The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (Review)

The first time I finished reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, all I wanted to do was find a deep, dry well, sit in it and contemplate upon my life. It had me convinced. Of what?, I wasn't sure(mind you this was about 3 years back, I would have been 17 or so). The second time I read it, I was more focussed on the secondary stories, which I had seemed to have forgotten by that time. There are a lot of stories which are about incidents that occurred in the second world war, specifically between Japan and China, and then Japan and the Soviet Union. These affect Toru Okada, and in turn the reader, making them think about intuition, destiny and how it touches you in certain moments of your life.

I just finished reading it for the 3rd time yesterday, and having more experience now than I did earlier I'm convinced of a few things.

Haruki Murakami isn't as great a writer as I thought he was earlier. He has a VERY original style of writing, and his books are very easy to read, most of his characters are memorable, or at least quirky enough to stick around in your head, and he's trying to be ambitious with his writing. Or maybe not. See the thing is, The Wind-Up bird Chronicle is a very fun book to read, and there's nothing wrong with that, many people read books just for fun, but he tries to make it bigger and more philosophical than it really is because in the end it really doesn't HAVE a concrete message. I've seen people put Haruki on a big pedestal, as one of the great authors of the modern world, but I truly believe he is an author that only young people can enjoy. I consider The Wind-Up bird Chronicle and Kafka on the Shore to be his best books and they fall short somewhere or the other. His books are attractive to the youth, with its casual sex, references to music, and weird characters, but in the end they lack true substance.

The Wind-Up bird Chronicle is about lazy afternoons in the backyard, drinking beer at the kitchen table, and not liking the family you were born into. Through all the situations Toru(the main protagonist) goes through, he is strangely detached, as if he cannot do much about it(or chooses not to, because it is destiny?). A passive sorrow, if you will. He wants to do something, but he's never really that enthusiastic about it. To top it off, we have needless characters like Cinnamon(perfectly perfect), which just serve to undermine the rest of the novel. But still, the novel by itself is a very good read, and entertaining through most of its parts. The thing about these Japanese writers is that they have this particular way of writing, that gives you a feeling of environment, a kind of aesthetic quality to their writing, and this sticks with you after you've closed the book and put it down.

*sigh*

I wanted to write about the book but I ended up writing so much about the author. I think that's only because he is grossly over-rated, both by the media and by the general public. He IS a good author, maybe even very good, but 'great'?

No, and a definite No at that.

Itadakimasu!

The water melon tree.

There is overt sexual tension in this house.
I'm never comfortable, and for some reason i keep getting these strange vibes from god knows where.

Evening: She has her hands all over him. Do they not know i'm here? I'm feeling awkward, looking away from them, my face permanently turned the other direction. I think of getting up, but then i think that would only bring more attention to me and lead to an awkward situation for both parties.

Night: we're having dinner. somehow, her pregnant belly is adding to all these tensions. i keep looking back at her swelled up stomach, and i can't help imagine them doing it. I think it's only natural, that when i look at the fruit, the deed that led to it would cross my mind. Or perhaps i'm just perverted.


Morning: Saw my first nymph today. Now i know what he meant in Lolita. Though after a while i got used to the glamour and beauty.

Wisps of smoke-like wisdom

I'm sitting in the smoking room.

I'm the youngest in the room by a few decades. Since when did smoking become a habit of the old?
I feel like an infant in front of all these ancient relics.
Truth be told, i'm fed up of smoking these stupid cherry cigars that i bought at the duty-free shop.

I finally pluck up the courage and offer to exchange one of my cigars, for a full blown Marlboro red with an old lady, who i think is German.
She refuses, with a sweet smile, and gives me the marlboro for free. Now i feel even more like a kid.

Smoking the Marlboro, reading Leo Tolstoy, and occasionally writing interesting snippets in my diary.

The number of people in the room has really increased now. Smoke fills the room, reducing visibility, choking people and bringing tears to every pair of eyes in the room.

One Indian comes in, and then leaves in 5 seconds, leaving his cigarillo in the ashtray, saying the smoke is too much.

"Yahaan pe to sutta jalaane ki zaroorat hi nahin hai", he tells me before leaving. I smile and nod my head, thinking what a pussy he is.

As the Marlboro comes to an end, i regret not having bought the carton. Anyway, it's too late now.

In the plane:

As i watch this crappy plane safety video, i remember Tyler's theory in Fight Club, where he says that they have oxygen masks in planes because oxygen gets you high, so that everyone is calm during any catastrophies.
The girl in this animated cartoon also looks wayyy too happy for someone who's about to jump from a plane into the water. By the way, what happened to her son who was with her in the previous video? Abandoned during crisis? snigger

Something in the planeis making me giggly. perhaps its the difference in air pressure?

heehee.. can't seem to stop giggling.
The Sardar sitting next to me is giving me weird looks.

Over this power

There are many layers to this. More than meets the eye.
It is possible to walk through one layer to the other, or phase entirely through layers.
It is especially easy for me, since i have been doing this since childhood. Sometimes, i think I'm bigger than this all, bigger than the sound, the visions. But it's all just a coincidence, really. There's nothing special about me. OK, granted there is, but i haven't done anything to deserve it, and it could just as easily have been anyone else.
Just fate, natural selection, or whatever.

Perhaps these are all just delusions of grandeur. I really do hope they are.


Cuz if they're not, then.......

Downward Spiral

It's perfect. There's nothing better than the term downward spiral to describe a life that's going from bad to worse, or a situation that goes rapidly out of control.

It's in the nature of things to decay, go bad, get spoiled, die. and things very often do go from bad to worse.
A vicious circle, each event eating the other in one destructive bite.
hmmm...

I think I'm really pessimistic today.

The Voodoo Subject.

I have a voodoo doll in your name,
a hair from your mane.

This spell will work, as it always has.
The pain will stay, as it always does.

I'll poke a needle in your eye.
cut you up from inside,
pluck your limbs apart one by one...
my, we're gonna have so much fun!

The image of you screaming in pain,
brings a warm, happy feeling in my soul.
you'll try to escape in vain,
as i'll be bleeding your bowel.

You'll be sitting somewhere,
Unaware.
The shock of hurt.
When the blood will spurt.

leaves you bleeding,
without a clue,
of what just happened...

Scream all you want my love,
as you lie,
writhing in pain.

Every drop of your blood,
will be sweet revenge,
Served warm for a change.

And at last,
as i burn the voodoo doll to ash,
i can imagine, the smell of your flesh cooking.

as the straws burn,
there'll be a smile on my face. :)


(c) felix bambaboy