My favorite short story was called "Kino." The protagonist was a man named Kino who sort of stumbles through life. He was injured as an athlete and began selling shoes because his coach recommended it. His wife left him, and with minimal objections he uprooted his life and opened a bar in a space that a family member encouraged him to take. He floated through life, but in the end he's forced to live the emotions he has been suppressing. It ends:
"Don't look away, look right at it," someone whispered in his ear. "This is what your heart looks like."
The willow branches swayed in the early summer breeze. In a small dark room, somewhere inside Kino, a warm hand was reaching out to him. Eyes shut, he felt that hand on his, soft and substantial. He'd forgotten this, had been apart from it for far too long. Yes, I am hurt. Very, very deeply. He said this to himself. And he wept. In that dark, still room.
All the while the rain did not let up, drenching the world in a cold chill.
I think too often I am like Kino, removed from my emotions because dealing with them would be too much work and too messy.
In another favorite short story called "An Independent Organ," a doctor who is floating quite successfully through life falls in love for the first time. It forces him to question the entire foundation of himself as a person.
"Who in the world am I? I've really been wondering about this..."
"Who am I?" he went on. "Up until now I've worked as a cosmetic plastic surgeon and never had any doubts about it. Graduated from the plastic surgery department of med school, worked first with my father as his assistant, then took over the clinic when his eyes started to go and he retired. Maybe I shouldn't say this, but I'm a pretty skilled surgeon. The world of plastic surgery can be pretty seedy, and there are some clinics that put out splashy advertising but do mediocre work. I've always been conscientious about my work, and I've never had any major problems with my clients. I'm proud of this as a professional. I'm happy with my private life, too. I have a lot of friends, and have stayed healthy up till now. I'm enjoying life. But still these days I've often wondered Who in the world am I? And very seriously at that. If you took away my career as a plastic surgeon, and the happy environment I'm living in, and throw me out into the world, with no explanation, and with everything stripped away--what in the world would I be?"
Tokai looked me right in the eye, as if seeking some sort of response.
"Why have you suddenly started to think that way?" I asked.
"I think it's because of a book I read a while ago about the Nazi concentration camps."
He goes on to discuss how nothing in his life that he relies on - his experience, his career, his relationships - would prepare him to survive in Auschwitz.
I identify with Tokai, but I do think that I'm being hard on myself in this case. I've certainly survived in tough situations, and those experiences can help me understand "Who am I?"
In addition to these stand outs, there was an interesting story that drew on the story of Scheherazade (one of my favorite myths / tales).
I love Murakami and should review his full bibliography to ensure I've read everything.
A final note. One of the reasons I enjoy Murakami so much is that he changed his life quickly over night. After running a bar with his wife, he decided to become an author, and he must be one of the world's most renowned and successful authors today. His characters' ability to appreciate detail and become drawn into music, food, and other aspects of culture always inspire me as well.
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