Saturday, March 19, 2005

a book review...

alright, i don't really do book reviews (actually, i don't really do movie reviews either, i just have so little sometimes to talk about. but then i feel guilty, cause hey, i feel like this is some kind of agreement or commitment betwixt you, the reader, however nonexistant you may actually be, and myself, the (so-called) writer. the word you are searching for is "anywaaaaaaaaayz")

i just finished this astounding book called kafka on the shore, by haruki murakami (i think he's from ireland. ha ha. okay, i'm just fucking with ya, the book was translated from japanese. i used to do that with a dentist i used to work with. his name was salvatore cutino. i used to say, "huh, wonder if that's italian." giovanni ribisi, "gee, wonder if that's italian." he used to make a joke about the "michigan mafia" followed by the statement, "my cousin guido is gonna pay you a visit." man, we had some fun times. again, anywaaaaaaaaayz)

i have long held the belief that to asians, the mood or feel of a scene is just as important (sometimes more so) as the action. this book only further confirms this. the pages drip with mood and ambience, but what's funny is it's not like i can actually pinpoint how he conveyed this mood.

the story seems, at the beginning at least, to be two stories. one seems very grounded in reality, and the other seems only to be lightly tied to reality by a flimsy thread. the beautiful thing is watching these two seemingly disparate stories become one. this is definitely a very existential, surreal story, and has an the same underlying element of style that makes me like david lynch movies and salvadore dali paintings. the difference is lynch and dali wear it on their sleeve, murakami cleverly weaves it in with strands of normalcy.

it's almost like a mystery of sorts, the biggest running question being, "how does this tie in to that?" but always with the warping of space and time, and the distortions of what is considered normal. possibly the funniest, and most beautiful thing about the story is that when something strange happens, most of the characters treat it as if it is an everyday occurance, or, at best, not something that should be given more than a passing glance.

well-crafted characters, who all harbor odd experiences or beliefs, or secrets of some kind, that you feel connected to almost as soon as they enter the narrative, weave their way through the various subplots in a way that feels entirely real, even though one is talking to cats, or taking up residence in a town of ghosts or souls or lost beings that is buried in a valley in the mountains.

this book is not the kind that will be on the new york times best-seller list, probably. it's not the kind of book your library will have prominently displayed, (i myself would have passed it over at my own local library if "kafka" hadn't been in the title and peaked my interest.), but i feel you should track it down and read it.

anyways, i have thrust my unsolicited opinions onto you, the nonexistant reader, more than sufficiently for one day.

hopefully i will have something fun to talk about soon.

in othe news, i have lost some weight, and now my pants all fit too loose (oh, damn. gotta hate it when that happens. gonna have to buy new pants.). no. 2 has had so many ear infections recently that they have decided to put tubes in his ears, and we agree. as a result, we will have to push back a trip to new mexico that we have been planning for over a year, but hey, my kid's ears and overall health and well-being are more important than when exactly we go to new mexico.

and that's all i have to say bout that.

darth sardonic


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