I sent this to a friend the other day, someone experienced in the work and worlds of Haruki Murakami who has recommended his books to me a time or two.
I started reading Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World today.
First couple of pages I was thinking, I dunno if I want to keep reading this. By the end of the first chapter I thought, hrm, I’m slightly interested. End of second chapter, I was compelled to continue out of confusion. End of third chapter? Completely, utterly HOOKED.
Line & Sinker.
What I love most about this book is the delicate balance of I have no idea what is going on here, juxtaposed with: ah-ha, I’m starting to see what might be going on here. Some authors try to spring something on you, as if a trick twist you could never have predicted in a million years is some kind of a mark of literary honor, with no reverence for Chekov’s gun. But the gradual revelation of method in what seems like madness is, for a reader, beguiling enough to keep her reading straight through to the end. Like I did.
This book folds and folds on you like a delicate meringue-based batter. It’s thoughtful, hilarious, disaffected, weird, beautiful. And I’m a sucker for a book populated by librarians.