I recently received a French edition of Murakami’s “A Wild Sheep Chase” published by Points which I requested through my Bookmooch account several weeks ago. It came from someone in Finland so it took a while to get here. I don’t speak French but I’m kind of a Murakami fan and I love the variety of book cover design in the international publications of his novels.
On the back of the French paperback is a picture of a younger Murakami (looks like he’s in his thirties) which I have never seen before. The author photo they usually provide for Murakami’s novels in America is of a black and white portrait of a man well into his forties maybe even fifties. I’m always staring at the photo trying to link something of the incredible depth, complexity, darkness, beauty and unorthodox narrative of his books to any similar light in his eyes. But there’s no giveaway, nothing remotely special. His face is not so much sad or stern as it is closed off and resigned. But in this photo of him in his thirties I see for the first time that light which may have been steadily fading at the time. I see vulnerability and a kind of fragility which is a bit of a relief for me. Murakami’s discipline is intimidating but the irreverent humility of his protagonists is profound. I never fail to find something in his writing that connects me to myself.
I've been reading his latest book which is more of a memoir at Kinokuniya Books during lunch. I have ordered it of course, but sitting in Zaiya Cafe, I've already gotten up to chapter three so it's quite likely I'll be done with it before my copy actually arrives. I pick it up when I walk in and I don't put it down until my lunch hour is over.
