

    First Person Singular is made up of eight stories, and, you guessed it, each story is told in first person singular. It’s a “wink wink, nudge nudge” kind’a title; a little joke which Murakami wants to make sure we’re in on. It is implied, in almost every story, that the first person is Murakami himself, but I am not one to jump on that boat. This is fiction after all, and he wouldn’t be the first writer to create the illusion that what you are reading is actually based on real events. By doing that, creating this illusion of honesty, it makes the stories feel more intimate, and that Murakami is talking to us as a friend.

    I want to take a moment of select three of the stories to highlight. The first is “On a Stone Pillow” which recounts, for lack of a more nuanced description, a one-night stand. But this isn’t a story so much about sex, as it is about intimacy and connection. The two people find themselves yearning after others, but in this one moment find solace in each other. I found their honestly with each other melancholic, and devastating in the ways the heart can love and break. “Confessions of a Shinagawa Monkey” is one of Murakami’s surreal stories, as there is a talking monkey in it. Yet, this was another story on the contemplation of love, and living in a world where you cannot fit in. The last story I want to mention is “The Yakult Swallows

    Poetry Collection,” about the love of following an awful baseball club, and finding creativity in such devotion. It rang very true to me, being a Cubs fan and all.

    What all of these stories, but these three especially, hammered home to me was the different forms love and connection can take. The moments that we share with people, some fleeting, some for a lifetime, and how they can affect us for years to come. The skill that Murakami displays as a writer is giving these characters an emotional weight in their worlds, which in some cases elevates them to understandings, and others pulls down into listlessness. Murakami does this by creating a tone, and a very specific mood, which is not unlike music. (Which is funny because other stories in this collection revolve around music.)

    It does make me wonder, as First Person Singular was written in Japanese (props to Philip Gabriel’s translation) how all of these touches and folds of nuances play out in its original language? It a question of pure curiosity, and not one that I actually need answered. I wonder this because, Murakami’s work makes me feel that the world he creates is a place of quiet contemplation, and internalizing the events that make up our lives. That to live and experience life is a gift on its own. Then to take those experiences, digest and acknowledge them, appreciate them, is another gift we receive in this world.

    Maybe, in a weird way, I read First Person Singular the way Haruki Murakami intended me to. I took my time, didn’t rush it, and allowed myself to enjoy at my own pace, so I could contemplate it at my own speed.

  • Earworm Wednesday: Woke Up with This One Preloaded in My Head

    Am I a fan of Jane’s Addiction? Yes. Do I own a Jane’s Addiction album? No. I will argue that this music fandom paradox can exist, and does exist all the time. But I don’t feel like arguing this morning.

    Not sure why, but when I woke up at 5:30am, this song was in my head. Maybe I’m a kid of the 90’s? Maybe it’s just a good song.

    Anyway… Here you go…

  • ODDS and ENDS: C’mon Rangers, Time, and Keep it Together

    (I’m just waiting on a friend…)

    I grew up in Arlington, Texas and as such I spent a lot of time watching the Texas Rangers. The ownership of that team has always sucked. Sad to find out that the owners and management are continuing the tradition of being awful.

    I am bad with time. I was supposed to spend an hour on writing this little blog post, but I am now entering my second hour of work on this. Mind you, fifty-five minutes of that first hour was looking stuff up online. Things from Texas history (due to the article above) and general curisoty of stuff, like “what are the best lights to buy for an art display in your living room?” I knew I needed to get my writing done, so I could clean up and go run my errands… But I could stop farting around. I don’t think this qualifies as procraternation… just a general laziness and… well… farting around.

    There are many thing I do for my family, but the one I have found myself doing the most this week was being the calm guy in the room. Which isn’t my natural state, as I am loud, talk too much, and can be a rather obnocious drama queen/king from time to time. But being in a family means that sometimes you have to take on different roles to get things accomplished. I think in the olden days, this would have been called “being the strong one.” What it really means is that I can’t freakout until everyone else is doing freaking out. There’s nothing major going wrong; just getting the taxes done, and the kid dealing with school.

  • Short Story Review: “A Private View” by Douglas Stuart

    (The short story “A Private View” by Douglas Stuart appeared in the April 20th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Karolis Strautniekas

    Douglas Stuart’s “A Private View” reminds me of the short stories that The New Yorker used to publish back in the 50’s and 60’s. (This is meant as a compliment, FYI…) Those stories of old were all set in fabulously wonderful Manhattan, the characters had fascinating jobs in the arts, the stories took place in some social event or interaction, and everybody had lots of baggage. There was a strange comfortability in those old short stories, yet I would never call them predictable, as they seemed to project a New Yorker contemporary literary ideal. In this light, reading “A Private View” was the equivalent of reading on a rainy day in a warm sweater drinking a cup of coffee.

    This was a story that did lull me in. Perhaps I should admit that I am a sucker for stories about mothers and sons. The more troubled the better, and for that reason, I wasn’t paying strict attention to the story, and just let it easily roll and unfold before me. Also, with characters that were from Texas, it was almost too much up my alley.

    With all of that, I still have to say that I appreciated that this was a story that wasn’t afraid to take it’s time, flesh out the characters, and sprinkle the little clues on the edges of the frame. I also enjoyed Stuart’s use of the art show and the sculptures of the stations of the cross, and his descriptions of the contemporary figures that were worked in. It played wonderful with the theme of the story, and also provided a very fertile Gen-X visual vocabulary of childhood characters that still seem to flourish in the imaginations of people of a certain age.

    But what struck me as the most honest and true aspect of the story was the relationship between mother and son, and the satellite of the sister as well. It was palatable how uncomfortable all these relationships were with each other, and also understandable why each of the siblings made the choices that they did. One couldn’t stand to be disappointed anymore, and the other couldn’t let go. Perhaps the son was closer in personality to his mother, or perhaps the sister made her decision to let go, and the son had to hold on.

    I am keeping this review vague as I don’t want to give away anything in this story, but clearly I feel you should read it. Especially read it as Stuart does an excellent job with the climax, and the dénouement. Though heartbreaking, I found protagonist decision at the end of the story melancholy in its acknowledgement of the truth. A truth was needed, for this hero had been on this journey for some time, and it was time for him to move on.

  • Short Story Review: “Rate Your Happiness” by Catherine Lacey

    (The short story “Rate Your Happiness” by Catherine Lacey appeared in the April 13th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Tobias Nicolai

    When I finished reading Catherine Lacey’s “Rate Your Happiness” I was reminded of driving a car with a manual transmission. Especially when you don’t put the car in gear and still step on the gas which causes the engine to rev really high, but you don’t go anywhere. In this story, the narrator calls this “meaningless motion” and they’re right. And it’s also very frustrating.

    I understand that the theme of this story was existing in atrophy, and motion that leads to nowhere. Unfortunately, having a protagonist that doesn’t make a decision or choice leaves the ending of the story empty and unsatisfying. There is one sentence in the last paragraph which I think attempts to bring about a conclusion: “Louise returned to the street with real intent, finally carrying her contradictory desires with total clarity…” but I have to say that this sentence is being asking to do a whole lot of heavy lifting for this story. It implies that Louise has made a choice to accept who she is when it comes to how she has reacted to the situations the story has presented. Yet, is it truly a choice when the character is only acknowledging that they don’t make choices? Though an interesting philosophical question, it doesn’t work narratively.

    What “Rate Your Happiness” presents is something that feels akin to the first one or two chapters of a novel. There are a lot of moving parts here, and Lacy does a good job of balancing them in the narrative. No one idea, theme, or character dominates, and it all flows and ripples over each other creating the feeling of a very real and complicated character in the protagonist of Louise. In fact, I enjoyed all the characters that were presented in this story, and wanted to see and hear more from them.

    Like I said, if this was the first chapter of a novel, I’m hooked and I want to see how this plays out. As a short story, the engine is revving up, but we didn’t go anywhere.