Literary Birthday: Haruki Murakami

This week’s literary birthday has finally been revealed (and I just know you’ve been waiting with bated breath). It’s none other than the unstoppable Haruki Murakami. So… Happy Birthday, Fellow Shy Guy!

Murakami is an excellent craftsman of words, drawing from them more meaning than you’d ever hoped to find. Seriously, his writing makes my soul oh so very happy (funny because the stories I love from him aren’t exactly the happiest things on earth) Also, he’s a preciously shy writer who must be protected at all costs. [/shields him from the world]

Haruki Murakami from the Huffington Post

Haruki Murakami from the Huffington Post

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born in Kyoto, Haruki Murakami is a contemporary Japanese writer. His books and stories have been bestsellers in Japan as well as internationally, with his work being translated into 50 languages and selling millions of copies outside his native country. Murakami’s fiction, still criticized by Japan’s literary establishment as un-Japanese, was influenced by Western writers from Chandler to Vonnegut by way of Brautigan. It is frequently surrealistic and melancholic or fatalistic, marked by a Kafkaesque rendition of the “recurrent themes of alienation and loneliness” he weaves into his narratives. He is also considered an important figure in postmodern literature (yeah the fuck he is). [via Wikipedia]

This time around, the quote I chose is waaaay too long to fit on its own image, but it’s worth every second you spend reading it.

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine….

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

Haruki MurakamiKafka on the Shore

If you haven’t checked this talented writes out before, I highly recommend doing so. And what better day than today? Let me know what you think if you happen to stumble across some Murakami in your book travels!

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