Word.
Whole bunch of 'em.
So it's been a massively busy week. I got a promotion at work, which is fantastic. However, as with any new position there are fresh new responsibilities. Turns out this new gig has quite a few. Like, pages of stuff. Whole lists of things I'm responsible for. I assume my last position was the same way but after time you don't think of it as a list of things to do, it's just your job. It's still in that new phase for me, where it feels overwhelming but is approaching manageable. I'm excited - it's fantastic and so are my new coworkers. Still, it wears a body out, trying to take everything in. The one small respite in the face of this change? The simple joy of finishing a book while riding the bus home.
After a day spent taking in as much as possible, trying to put my best foot forward for 9 hours, slouching down on the back of the 6 and pulling a book out of my bag to open it near the end is a gratifying feeling. It's a silly, base thing to take such happiness from but it doesn't mean I can't savor it. Having poked away at the book over lunch breaks and bus rides over the last month, I was glad to put it to bed but sad to see it end. Another of the multitude I was given for the holidays, I am only now approaching the end of the line in my small collection of Murakami's canon.
Dance, Dance, Dance is another of the surreal, bizarre pieces of fiction by the Japanese author. Not only is it a wonderfully bemusing novel, it's also a sort of sequel to his last book I read, A Wild Sheep Chase. Having enjoyed that supernatural gumshoe story, I was excited to read this, knowing that it follows some of the same characters after a somewhat abrupt ending. The same nameless protagonist tells us the story, his astoundingly-eared girlfriend factors in, as well as the strange and mysterious Sheep Man.
Another of Murakami's musings on the nature of loss and forlornness, the book spends a great deal of time introducing and subsequently killing off characters. Those readers paying rapt attention may spot it coming, but I found myself to be pleasantly surprised by some of the twists and turns the narrative took. Once again we have the protagonist joking his way through a seemingly humdrum existence, writing copy for ads, a process of dismisses as "shoveling cultural snow". That description is actually one of the better things to come from the book, a succinct way of summing up many lives. When he feels something beyond this world calling out to him from the Dolphin Hotel, the penultimate setting of the previous book, his life heads straight down a rabbit hole of high-class call girls, inconsolable movie stars and psychic teenagers. Disparate elements that end of tying together quite nicely in the end. I recall getting within 60 pages of the end and thinking "All right, how the hell does this all tie together?" The answer came pretty shortly after.
Dance, Dance, Dance is not a book with simple, hit-you-over-the-head action and romance. In fact there was quite a bit that befuddled me and took me out of my comfort zone. Yet, I kept on reading it for the simple enjoyment of Murakami's understated voice. The pleasure of slowly meandering through this book helped me offset the stress I was riding into my inaugural period at my job. I would definitely recommend picking up this novel, but do so only after having read A Wild Sheep Chase. Turn the page, kids. See you on the weekend.
Whole bunch of 'em.
So it's been a massively busy week. I got a promotion at work, which is fantastic. However, as with any new position there are fresh new responsibilities. Turns out this new gig has quite a few. Like, pages of stuff. Whole lists of things I'm responsible for. I assume my last position was the same way but after time you don't think of it as a list of things to do, it's just your job. It's still in that new phase for me, where it feels overwhelming but is approaching manageable. I'm excited - it's fantastic and so are my new coworkers. Still, it wears a body out, trying to take everything in. The one small respite in the face of this change? The simple joy of finishing a book while riding the bus home.
Another of Murakami's musings on the nature of loss and forlornness, the book spends a great deal of time introducing and subsequently killing off characters. Those readers paying rapt attention may spot it coming, but I found myself to be pleasantly surprised by some of the twists and turns the narrative took. Once again we have the protagonist joking his way through a seemingly humdrum existence, writing copy for ads, a process of dismisses as "shoveling cultural snow". That description is actually one of the better things to come from the book, a succinct way of summing up many lives. When he feels something beyond this world calling out to him from the Dolphin Hotel, the penultimate setting of the previous book, his life heads straight down a rabbit hole of high-class call girls, inconsolable movie stars and psychic teenagers. Disparate elements that end of tying together quite nicely in the end. I recall getting within 60 pages of the end and thinking "All right, how the hell does this all tie together?" The answer came pretty shortly after.
