I loved, loved, loved this book.
It’s so moreish, so indulgent. There’s such rich texture to Murakami’s prose. Like Belgian chocolate, I felt I could only eat a small piece every day, otherwise it would feel wrong – it would be greedy. But oh man, when I got my daily fix, I soared.
Endlessly validating and always eliciting the unexpected chuckle; I love his dark humour and his almost neurotic self-awareness. It was so comforting to realise there are other fully-(or at least partially-)functioning human beings out there just like me – but who are also weird and eccentric and unprecedented in their own peculiar ways, with their own idiosyncrasies.
It not only breathed new life into my running routine, but also guided (or nudged) me towards a new understanding of what it means to be human.
I suppose I’ll have to read his other stuff now. I’m sold.