Ryu Murakami are viziunea Japoniei care se indreapta spre infern. Din sutele de copii abandonati in cutiile pentru pastrat obiecte din garile nipone, majoritatea mor prin asfixiere. Rezistand in spatiile stramte, fara aer, aproape inecati in propriile fecale si vome, Kiku si Hashi – doua contraste – ajung initial la un orfelinat-manastire. Kiku se arata fascinat de vehicule si dispare ori de cate ori are ocazia, starnind ingrijorarea calugaritelor. Dupa cativa ani devine clar ca Hashi sufera de autism, iar Kiku este cel care-l apara, caruia ii este permis accesul la microsistemele bibilite cu minutiozitate.  Tratamentul din camera izolata in care cei doi ascultau bataile unei inimi da rezultate. Cu toate acestea, calugaritele rasufla usurate cand o familie se arata dornica sa-i infieze. Copiii isi aleg parintii adoptivi pentru ca locuiau langa mare… Cam atat despre primele pagini ale acestei carti captivante. Va las placerea de a descoperi restul.

Am predat la doua scoli publice mai putin obisnuite: una era construita la cativa metri de mare, in Yugawara, iar a doua era construita foarte aproape de un cimitir amplasat pe un deal (scoala avea vedere la cimitir). Isn’t that peculiar?

Revenind la “Copii de aruncat”, se afla pe unul din locurile fruntase din top50 al cartilor citite in 2009.

This was my first encounter with “the other Murakami”, and I’m still not sure what to make of it. It is both a strangely conceived and eerily gripping story, centred around the relationship between gaijin tourist Frank and his guide to Tokyo’s nightlife, Kenji. The tension builds wonderfully throughout the first half of the novel, with vivid details of both Franks unnerving behaviour and the night world of Tokyo’s Kabuki-cho. Yet halfway throught Event X happens, after which the novel spins in new and bizarre directions. The meeting of the two characters is itself a plot device, and the Miso Soup metaphor is spared right until the end, at which point you are left exhausted but slightly unsatisfied. I loved the first half, sped through the second, and enjoyed the vivid charactersiation of those who end up walking the streets of Kabuki-cho at 3am with no place- or reason- to go home. Yet I didn’t expect the violence to be quite so graphic, and felt little lingering message from the short novella once the final page had been turned.

Nu mi-a placut.Titlul era bun,coperta aproape interesanta,autor japonez,continut dezgustator.Ok,inteleg ca subiecte de genul sex,droguri se vand,dar nimeni nu are nevoie de detalii.Cartea s-a rezumat pentru mine la imaginea unei tipe care isi infinge acul prea adanc in coapsa(evident droguri),incepe sa-i curga sange si vine unu’ si o linge.E socant,dezgustator,scarbos,pervers etc.Mi-era aproape mila de drogatii aia ametiti care o faceau cu cine apucau(din cate am inteles de fata cu ceilalti)…Mi-era mila si de autor ca a avut ideile alea.Cred ca pana si unui baiat i s-ar parea pervers.
Washington Post scrie ca :
“Sange si orgii,droguri si sosele inundate de ploaie intr-un roman de un erotism nebun”.
De acord.Dar asta nu face dintr-o carte proasta una buna.Si tot nu inteleg cum a luat atatea premii.Cei care au fost in juriu n-au citit cartea?
Am luat cartea de la biblioteca si acum ca ma uit a mai fost imprumutata de 23 de ori si se mai vede o foaie rupta.Dintre toti cei care ati citit,a apreciat cineva cartea?Daca da,explicati DE CE!Dragul meu Ryu Murakami, e prima si ultima carte pe care o citesc scrisa de tine!

Ryu Murakami can’t be stopped. He might as well live up to Stephen King because after the adaptation of several novels (Audition, 69,  Love & Pop and many more), In the Miso Soup is next. The adaptation of the 1997 thriller novel, known for it’s original perspective on Japanese culture, can count on star Willem Dafoe.

Willem Dafoe (Spiderman, American Psycho, The Boondock Saints, Platoon, The Last Temptation of Christ, Shadow of the Vampire) will play the ominous Frank. The rest of the cast is unknown at this moment, but this is likely because most of the cast will be Japanese since Frank is the only western character in the novel.

The German director Wim Wenders (Don’t Come Knocking, Paris, Texas) will handle the screenplay and they will shoot in Tokyo to follow the novel’s setting. It’s not his first time to visit Japan. He already managed to capture Japan in his documentary Tokyo-Ga and his road picture Until the End of the World.

The story follows Kenji, a twenty year old Japanese guide who navigates foreigners around the sex clubs and hostess bars of Tokyo. His latest client, an American named Frank, is so odd that Kenji begins to suspect he has murderous desires. Kenji unwillingly descends with Frank into an inferno of evil, from which only his sixteen-year-old girlfriend, Jun, can possibly save him.

In the Miso Soup is one of my all time favourite novels. Let’s look forward to this movie. I’m sure Willem Dafoe can portray an excellent Frank.

Ryu Murakami is a remarkable but twisted man. The novelist and filmmaker, sometimes called the ‘Maradona in Japanese literature’ in his home country, makes some bizarre works with an often macabre undertone. The novel I just read Coin Locker Babies is no different.

Coin Locker Babies is the surreal story of two boys, Hashi and Kiku, who were both abandoned by their mothers during infancy and locked in coin lockers at a Tokyo train station in the summer of 1972. Both boys become wards of the Cherryfield Orphanage in Yokohama, where the tough and athletic Kiku comes to the defense of the slight, and often picked on, Hashi. They are adopted by foster parents who live on an island. At the age of 16 both move into a diseased urban wasteland named Toxitown. Hashi becomes a bisexual rock star, employed by an eccentric producer named D. Kiku becomes a pole vaulter and gets to know Anemone, a model who has converted her condo into a swamp for her crocodile. (source)

After thoroughly enjoying Piercing and In the Miso Soup, Coin Locker Babies was another excellent trip. It’s the first story I’ve read by Ryu Murakami that doesn’t have the one-night-shot feeling, so it felt new and refreshing. The surreal story develops over years and you meet a lot of interesting, twisted and emotional unstable characters. Anyway, go read it, you won’t regret it.

side-notes

• The creators of the survival horror game Silent Hill 4: The Room stated in an interview that this book was an influence for that game.
• A film adaptation of the novel is currently in development. Not much is known up until this point.
• Japanese V-Rock artist Miyavi stated that he never read Coin Locker Babies but his debut album does have a track named ‘Coin Lockers Baby’ where you can hear baby screams on the background throughout the song.
• The sci-fi anime Eureka Seven based Anemone, an equally unbalanced young woman on Kiku’s girlfiend in Coin Locker Babies. They both kept a pet named Gulliver.
• An entirely personal opinion but I can’t help to relate the events and setting of Toxitown to infected Manhattan in the 2009 action game Prototype.

Publisher: Bloomsbury

Hardcover: 200 pages

Audition is about misogyny; be it hidden or blatant, it’s about our ability to hide who we truly our, it’s about our own gratification and it’s also an insight into the relations between Japanese men and women.

Misogyny is presented in two different ways in this book, Aoyama and his friend Yoshikawa stage a fake audition for finding a wife for Aoyama. These two men are deceiving the women who apply. On the surface, it can be seen as being harmless but there is a darker undercurrent to the proceedings.

Aoyama actively seeks out the women who have a classical background; someone from the arts and therefore someone cultured. There is something quite seedy about the whole thing; all the women are being presented as if in a whorehouse and the two men are paying customers.

Aoyama finally settles upon Yamasaki Asami, who, on first appearances, is beautiful and everything he wanted. She is completely subversive; she seems utterly devoted to Aoyama. He, therefore, is getting his own gratification from the situation. He expects this woman to be hanging by every word.

The men in this book all act as if women are only for their own sense of need. Aoyama wants an intelligent woman, not because he wants a women who can hold her own but one that can keep up while he’s lecturing. His son dislikes the girls at his school because they are too independent. The men want submissive, willing females.

In the book, people hide behind facades. Asami hides behind her beauty and her submissive behaviour. In fact, in the audition, Yoshikawa warns Aoyama not to trust a photograph as a women might look different. This is because photographs aren’t a true depiction of life, they are a placeholder for a moment; we can never truly believe a photograph because it’s been processed by another gaze. The characters in the book have different gazes on the same thing: Asami. Everyone sees her as cold and distant, they do not understand her but Aoyoma sees her through his own mental process, he only sees what he wants to see.

In fact, the book seems to make a point of everyone is being someone else. It’s all about what you have, where you go and what you do. Aoyama thinks that in Japan people can what they want but they must sacrifice something for it. A subtle foreshadowing of what happens to him perhaps.

There is a fair amount of discussion about food in the book. Aoyoma and Asami go to different restaurants and have foreign food but not Japanese cuisine. In one part Aoyama says that

In this country we have the illusion that there’s always this warm, loving community we belong to, but the other side of that is a sort of exclusiveness and xenophobia, and our food reflects this. Japanese cuisine isn’t inclusive at all – in fact it’s extremely inhospitable to outsiders, to people who don’t fit into the community.

Asami and Aoyama have sex in the book, and it is in this scene where her facade slips and their positions are reversed. She is assertive, she takes the initiative and he becomes placid and submissive. Aoyama thinks to himself why isn’t he taking control, why isn’t “pushing her down on the bed and climbing on top of her?” Note the word “pushing”, his position of power is being taking away, so he wants to be domineering and to control the sex. Later on, he remembers how he penetrated her and how he got “a taste of cruel and infinitely salacious delight”. He uses the word “assailing” to describe him entering her and he describes her vagina as her “inner temple”. So, the word temple brings up connotations of tranquillity, his act and his enjoyment of it is metaphorically him gaining his power back by penetrating an important part of her. There is no love but only a need to be on top, both figuratively and literally.

Anyway, I don’t want to spoil it but probably most people know what happens. I’m going to give this book three stars, and I did enjoy it but I would recommend getting it from the library. I don’t see myself reading it again. I think a problem with it is that I’ve seen the film and it somewhat spoils it. Plus, I’ve read about this themes before and it doesn’t bring anything that new to it. It’s well written and does make you think a bit but I’m not sure it has staying power.

It’s been a pretty slow week so far. I have, however, gone to the library (today in fact) and burrowed two books:

This is based on the film Audition directed by Takashi Miike. The film wasn’t that great, although I do wonder if I hadn’t know anything about it would it have been better or worse. Takashi Miike is a reasonable enough director, his most famous film (at least with Western audiences) Ichi the Killer is ridiculously over-the-top, combining the frenzy and whirlwind cartoonish antics of a Bugs Bunny cartoon with a story involving gore and sadomasochism. Visitor Q is a film that will have to staring at the scene with utter disbelief at what you’re watching. However, I’m more a fan of his more subdued and reflective fare. His film The Bird People of China is utterly wonderful, combining the tranquil stillness of say, a Takeshi ‘Beat’ Kitano film with his own comedic slapstick. If you only think Takashi Miike films are just mindless gore then watch The Bird People of China.

If you don’t know what Audition is about then here is the synopsis:

Documentary-maker Aoyama hasn’t dated anyone in the seven years since the death of his beloved wife, Ryoko. Now even his teenage son Shige has suggested he think about remarrying. So when his best friend Yoshikawa comes up with a plan to hold fake film auditions so that Aoyama can choose a new bride, he decides to go along with the idea. Of the thousands who apply, Aoyama only has eyes for Yamasaki Asami, a young, beautiful, delicate and talented ballerina with a turbulent past. But there is more to her than Aoyama, blinded by his infatuation, can see, and by the time he discovers the terrifying truth it may be too late Ryu Murakami delivers his most subtle and disturbing novel yet, confirming him as Japan’s master of the psycho-thriller.

The second book is:

When I saw this book I knew I had to get it. I’m hopping it’s going to be so bad it’s good. The book is by Noire (whoever he is) and I’m guessing 50 Cent just put his name on it to get some more money. Supposedly, it’s an urban erotic appetizer, whatever that is. The synopsis doesn’t make it sound anything to do with eroticism or an appetizer. Perhaps the book is the equivalent of foreplay and no sex. Here’s the synopsis:

The seven Davis brothers made a promise to their mother on her deathbed: they would each make something of their lives. And they vowed they would watch over eighteen-year-old Zabu Davis, their baby brother. Intelligent, driven, and charismatic, Baby Brother had resisted the lure of Brooklyn street life and was headed for Stanford University on a pre-med scholarship. But on the eve of his departure for California, in a split second of blinding violence, his girlfriend is fatally shot and Baby Brother’s life is thrown onto a tragic collision course. Soon, his devoted brothers follow a path of blood justice that will rock the city streets. Baby Brother was their pride and joy. Now, he’s their reason to fight for vengeance.

It doesn’t sound that bad, cliché but the writing might be decent. We shall see. I’m not very confident though seeing as the author’s other book is another URBAN EROTIC TALE called, wait for it….THONG ON FIRE. Is that a medical condition? The synopsis is top notch too:

From the streets to sheets, Thong on Fire spins the torn-from-the-headlines story of Saucy Sarita Robinson-a sassy video vixen whose grimy street capers lift her up to the top of her game, then slam her down. HARD.

Hilarious.

―¿Un suicidio, no? Bueno, como no estás muerto, es sólo un intento de suicidio, pero el hecho es que no sabes hacer las cosas bien. Aunque te cortes la muñeca, bueno, el ser humano está muy bien hecho, lo bastante para mantenerte con vida. Tendrías que frotar fuertemente la muñeca contra una pared o algo por el estilo para levantar la piel y sacar la vena fuera y entonces cortarla. Pero si lo quieres hacer realmente en serio, firmemente en serio, deberías cortarte aquí, ves, bajo la oreja, con una cuchilla de afeitar, y entonces, aunque una ambulancia te trajese aquí diariamente, no podrías salvarte.

Palabras de una enfermera en Azul casi transparente, de Murakami R.

69 is Ryu Murakami’s homage to 1969, the year of student riots in Japan, to the sixties culture in general and to adolescence. I found it a very engaging and funny read (it made me laugh out loud, which I rarely do when reading a book), not least because so much of one’s own life is recognisable and I’m now of an age when I can laugh at my own adolescence. Needless to say, it is most unlike Murakami’s other books, lacking, as it does, the violence and amorality of Inthe Miso Soup and Audition, but it is a book in whose company an afternoon would be well spent.

Plasata in Japonia celui de-al doilea razboi mondial, in timpul invaziei americane, actiunea aduce in prim plan un personaj cu gasca lui de prieteni ce cauta incontinuu noi moduri de a se droga, de a petrece si de a face sex.
Suna foarte mult cu Trainspotting si in unele locuri chiar nu am putut sa nu ma gandesc la asemanarea intre cele doua romane insa exista o mare diferenta: Albastru nemarginjit, aproape transparent e mult, mult mai slabut si mai prost scris decat Trainspotting.
Desi stiu ca Ryu Murakami e un scriitor cult in Japonia si are numerosi fani atat ca scriitor cat si ca regizor dar, trebuie sa spun, stilul sau de a scrie nu m-a impresionat.
Romanul este destul de original si unele parti sunt interesante si fiind destul de scurt nu reusesti sa te plictisesti de el si astfel nu esti nevoit sa arunci cartea si sa uiti de ea, ceea ce e un plus dar nu unul atat de mare incat sa cataloghez autorul si romanul sau in lista mea de preferati.
Adevarul e ca, dupa cate am vazut, cartile lui Ryu Murakami sunt cumparate de tineri de 15-16 ani care, cred, nu au o cultura literara foarte avansata si merg direct spre ceva sigur: droguri, sex, petreceri = ceva neplicticos si tabu. Adevarul e ca ar trebui ca cineva sa ii indrume spre adevaratii maestri ai genului: Irvine Welsh, Charles Bukowski, Henry Miller.

As you might imagine, we get a hell of a lot of books arriving in the office. In the lead up to the festival publishers send through newly released titles and proof books with their heavy paper and plain covers as one of the ways to spruik the fabulous writers under their wings. Some of the writers end up as guests of the festival; many of them don’t. But it’s such an exciting moment when new packages arrive. It’s like Christmas, but delivered by courier!

I’m still lagging a bit when it comes to my reading list but I’ve managed both China Miéville’s The City and The City and Scott Westerfeld’s Last Days, both guests of the festival this year. I’m not sure I’ll have much free time over the first weekend but if I can squeeze it in I’ll be at their sessions with bells on (I’ll probably forgo the pointed shoes though). Miéville has a touch for alternate worlds, layers on layers of shared but separated experience. It’s not too far from own world really.

I’m a geek at heart. I’ve snagged copies of Carrie Ryan’s The Forest of Hands and Teeth (so spooky I still have it half-read and facing down beside my bed), Megan Abbott’s The Song is You (for its irresistible pulp cover by artist Richie Fahey), and I’m hoping to convince Steve that surely he wants to pass Ryu Murakami’s Audition my way, because sharing is just like a big hug. There won’t be much time for reading over the next two months (busy busy whoosh!), but I’ll squeeze in what I can.

Louise
Festival Administrator

Împlinesc 2 ani de Last.fm. Trupa preferată a rămas şi va rămâne, clar, Opeth. Şi melodia, evident, Agathodaimon – Body of Clay (adică asta de mai jos, deşi parcă o mai postasem o dată, mai demult…). La mulţi ani mie şi contului meu.

***

Am citit azi Albastru nemărginit, aproape transparent. Şi iniţial m-a dezgustat, dar apoi cred că mi-a fost cumva milă şi greaţă de toţi drogaţii ăia. Mă fascina totuşi felul în care vedeau lucrurile, oraşul ca o pasăre, ploaia – ace argintii, da era frumos punctul lor de vedere, păcat că era doar efectul dependenţei de droguri. E trist totuşi că azi se vând din ce în ce mai mult cărţile despre sex, droguri şi violenţă, m-am săturat să dau peste de-astea, să mi le recomande lumea, să le aleg la întâmplare din rafturile din bibliotecă şi să îmi dau seama că aproape orice copertă de carte nouă ascunde aceleaşi teme comerciale şi, de multe ori, dezgustătoare, că aproape orice scriitor contemporan va încerca să se facă mai citibil tocmai prin pasajele astea cu detalii picante despre organe sexuale, sânge şi efectele drogurilor. Lumea asta se duce de râpă, aş fi preferat să se rămână la stadiul de Sandra Brown, siropoşenii şi dulcegării telenoveliste, care, în fond, nu transmiteau nimic. Nimic e mai bine decât rău. Şi încercasem să-i ofer o a doua şansă lui Ryu Murakami (la prima încercare, anume Extasy, a fost execrabil), şi poate că în asta a avut câteva pasaje mai expresive. Dar nu cred că mă mai încumet vreodată să citesc ceva de el.

***

Ne vedem la SdC.

Littérature Japonaise

Auteur: Ryû Murakami

J’ai décidé de m’intéresser de près à la littérature japonaise et je commence avec Bleu presque transparent. un roman noir, glauque qui nous nous raconte le quotidien d’une bande de jeunes drogués.

J’ai trouvé un article sur le net qui résume très bien le bouquin don j’ai décidé de le publier car je ne pourrais pas faire mieux: “Sexes, drogues, hallucinations. On baise, on se défonce, on baise encore, on essaie de s’accrocher aux autres mais on ne trouve rien; on s’engueule, on se cogne dessus, on se fait mal, on se réconcilie, on se tape encore plus fort. On accepte la douleur, parce qu’ainsi on est sûr qu’on est encore vivant. On écoute les Stones, Hendrix, Janis, les Doors. On fréquente les soldats américains, on échange le sexe et la drogue. On vit en marge, on ne fréquente pas la société, sinon la police et l’hôpital. Suicidaire, on veut mourir, on veut que l’autre nous tue.
On vit dans un monde glauque, tout faisande, croupit, se putréfie, lève le cœur. On avale n’importe quoi et on n’arrive plus à se débarrasser de ces goûts acres. On vomit toutes les saletés possibles, on saigne constamment parce que les lèvres sont fendues, parce que le sexe est blessé, on sue, les muqueuses dégoulinent sans cesse, les humeurs de tout le monde se répandent, larmes, sang, spermes et vomissures confondus.
Il reste le rêve (plutôt psychédélique, donc jamais loin du cauchemar), un bref moment de beauté entrevue, le désir d’amitié, un peu d’enfance.”

Vous trouvez ce résumé salé, et bien ne lisez pas le roman car Murakami fait pire. En effet il nous raconte ce qui fut, apparemment, sa jeunesse puisque l’auteur est le narrateur et il s’appelle Ryû. Un livre entre l’autobiographie et la fiction donc. En tout cas Murakami a un style bien particulier et n’y va pas par quatre chemin pour d’écrire les ressenties de son personnage. De plus vu que Ryû se drogue, il décrit un univers parfois un peu psychédélique à la limite du compréhensible pour le lecteur. Personnellement j’ai vraiment bien apprécié ce roman, justement pour son côté psychédélique et très noir. Par contre âme sensible s’abstenir.

Ma note: 3,5/5

Taking a break at the end of another weekend slog. This is the part of the process where I have to dot my ‘i’s and cross my ‘t’s – go through every panel (all 308 of them) and make sure there is balance and energy and a good chair. I’ve had an email conversation today with Michael McGirr who most people will remember for his gentle and witty memoir about travelling with his mother, Things You Get For Free.  Michael will join us at the festival to talk about his new book, The Lost Art of Sleep which continues his personal journey while exploring all things sleep related. Warmly engaging, erudite and delightfully personal – it won’t help cure your insomnia but it will certainly explain it. I got a buzz as one of his interviewees is Geraldine Moses, a Brisbane doctor and old school friend. He also remembers one of my Brisbane Writers Festivals with great warmth because his twins were conceived there!

It is thrilling when the right combination of panellists come together. And sometimes in a way that is surprising. Yesterday I was following up a lead for a speaker on trauma for a panel, After the bushfires and the psychologist I was pursuing also turned out to be not just a child Holocaust survivor but he had studied and written about children who survived the Holocaust too.  So I immediately asked him to do a session with Judge Thomas Buergenthal.

There is also frustration – my beautiful combinations morph from one combination to another as potential chairs reply “moving to Sydney”, “will be overseas” and then – another pot of gold in my in-box. This time Paddy O’Reilly gets back to me from Tokyo saying yes, she’d love to interview Hitomi Kanehara. Paddy’s first novel, The Factory, was written in Japan on an Asialink grant and she is a great fan of Hitomi’s work. I’ve been pursuing Hitomi for awhile as I’m intrigued by her novels. She is a media superstar in Japan and still only in her mid-20s. She is bringing her husband and small baby with her which explains why travel has been off the menu for a while. (Heidi Julavits is travelling with her baby too – we need a creche!). Hitomi wrote her first novel before she was even 20 and it won the most prominent Japanese literary award, the Akutagawa Prize, in 2004. One of the judges, celebrated writer Ryu Murakami, said her book was ‘easily the top choice, receiving the highest marks of any work since I became a member of the selection panel’. The original Japanese edition of Snakes and Earrings has since topped bestseller lists and sold over a million copies, and translated into 28 languages. Snakes and Earrings is, in the best Japanese tradition, a dark tale of sex and violence.

Speaking of sex and violence, our Danny Katz donation campaign has been wildly successful which is a shame – I was looking forward to Danny & Shane Maloney doing a nude reading in a paddling pool full of gravy. The media have picked up on Danny’s fabulous letter (see it on our website if you haven’t already) giving the campaign extra life. If a few more people donate we will reach our goal by the end of June (the end of the financial year for those looking for a good tax-deduction).

We hand the program to The Age this Friday so as we tick off panels we lock them away in template documents which eventually become the printed program. We are radically changing the way the program looks this year, We’ve made many improvements to its readability over the last few years but people new to the festival are often overwhelmed by the sheer number of events and authors. So we want to find a way of presenting the masses of print-heavy information in a clearer, more graphic fashion. With more cross-referencing and using the website as a repository for more detailed information like author biographies. It has been an interesting experiment involving many designers, many templates, many focus groups, many dead ends and we think we’ve come up with something splendid. The Age have also agreed to increase the size of the program from 24 to 28 pages which will make a vast difference.

Back to work – I still have half a dozen invitations to chair panels to send out tonight before I go home and check on my increasingly independent children.

Goodnight!

Rosemary
Festival Director

«―Es como si estuviéramos en el fondo del mar; está tan tranquilo que casi me asusta. Ryu, ¿sabes que puedo oír tu respiración y también la mía?»

Azul casi transparente, Murakami R.

Harta de tanto silencio, tanta tranquilidad.

Esta habitación está pidiendo gritos que traspasen valientes el cemento.

Hi again,

I’ll try and make sense, even though I’m sharing a ’12 things on the go’ moment with (pretty much) all my colleagues. The festival is hotting up – authors, events and ideas about the ways these two intersect are moving around us at an ungainly speed. It’s fun, but it’s all becoming a little bit of a blur (in a fun way though, pretty much like doing ‘wizzies’ when you were a kid).

Every time my eyes refocus I turn them to a new book. I’ve just started Philip Hensher’s The Northern Clemency, a Booker nominee and, at this early stage of my reading I can understand why; the language is beautiful, loaded and large, but still light and erudite (if that’s all possible). I’m only 100 pages in and I’ve met almost 20 characters … an ‘epic portrait’ indeed. I already feel like I’d be at home in any of the local pubs (in one of the corners of 1970s Sheffield).

Prior to this I’ve read Ryu Murakami’s Audition, a short book about a middle-aged man who chances upon the most unique way of finding a second wife … by creating a fake film project which a range of women audition for. I was, after much of what I’ve read about this book, expecting something far more violent. This wasn’t really the case. There is a sense of unease that’s sustained through much of the latter part of the book and it only gets a little gruesome at the end. I look forward to seeing the film version (although I’m a little concerned about the affect on me, seeing the ‘Critical response‘ section of the Wiki page).

I also read Steven Amsterdam’s Things We Didn’t See Coming (Sleepers Publishing). I’m not going to be able to do this book justice in this short blog, but I really enjoyed it. I wasn’t expecting spec-fiction and also got something that reminded me of David Mitchell, whose Cloud Atlas I loved. Amsterdam’s book follows one main character through a series of episodes in a post-Y2K world … a world that’s gone totally awry, and a world that could very possibly be ours in the too-soon future (Y2K aside). It’s believable, and there’s room in the spaces to let the reader bring their own thoughts to the table.

I’d better go now, given I’m still in the middle of a ’11 things on the go’ moment.

Regards

Steve
Associate Director

69 – Ryu Murakami, originally uploaded by Haiku Girl.

Excellent book!

Aoyama is a documentary maker and has not had a serious relationship for seven years since the death of his wife. His friends and his teenage son persuade him to consider remarrying and so a plot his hatched between Aoyama and his best friend to find the perfect wife. Under the pretext of making a film, auditions are held, except the young hopefuls are auditioning for the role of wife, rather than a starring part in any film. Aoyama immediately falls for the beautiful ballerina Yamasaki Asami. As their relationship develops and Aoyama’s obsession grows, he asks her tomarry him and when she accepts, he decides it is time to come clean and tell her the truth, including that he has a teenage son.

The premise of Ryu Murakami’s short novel is pretty straightforward and as I was reading it I was lulled into a false state of security. I thought I was reading a book primarily about male middle-aged angst, but as the story develops it becomes darker and darker. In its reveiw of his earlier book Piercing, the Times Literary Supplement described it as a “smart and snappy psychosexual thriller and a commentary on the violent things men and women do to one another.” If anything this would be an understatement if applied to Audition. Not only is this a stylishly and succinctly written book, it is also a book about truth, lies and morality and our perceptions of these. The final scene is as shocking and violent as anything I’ve read this year (including McCarthy) and exceeds In the Miso Soup and Piercing in this respect. But as your stomach is churning at the events described, you cannot help but admire the work of both writer and translator.

Acum ceva timp am dus la un anticariat vreo 200 de cărţi. Majoritatea titluri de duzină, apărute pe timpul comuniştilor. Romane subţirele, cărţi de specialitate, tot felul. Am păstrat restul de vreo 5-600 de cărţi bune primite de la socri în dar atunci când ne-am mutat la casă nouă.

Între timp am mai cumpărat un toptan de cărţi pe care nu mai avem în curând unde să le punem. Dar pentru că de anticariat nu prea mai avem nimic, probabil că ne vom extinde biblioteca.

Cele mai dragi îmi sunt cărţile micuţe, gen Biblioteca pentru toţi, că tot mi-a adus Alex aminte de ele. Mândră tare mai  sunt de cele patru volume din Mizerabilii pe care le-am achiziţionat acum vreo 4-5 ani de la buchiniştii din Paris. La loc de cinste stau, de asemenea, scriitorii ruşi şi cei japonezi. Ruşii mi-au plăcut foarte mult în tinereţe, iar pe japonezi i-am descoperit mai pe la 30 de ani. Ryu Murakami (Albastru nemărginit, aproape transparent; În supa miso şi Copii de aruncat-traduse în româneşte) e un scriitor foarte bun. Musashi şi Taiko sunt şi ele la loc de cinste.

De astăzi s-a apucat Jurnalul Naţional să republice titluri din Biblioteca pentru toţi. Sper să mai găsesc la chioşc Cel mai iubit dintre pământeni.

Then a little past noon, the phone rang.

“How’s it going?” It was Yuki.

“Okay.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Thinking about lunch. Smoked salmon with pedigreed lettuce and razor-sharp slices of onion that have been soaked in ice water, brushed with horseradish and mustard, served on French butter rolls baked in the hot ovens of Kinokuniya. A sandwich made in heaven!”

“It sounds okay.”

“It’s not okay. It’s nothing less than uplifting. And if you don’t believe me, you can ask your local bee. You could also ask your friendly clover. They’ll tell you – it really is great.”

“What’s this bee and clover stuff? What’re you talking about?”

“Figure of speech.”

“You know,” said Yuki, “you ought to try growing up. I’m only thirteen, but even so I sometimes think you’re kind of dumb.”

The excerpt up above is from page 162 from Dance Dance Dance by Haruki Murakami (a sequel to the author’s previous work, The Wild Sheep Chase, something that Murakami seems to want you to remember one second then forget about completely the next).

Murakami is a fascinating writer, but one who operates in a very Wittgenstein sort of way: What is there is almost as important as what is not there. What is there is typically bizarre exchanges, long drawn out scenes that never seem to end one moment, and then tasty little nuggets of scenes that fly by way too fast, an often lazy narrator who’s feeling left behind by the world, had a wife, a girlfriend, or a cat (and usually all three) leave him, then befriends a pre-pubescent girl who’s almost as much of an outsider of him while being wiser in her perspective of the world than he, then beds a hooker not only with a heart of gold but a special insight into dreamworlds and night crimes, loves old jazz and Beatles records, and spends excruciatingly long and excitingly large amounts of time preparing food or talking about the mundane little activities one can occupy oneself with in a solitary lifestyle. To him, making a salad and having some rice and drinking a few beers while staying in for the night and catching up on reading Kafka and listen to Nat King Cole may as well be storming the beaches of Normandy. What’s not there is gorgeous in the whole if not the pieces as you take a wonderfully unsettling journey into magical realism and dark little worlds that exist on top of ours but can only be seen when you turn off the lights. Fantastic stuff.

So here’s the thing about me: I pretty much always read two books at once. It’s just something I’ve typically always done, but to varying degrees in my life. When I was a kid, I was one of those super annoying kids (the smart ones), you know? I had two or three books going in my room at a time while having one book in the bathroom (everyone does that, so don’t front on me here, kids) that was I reading, and one in the living room waiting for me, along with one in my mom’s car, one in my dad’s car, and I was reading all of them off and on around the same time.

The other night I finished both of the books I was reading. My reading/literary intake for the past few months has been dismal, honestly. Embarrassingly slow, to be honest. One of the books, as you might’ve guessed, was Dance Dance Dance by Murakmi. His books are not too long or arduous of reads. They’re relatively simple with beautiful language (a skill of both Murakmi and his translators) that can be digested with the greatest of ease. But for some reason this book of his took me forever to read, but by no fault of the book or anything. In fact, it was at Murakmi’s usual high quality (I say that, but be warned: he’s just not for everyone).

It was probably because some of his books… well, they’re just meant to be read in periods of sustained, manageable depression. They just are. I started into what is basically a season in hell a few months back, right around the time I started reading Dance Dance Dance. Bad idea. Murakami isn’t your companion into the bad times, he’s for when you’re already there, I think. The metaphors work almost perfectly here since he’s obsessed with other worlds, metaphysical dream places that exist on top of the reality we know and kind of allow us to melt through when we’re emotionally lost or tender and float through these soft places…

To explain that better: Take the logic of the Island time travel wonkiness on Lost and filter it through a functioning sense of loneliness and a nice old record collection and a love for hookers, just subtract the tropical setting and anybody with guns and you’re closer to the mindset of your typical Murakami protagonist.

But I digress. If you ever think to yourself, “Man, I’ve been kind of down for a while…” then you should go pick up one of Murakami’s longer books (see below). Personally, I’d suggest The Wind Up Bird Chronicle as a nice little introduction to those longer novels of his, a book for the veterans of non-dopey sad. It’s the book that Thom Yorke (doesn’t he just seem like he’d always be kind of depressed? At parties, DJing at bar mitzvahs, and the birth of his kids, etc.) was reading during the making of OK Computer if I remember my music trivia correctly (and I do). That’s not credentials by any means, but it’s an interesting insight into the mood of the thing, I think.

I mentioned his longer books up there, right? Last year for Peanut’s birthday, I gave her (it was last year, right, Peanut?) a copy of Murakami’s Sputnik Sweetheart, a lovely little favorite of mine. Here is an excerpt from me trying to explain why in a letter to her: He tends to write two kinds of books. The first are these big, weird juggernauts of sadness and quirkiness and loneliness which seem like a lesson plan taught on situational metaphysics and quantum swinger parties, but transcribed from a mellow college class that you can only take in your dreams. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, an excellent book of his, is one of these such gorgeous oddities and one that I love. And then I mentioned the Thom Yorke bit because… well, I tend to repeat myself.

The second type of book that he tends to write, I continued to Peanut in the email, are these much smaller, more intimate books usually about a lonely protagonist/narrator who likes old jazz and Beatles records (see again how I repeat myself?) and exists mostly in the nighttime hours and ponders over his missed connections with women in the past and longs for the girl who got away. These smaller books are only shorter in content but certainly not slighter in quality and tend to be pure treatises on loneliness shot right into your vein. They miss out on a little of the technical wonder and bizarre dazzle of his larger books, but they’re still lovely ways to spend your time. And the book that I gave her (which I think she liked? Peanut?), Sputnik Sweetheart, was probably 2/3 the second time of book I described and 1/3 the first type.

My last little bit on Murakami, whom I shouldn’t neglect to mention is criticized heavily in his native Japan for his beyond blatant love for American pop culture (there’s a three page portion of the novel where the narrator ruminates on how stupid he thinks Genesis is for a band)(and a nice pit of post modern meta as the narrator meets his fictional double, Hiraku Makimura), is a bit of advice: Be patient when reading him. Dance Dance Dance is a psuedo-detective (in a kind of Phillip K. Dick manner, one of the cover blurbs asserted), but the protagonist moves at an almost glacial pace in solving this crime. You could say that he hunts down the murderer in question at the same speed in which OJ tracked down “the real killers.” The nameless protagonist of this novel makes The Dude look like Phillip Marlowe and Haruki Murakami is the Ben Gibbard of magical realism.

The other book, by the way, was Airframe by Michael Crichton. It’s from back when he was still good, but even still, it’s one of his softer “thrillers.” But it would make for excellent airport gift shop mass consumption, I’d wager.

Anyways, I posted a version of all of this earlier and asked for suggestions for something new to dive into reading next. Sure, I’ve got a massive stack of unread books piling up next to my bed, but I wanted something new. Something someone was passionate about, something they screamed at me, “You must read this right now!” And I got some great responses with good suggestions so I want to especially thank Lollipop and Bailey and Elvira for their suggestions and Murakami love.

Lykke Li “Dance Dance Dance” (mp3)

The Clientele “Bookshop Casanova” (mp3)

Mono “Ashes In The Snow” (mp3)

You can read the short story “A Shinagawa Monkey” by Murakami that appeared in The New Yorker here.

Some of the above pictures are from here and here and here’s an interesting bit on Takashi Murakami (no relation to Haruki or Ryu). And another.

You you can also read “Tony Takitani,” the short story on which the film is based.

And don’t forget to stop by Exorcising Ghosts, a really nice Haruki Murakami fansite.

A common theme in Murakami’s books is people who just vanish into thin air, as if they moved from this world into one of those mysterious other ones that can only exist parallel to one of his novels. Here’s 10 writers that departed in mysterious ways.

from pages 272-273 of Dance Dance Dance:

Yuki squinted and reached out to touch my cheek. Her fingertips were soft and smooth. She sniffed the air around me, her tiny nostrils swelling slightly. She gave me another long look. “You saw something, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“But you can’t say what. You can’t put it into words. Can’t explain, not to anyone. But I can see it.” She leaned over and grazed her cheek against mine. “Poor thing,” she said.

“How come?” I asked, laughing. There was no reason to laugh, but I couldn’t not laugh. “All things considered, I’m the most ordinary guy you could hope to find. So why do these weird things keep happening to me?”

“Yeah, why?” said Yuki. “Don’t look at me. I’m just a kid.  You’re the adult here.”

“True enough.”

“But I understand how you feel.”

“I don’t.”

“At times like this, adults need a drink.”

So naturally I have started to go through what I think are the best books of the year which I will announce on the 30th of December, in the lead up and looking at other people blogs everyone is working out how many books they have read and by male or female authors like Simon Stuck in a Book. I liked this idea of as well as blogging your favourites of the year you do something a bit different too. However I thought of a few extra questions I would ask people, so here we go…

How many books read in 2008?
I think the one I am reading now will be the last one of the year as after that am reading Anna Karenina and don’t think could read that in less than three days and finish this one so “When Will There Be Good News” will be my 102nd book of the year beating last years 69.

How many fiction and non fiction?
In total 94 fictions and 8 non fictions.

Male/Female author ratio?
50 male and 52 female which really shocked me as I thought I had read much more books by women than men, odd.

Favourite book of 2008?
I have a pretty sneaky suspicion but you’ll have to wait until the end of the year!

Least favourite?
Midnight Cowboy by James Leo Herlihy was incredibly boring though I finished it, I didn’t finish Iain Pears ‘An Instance of the Fingerpost’. I also thought that ‘Son of a Witch’ by Gregory Maguire was poor; I don’t think anything he has done has been as good as ‘Wicked’ though. I refuse to mention Abby Lee. I was also underwhelmed by Emily Bronte sadly.

Any that you simply couldn’t finish and why?
I didn’t finish the aforementioned ‘An Instance of the Fingerpost’ just because after realising that I was going to have to read the same boring storyline four times from different people I gave up during the second. My Gran read this and struggled on through but said she wished she’d given up. The other was ‘Company of Liars’ by Karen Maitland which I really wanted to read but just wasn’t in the right mind frame for, maybe in 2009!

Oldest book read?
Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ which I thought didn’t live up to expectations at all.

Newest?
I have read a fair few new ones of which isn’t out until January, so a few pre-publication.

Longest book title?
I read quite a lot of long titled books such as any of the M.C. Beaton ‘Agatha Raisin’ novels but it was Mary Ann Shaffer’s ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’ is officially the longest.

Longest and shortest books?
Nicola Barker’s ‘Darkmans’ was easily the longest; shortest I think is ‘The Tales of Beedle the Bard’ by J.K. Rowling.

How many books from the library?
None, which is shameful isn’t it!?

Any translated books?
‘The Reader’ by Bernhard Schlink, ‘Strangers’ by Taichi Yamada and ‘In The Miso Soup’ by Ryu Murakami.

Most read author of the year, and how many books by that author?
Stella Duffy, I managed to devour three of her books this year!

Any re-reads?
Not this year.

Favourite character of the year?
Julie Ashton the narrator of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’ just completely and utterly stole my heart this year, either her or Atticus from Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’.

Which countries did you go to through the page in your year of reading?
England and America through the ages, Italy, China, Switzerland, Sweden, Germany, France, Africa, Afghanistan, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, The Netherlands, Guernsey, Mexico, post apocalyptic somewhere, and of course the land of Oz.

Which book wouldn’t you have read without someone’s specific recommendation?
‘The Reader’ by Bernhard Schlink.

Did you read any books you have always been meaning to read?
Five classics; Harper Lee’s ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’, Emily Bronte’s ‘Wuthering Heights’, Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness’, Henry James ‘Turn of the Screw’ and John Buchan’s ‘The Thirty-Nine Steps’.

Reviewed by Christopher Patrick Steffen

In the Miso Soup is an extraordinary novel for those who enjoy post-modern works like Don Delillo’s The Great Jones Street or Bret Ellis’s early works (and I emphasize early works, because he has only grown progressively worse with each publication). Set in modern Tokyo, the novel follows Kenji, a sex-trade tour guide, as he entertains the bizarre, overweight American tourist named Frank. Very early in their relationship something about Frank disturbs Kenji. This reaches a very graphic and disturbing crescendo in the middle of the novel.

I read in the author’s note that Murakami was somewhat involved with the ultra-violent movies being made in Japan (movies like Tokyo Decadence) that have been shipped overseas and are influencing things like the Saw and Hostel movies. Personally, I think they are overrated and are basically taking the obvious next step that Seven outlined. There is an ultra-violent scene in the middle of this novel. If Murakami is involved with these Japanese movies, I am going to leave it at that, because gratuitous violence is boring and has been done.

What makes In the Miso Soup brilliant is everything that happens after that scene. If the novel had ended after page 143, I would have shrugged and filed it away as a cheap Less Than Zero or American Psycho rip-off. Instead, it powers on for another seventy-five pages. This is where the novel stands on its own. Murakami makes no apologies for Frank, but still manages to explore the psychology of his character in such a way as to reflect on the exchange of culture between the United States and Japan. It is an impressive feat.

Taichi Yamada

Priveam odata la Marius Tuca Show o discutie intre moderator si Theodor Stolojan. Spunea noul nostru premier: Domnule Tuca, stiti dumneavoastra de cate ori este mai mare PIB-ul Frantei decat cel al Romaniei? De tjde mii de ori. Dar al Marii Britanii? De ntjde mii de ori. Dar, domnule Tuca, stiti oare dumneavoastra de cate ori e mai mare PIB-ul Japoniei decat al nostru? De nnnnntjde mii ori. La care Tuca a dat cea mai tare replica pe care am auzit-o vreodata de la el: Enervanti japonezii astia!

Exact asa mi-am zis si eu dupa ce am teminat In cautarea unei voci din departare, de Taichi Yamada. Domne’, cum reusesc scriitorii astia japonezi din zilele noastre sa scrie de la formidabil in sus? Yasunara Kawabata, Junichiro Tanizaki, Haruki Murakami, Ryu Murakami, Kenzaburo Oe sau Kazuo Ishiguro m-au fascinat, desi toti pornesc de la aceeasi ecuatie primordiala: omul contemporan = alienat. Yamada a reusit sa se strecoare si el in aceasta ilustra galerie iritanta.
Cartea sa se invarte in jurul zbaterii interioare a unui functionar japonez, pe nume Tsuneo, un om cu trecut si cu probleme, care incepe sa auda vocea misterioasa a unei femei. Cartea poate fi citita in mai multe chei: romanul didactic – studiu de caz despre ce patesti daca iti inabusi sentimentele si nu lupti impotriva sechelelor, roman al sexualitatii ambivalente (la bucata asta va trebui sa suportati nitel Brokeback Mountain), iar, daca rezistati, veti fi rasplatiti cu romanul sensiblitatii care lupta pentru supravietuire cand toate celelalte ii stau impotriva.

Ratiunea imi spune sa il citesc pe acest Tsuneo ca pe un bolnav psihic incurabil, dar inima imi dicteaza sa il admir si sa il invidiez pentru ca indrazneste sa mai viseze.