I readily admit that my cultural tastes are rather narrow. As a child, for me to dine on anything that did not come out of mother's kitchen Americana was usually the result of a grave threat. Foreign movies were sleeping pills and foreign literature just wasn't Hemingway. My parents did their best to expand my horizons, but early on I knew what I liked and saw no need to go beyond tuna fish for lunch, Miami Vice on Friday nights, Star Wars on Betamax, and Beverly Cleary for a good weekend read. At 42 I am much improved as my horizons have greatly expanded to include a love of many cuisines, subtitles, Neruda, and Katy Perry. I know Ms. Perry is an Americana but she is amazing isn't she?
I have many people to thank for kicking me in the seat to venture out of my comfort zone. In Fredericksburg, VA, Craig Lovett introduced me to sushi for the first time and I immediately went nuts for the stuff. Japanese food led me to Thai food, Thai food led me to try Indian food and a few cases of hospitalization-worthy food poisoning later I am starting to tolerate Indian food again. These days I hardly ever eat full on American food unless I am stuck in Yemassee, SC for two and one half weeks.
Forgive me for rambling as I am fighting the flu after paddling on a cold-a** Lake Michigan without wetsuit booties and can barely think straight but let me get to my orginal intent: Haruki Murakami (There is a study that says cold feet have a direct correlation to the functions of the nose and the nose is the cradle of all that is not well with my world.)
Despite all Grace's trips to Walgreens for Diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale, orange juice, and strawberry ice cream, my suffering lingers. The garbage on television offered no relief to the tightness in my face and head. I turned to the written word when a package arrived on my doorstep from Barnes and Noble. Inside was "1Q84" by Murakami and another Inspector Rebus paperback by Ian Rankin. I knew I had ordered a Murakami novel but I wasn't sure which one. For almost a year I have been trying to decided which one to try first. One bad novel and I will put an author back on the shelf forever. Last night I opened "1Q84" and 3 pages in felt a sensation I had not felt since "The Captain's Verses," "Cold Mountain," and "The Stones of Summer." Let it be said that without Pablo Neruda I may have never sought out any author who did not copy his or her original words down in the King's English.
In contemporary literature there are few works that reach deeply and touch a person's soul. I mean this literally. A fine read is the mixture of all the words into the mind, which are then ingested into one's emotional capacity and spread warmth throughout the body like tomato soup on New Year's Day morning. This latest work by Murakami does so and I am only a few pages in. I have not been excited about continuing a read for some time. This isn't just entertainment like so many books being downloaded today (I am reading the hardback, no Kindle for me!), this is an example of the craft of writing. The work that must have been put into this novel is evidenced early on. Strength of syntax rivals any work I have read in the last five years. Each word is placed in it's proper order as if no other word could take it's place. This is a novel executed with care. There are too many Stuart Woods' on the best sellers list belittling the capabilities of our minds.
I hope I am not jinxing myself. A little research has shown me that Murakami can get heavy into the outlandish and that is what turned me off of Garcia Marquez. But what the future holds for this novel and my tastes will be determined shortly. The point is I am truly thrilled to be touched by literature once again. Maybe the flu has tightened my head to the point of delirium? That's okay. For now I am going to enjoy the ride. "1Q84" holds a tremendous amount of promise.
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