Book Chatter: Murakami & Dreams

I just finished re-reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami. I can't even remember when I read it last, or where I was, which is odd to me. I think it's the only one of Murakami's books I hadn't re-read until now - probably due to its 600-page length, but maybe because of something else.

Muarakami has a unique ability to twist my mind, I sometimes think. His characters live in a world where mysterious and magical things happen - but more often than not, it is dark, and sinister, and somehow more real to me than the types of magic I've encountered in other literature. He captures something about dreams that I find unnerving and immersing at the same time.

My brain gets strange when I read Murakami. I find myself detatched, in more than the normal reading-escapism way. I stay up too late, I eat too little. I have always found it hard to explain to others what his books are about. The back copy manages a decent synopsis, but there's something beyond the characters or storylines - not a theme, but a feeling.

Maybe it's not normal to have literature affect you this way, I wonder. To be so thorougly transported to another place that reality seems not quite as real seems unseemly for an adult. Fortunately or unfortunately, though, the book ends, and early summer twilight comes in the window, decidedly real. Sushi for dinner sounds good.

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