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Tale of Two Murakami's

stairs.pngReading Haruki Murakami's "Dance Dance Dance". Like the other book of his that I have read it has that feeling of familiarity. Like it was written for or about me. It was strange reading his other book: "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle". I had this fascination for the space near the train station in Harajuku [a district in Tokyo.] Mainly from photos I had seen of the way the kids dress there on Sundays. I have written about it extensively in an earlier incarnation of my weblog. Someday that stuff will be back online... hey, it's on the web site on my laptop... hah!

Anyway, this character in the wind-up book hangs out in that train station everyday for months. Waiting. It was strange to have the character in the book I was reading hang out in some place I have never been but had thought about going to. Someplace halfway around the world.

"Dance Dance Dance" has that same feel about it. As if it was written for me. Makes me wonder about the guy that recommended these books to me in the first place. Who was that guy? And what was it about what we spoke about that made him think these books were for me? I guess the important thing is... he was right. It feels like the books found me through him. Here's a passage from "Dance Dance Dance" that I relate to:

"In the taxi we talked about nothing in particular. The snow and chill, her work hours, things in Tokyo. Which left me wondering what was going to happen next. One little push and I could probably sleep with her. I could feel it. Naturally I didn't know whether she wanted to sleep with me. But I understood that she wouldn't mind sleeping with me. I could tell from her eyes, how she breathed, the way she talked, even her hand movements. And of course, I knew I wouldn't mind sleeping with her. There probably wouldn't be any complications either. I'd have simply happened through and gone off. Just as she herself had said. Yet, somehow, the resolve failed me. The notion of fairness lingered somewhere in the back of my mind. She was ten years younger than me, more than a little insecure, and she'd had so much to drink she couldn't walk straight. It'd be like calling the bets with marked cards. Not fair.

Still, how much jurisdiction does fairness hold over sex? If fairness was what you wanted, your sex life would be as exciting as the algae growing in an aquarium."



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