I can’t recall if I ever posted a review of Kafka on the Shore. To date, it’s the only Haruki Murakami I’ve read, but it was strange and expansive and I loved it. A copy of Hard-Boiled Wonderland and The End of the World currently sits in my library stack, along with Raymond Chandler’s Farewell, My Lovely, Ann Patchett’s Bel Canto, and Temple Grandin’s Animals Make Us Human–all of which I’ve begun and enjoyed, coming no closer to selecting one title upon which to focus. I’m in serious danger of reading nothing at this rate! But back to Murakami.
Did you know that Murakami didn’t start writing until he was 29? I learned this from an interview with him that appeared in an older issue of The Paris Review. I found it encouraging until I realized that he just sat himself down wrote a unique, critically acclaimed novel without one ounce of creative writing instruction or experience. I tell you, some people just have that little something extra that simultaneously make and defy the rules.