Sipped Ink vol 2 issue 1

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle pp1-70

So, I thought, in a place like this, in the middle of the day like this, there existed a darkness as deep as this.

So then, how are we getting on?

First, a bit of housekeeping. I’ve been picking up a bit of tension from people who are taking this whole thing a bit seriously, so let me say this again so we’re clear: read the book, don’t read the book, read 10 pages of the book, read 63 pages of the book, marinate the book, upholster the book… just, for the love of Pete, will you have fun with the book? You’re all busy people and I’m pretty sure you didn’t sign up to this whole read-along shindig because you were looking for a new source of stress in your life. Let’s all take a breath and make a silent oath amongst ourselves to enjoy the next two months of reading whatever happens, OK?

And, actually, that really is already happening. From my perspective it’s been so gratifying to see people embrace this little project and have fun with it. The #ClockworkSummer hashtag has been coming alive on Twitter, and I’m getting messages via various avenues, from people engaging in their own way. Here are a few highlights:

If you take a second to read Michael’s card, he makes a comparison between Murakami’s novel and Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s short story The Life of a Stupid Man. If you’re interested in investigating the parallels yourself Akutagawa’s story was reissued by Penguin earlier this year in a translation by longtime Murakami translator Jay Rubin. There you go, a little extra-curricular reading for those of you who have complained that sticking to 10 pages a day is causing you unnecessary anxiety.

I have more side-reading suggestions actually, but let’s wait until we’re a bit further into this thing (for one thing, some of them are a bit spoilery). In the meantime, here’s a site where you can randomly generate haiku from archetypical Murakami topics & language!

• • •

Oh, so what about the book huh!? I know some of you have read Murakami before (maybe even read this novel before), and some of you haven’t. If this is your first Murakami I’m interested to know how you’re finding it; I think at this point I take for granted some of the quirks and oddness of his fiction (and Jay Rubin’s translation of his fiction) and don’t find myself paying as much attention to them as perhaps I should - maybe this is a good chance to do so.

Going through this first week of reading I found myself struck by how many of Murakami’s greatest hits are in here: someone cooking a simple meal, music, cats, even women’s ears… he has his themes. This narrator is also somewhat familiar. What do we know about him thus far?

I owned a signed copy of Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain. I had a slow resting pulse rate: forty-seven normally, and no higher than seventy with a high fever. I was out of work. I knew the names of all the brothers Karamazov.

That’s something to go on. And even before May raises it explicitly (on page 65), I found myself wondering whether Toru Okada is a coward. In particular his thinking in response to the allegation that a rape has been committed by his brother-in-law is to wonder how it affects him if charges are brought. Similarly, when the prospect of moving home comes up it’s solely himself that he’s concerned about - how inconvenient it would be. Throughout these opening pages we find Toru in a position where his usual routine is continually disrupted. For his faults though, Toru does have curiosity going for him. I enjoy how Murakami places him in the world, aware of the smell of the grass in response to the rain, and of the people far overhead in a helicopter, and those mentioned on the radio who ‘must exist somewhere in the world’. To me he seems open to the world and to discovery, in contrast—for example—to Kumiko’s father, of whom Murakami writes:

‘he harbored not the slightest doubt concerning the values of the world to which he belonged’ (49)

And perhaps all of this is tied up with Mr Honda’s ‘teaching’ on flow: to go up when you should, down when you should, and stay still when you should do neither. You don’t have to be a Murakami-veteran to determine that Toru’s implementing this advice successfully or otherwise is going to be a major factor in how his journey plays out. Murakami introduces this theme early in the book, and now we’re all going to see it everywhere. Take for example the odd phrasing on page 58 about clouds absorbing sounds and perceptions - there’s water and directionality. It’s possible there’s also intention, don’t you think? What is the relationship between the earth and the sky if clouds are absorbing perceptions? Is it the same relationship as is implied in the phrase a little later: ‘the garden received its bounty of fine raindrops’ (60)?

That last struck my ear in the same manner as an earlier moment, when dead soldiers are described as ’contributing their bones to the Mongolian earth’ (53). Beautiful turns of phrase wherein there’s just enough that’s questionable: ‘absorbed’, ’bounty’, ‘contributed’ - there’s something in each of those that makes me wonder what relationships Murakami is implying.

If you have any thoughts on that, or any other aspect of pages 1-70, reply to this email, push them up to Twitter, write a blogpost and send me the link to it… whatever you like.

• • •

It’s possible we’re about to be joined by one or two others that have just learned about this thing and want to race to catch up. Let’s welcome them with open arms and then collectively pretend we’re all in on some hilarious joke of which they have no knowledge.

Until next week, keep an eye out for that cat.

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