My mind still can’t forget http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2014/06/09/140609fi_fiction_murakami – ‘Yesterday’.
It’s very Murakami, and also rather similar to some of his other works. You kind of sense the same underlying elements and inspirations in it. I guess this is only a short story, and perhaps he has fleshed the idea out further in his major novels. If you’ve read Norwegian Wood or the 1984 tome…I think you get what I’m saying.
Murakami seems to have an, perhaps one could call, obsession with a young man, a social outcast, who is awkwardly good friends with yet another bizarre young man. This second young man usually has a strange relationship with a young lady. First young man enters into another strange friendship with this lady. Many years pass. The especially strange growing up years, leaving school, entering adulthood, seeing the past and future together. That’s one Murakami for you.
Sometimes I feel that some part of me is trapped in the past, like this character, like Murakami, revisting old scenes again and again, re-telling the same story again and again. Of course history is trapped in memory and shouldn’t change, although perhaps our memory of it does fade and morph over the years. I wonder what story I narrated to you 5 or 6 or 7 years ago. Is it still the same now? I wonder.
But conversely, is this how novels come about? Full length story born out of a little fragment.
I love Murakami’s details. How he describes all sorts of peculiarities of the characters in his stories, giving them depth and life and color. I like how he doesn’t seem rushed into telling his story, how he seems to control his world. Too often tv shows and movies are packaged into 30min, 1 hour, 3 hour segments, forced to compress a beginning and end into this time frame. Sometimes reading Murakami’s descriptives feel like it’s not really moving much, but at the end of it, you feel like you’ve lived through something, experienced something, seen something.
Every year I come back to my story of my friend. So many years it’s been and I still come back to it. Perhaps it’s not over, perhaps there’s more to write, perhaps it’s just part of who I am.
Nightingale. and dreams.
Back to my Game of Thrones book.