 | I returned a fantastic batch of books to the library a few days ago, among them China Mieville's Iron Council and this one by Haruki Murakami. As I'm becoming to expect from Murakami, the book was deceptively complex and lovely in its subtlety. His writing is so simple, so declarative and yet so powerful. How does he do that? |
"It finally hit me some dozen or so years later...the image of Hatsumi flashed into my mind, and in that moment I understood what that tremor of the heart had been. It was a kind of childhood longing that had always remained -- and would forever remain -- unfulfilled. I had forgotten the existence of such innocent, all-but-seared-in longing; forgotten for years to remember that such feelings had ever existed inside nme. What Hatsumi had stirred in me was a part of my very self that had long lain dormant. And when the realization struck me, it aroused such sorrow I almost burst into tears. She had been an absolutely special woman. Someone should have done something -- anything -- to save her."
