REVIEW: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage - Haruki Murakami

I’ve always been lucky in a sense that the first time I read a book by Haruki Murakami, I had a wealth of his backlist to turn to when I was inevitably craving more. When I first plunged in to The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, I had no idea that when I’d started the first page, I’d be reading possibly one of the most important books of my life and was setting myself up for a colossal literary journey to discover one of my favourite living authors. Immediately, I devoured Norwegian Wood and tore my way through his shorter stories. More interestingly, I got to experience the evolution in his work, a shift in style, initially quite subtly in Kafka on the Shore and eventually full-blown in After Dark and 1Q84. At this point his writings had become more ethereal, often more surreal and abstract, taking on more outward ideas, which controversially may have thrown off some of his core readership.

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage managed to achieve the astonishing feat of selling over 1 million copies when it was released in Japan last year and for something that had garnered that much attention and was that so eagerly anticipated, it was always going to be subject to mixed opinions at the very least. Before I started Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki, I was wondering where things could go next.  What changes were in store and how much would remain the same? In the end, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage is a wholly satisfying, beautiful blend of the old and new. Everything I have come to love about Murakami and his work flourishes at some point here in glorious fashion.

Like Murakami’s “newer” works, the story is told entirely in the 3rd person however, instead telling the tale from multiple perspectives, it chooses to focus on its titular character for the entire narrative. Dissimilarly, the piece takes on a much more grounded role, choosing to take on much more real scenarios as opposed to the dream-like ‘mystic realism’ sequences used in some of his more iconic works. In this respect, it feels a lot more like his “older” achievements, sharing much more in common with South of the Border, West of the Sun than say, 1Q84. The advantage of this blend 'new' style and return to his 'old' roots, I felt, allowed me to empathise with the novel’s lead so much more, finding myself making deeper emotional connections despite the book not being written in the 1st person.

This brings us to our lead, Tsukuru Tazaki and his four friends, each characterized by having colours in their names. Red, Blue, Black and White, Tsukuru is the only one without colour, and as the product of much jest from his friends, earns him the title of ‘colorless.’ Tsukuru has always felt this title to be appropriate, often remarking at how he feels like an empty vessel with nothing much to give and nothing particularly distinct about his appearance or personality, despite often being told otherwise. ‘Tsukuru’ itself means to 'make' or 'create' in Japanese, a fitting moniker for our protagonist who aspires, and goes on to build train stations for a living. He often spends time in stations (a unique fascination he’s held from his youth) marvelling at the culmination of both order and chaos and the subtle systems in which they are controlled and harnessed. At a point where the five seem practically inseparable, chaos is exactly what Tsukuru's life hurls in to when he is greeted with the news that his friends no longer want anything to do with him, with no explanation as to why. Suddenly his entire existence, formerly of ‘orderly, harmonious community’ is plunged in to darkness as he battles with why his friends should want to savage their ties so brutally.

Similarly to Murakami’s previous work in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and Norwegian Wood, Colorless Tsukuru plays out like a mystery with both readers and the lead character unaware of their supposed wrong-doing thus the tale becomes a sprawling investigation to get to the bottom of things. For the first time in a while I found myself reading a Murakami book where I couldn’t help but turn the page. Time drifted, meals were missed and I held a complete disregard to the page numbers as I felt I was digging closer and closer towards conclusion. Murakami’s tendency for unresolved plot lines as always left me perplexed by the end but that feeling gently subsided to general acceptance and satisfaction (although I can understand why any new readers may be irked by this). Much to my delight though, this was probably one of Murakami’s most philosophical and profound works to date; a tale dealing with youthful alienation, loss, self-identity and was in many ways quite reminiscent of Franz Kafka, which he has referenced many times before (see Kafka on the Shore).  What I felt in the end was the very essence of what I love about Murakami, what I could never be able to explain in words except that it was ‘Murakami.’ Because of this, I found Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage to be moving, thoughtful and overall resoundingly successful, doing what all good books do when I’ve finished them, leaving me feeling changed from what I was before reading them. I closed the book smiling, feeling like I was invited back in to Murakami’s world with no desire to ever leave. And why would I? It’s so good to be back.

RETROSPECTIVE: 'The Driver's Seat' by Muriel Spark

The 'Retrospective' label is probably going to be assigned to reviews that are a little late. In most cases, a few decades late. Anyway, its an excuse for me to have the opportunity to take a look back at some of the most meaningful pieces of literature I've had the chance to read. That brings me to a book I first picked up a couple of years ago (admittedly because it's only 101 pages long) and had the pleasure of reliving the other week.

I first encountered The Driver's Seat, like many people, when I found it was the basis for the 1974 film 'Identikit.' Published in 1970, the book was marketed very much like a psychological thriller although it holds many themes akin to crime noir. In many ways, it is a classic 'who dunnit' inverted, described by Spark herself as a 'whydunnit' not only in reference to the novella but within the actual text itself.

In essence, The Driver's Seat is a character study of a woman slowly losing control of herself and her connection to the outside world. Lise is an office worker. She has worked in the same office in Northern Europe (although it is never specified in the book, it can be speculated that it is probably Denmark) for the last sixteen years. Very much a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown, she is finally going on holiday however it becomes quickly apparent that this idyllic retreat isn't what it seems.

We discover very early on that Lise will be brutally murdered by the end of her first day abroad. Hence the novel is an examination; not just of what events take place but WHY they do so. From this point, every interaction Lise has with the people she encounter becomes crucial to the cause of her death; each instance initially told in an almost cynical way, recounting events as they happened initially, only to retell them in the instances after Lise's murder. This technique is used at several points throughout the novel, each time highlighting a different witness as steps are traced in the wake of Lise's murder. The effect this has creates a perception of time and the effect time has on the memory; time being a key element in the novel, which itself is told in the present tense, further giving Lise life, despite readers knowing her fate.

It eventually becomes apparent that there is something not quite right with Lise. A perpetual liar, often rude, provocative, eccentric, it's heavily implied that she has suffered years of mental illness. When she isn't constantly shopping , she wanders around the unnamed city on the lookout for a man she doesn’t seem to know, who or where she will find him. This self-destructive behaviour never seems answer any questions as to who, what or why but only seems to raise more. With out giving too much away, it's where The Driver's Seat allows readers to empathise with its protagonist. We become protective of someone we assume is probably the greatest danger to themselves. And when they aren't, that's when we as spectators feel most vulnerable.

The Driver's Seat reminded me what narrative could achieve in such a small space of time. It makes you question your own values and sense of morality, and skews them with its own. The fact convention could completely be ignored and practically reinvented in favour of creating vivid characters and spaces was for me something almost unseen in what I'd encountered before. For something published over forty years ago, it's almost sad to see the world hasn't changed and perhaps thats why the novel has managed to keep its relevance this whole time; it knows exactly why. 

*insert scenario here and it will probably apply to you*

I know this technically counts as a personal post but I can't seem to find anyone to explain why I feel so shit to. Genuinely, I don't know myself. I've seemingly just happened to create a dream scenario in my head and only seem to be crushed when those things don't come to fruition. It's also fucking stupid because I am/was completely self-aware of this fact yet let my cockiness and misplaced positive outlook on life completely cloud all rational thinking. I think I've managed to make this obscure enough to be about anything and I can just about get away with it.

REVIEW: Authority - Jeff VanderMeer (Southern Reach Trilogy Part 2)

Points of Authority

If like me, the first instalment in Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy left you with a tonne of questions, you’ll be glad to know that Authority answers some of them. But of course they’re the best kind of answers… the kind that lead to more questions! ‘Authority’ picks up a few months after the disastrous events of ‘Annihilation.’ It shifts focus from Area X and The Biologist and this time follows the man known as “Control” who has been brought in to question the survivors of Area X’s twelfth expedition.

VanderMeer’s brand of horror is becoming somewhat of a trademark as far as I’m concerned. Dread mounts throughout the pages here and every frightening detail is concealed by a shadow so thick, you wont even see it coming. It’s subtle but you wont even feel it picking away at you until it leaves you at your most vulnerable.

Authority does not only work as a fantastic sequel, but also as a new beginning. Jeff VanderMeer is leading his readers towards something big for the third and final part of this series. The beauty is not having any idea what that may be.

RE: How to convince yourself you're a more interesting person than you actually are...

Also don't fill your blog with book reviews no one's ever going to read...

How to convince yourself you're a more interesting person than you actually are...

Writing is habit surely? Like everyone, I find that some days there's nothing to write. Like the days I scour through full cupboards finding 'nothing' to eat, on to inspired days where I eat myself in to a diabetic coma.

EDIT: Awful analogy. Open to taking suggestions for alternatives. Thanks.

REVIEW: Annihilation - Jeff VanderMeer (Southern Reach Trilogy Part 1)

To think this is just the beginning...

We find ourselves in Area X, a mysterious stretch of wild coastline that, following a strange event, is now controlled by the Southern Reach, a militant agency established by the government. Attempts to explore this land have ended traumatically, with members of each expedition killing each other, disappearing or dying of strange disease. Here we meet ‘The Biologist,’ our narrator and a member of the latest team of four sent to explore the mysteries Area X and finally get some answers. But the more we uncover Area X, the more questions are raised about our leading lady. Is there more to 'The Biologist' than meets the eye? 

VanderMeer bring’s this sprawling wasteland to life with a twisted beauty, pushing the boundaries of psychological horror with tension so thick you could cut it with a Lovecraftian knife. Fans of Margret Atwood and JJ Abrams will absolutely devour this. The hardest part is waiting for the next volume.

A New Hope? A Slippery Slope...

So, I felt the need to start writing on here again solely because I've found my ability to write coherently slowly starting to wane. That's a lie. I feel like I need to collate all parts of myself and display them online for no adequately justifiable reason apart from the sole purpose of actually having a mildly interesting blog. So I've deleted almost a years worth of cringe-worthy post from the last year where I was getting in touch with my 'feelings' and kept the posts from the year before because frankly I have a sense of humour.

The day has passed like a surreal dream and if at some point I need a milestone event to mark this day, Brazil just lost to Germany in the 2014 World Cup semi-final with a final score of 7-1 and that's pretty surreal to read, let alone witness. Anyway, the plan is to keep things regularly updated with my reviews from work, as well as artwork and film stuff and if life permits it, the occasional rant. I've already posted two reviews apparently to express my erratic behaviour and inability to play by the rules. Oh I can already see why this won't end well...

REVIEW: The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman

A trip down memory lane

“Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences.”

'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' opens with a middle-aged man visiting the site of his parents' former home. Soon he finds himself at the farm at the end of the road where he begins to remember his life from when he was seven. We’re taken back to through the events of our narrator’s youth with each event chronicled like a mystical dream. Only when Gaiman plays the world through a child’s eyes, we see our childhood ignorance for what it really was; our ability to see monsters – the real life monsters that live deep down within people. The monsters that live inside all of us. So then are we really enlightened adults? Or are we the ignorant ones for our inability to believe the impossible? Eventually, the English Countryside where the novel takes place begins to feel isolated, setting stage for a world where anything is possible. A world so haunting, so beautiful that you’ll find yourself immersed and longing to go back.

I have to admit when I first picked up The Ocean at the End of the Lane, with its magic and monsters and seven-year-old protagonist, I initially thought it had the makings of a wonderful children’s’ book. It was only when I delved deeper that I found why this is a remarkable piece of adult fiction. By the end 'The Ocean at the End of the Lane' had encapsulated my childhood to the point I felt that to truly appreciate this book, you must be an adult; adult enough to miss childhood. Even now, I find myself wanting to go back. To be a child again and to live this life that Neil Gaiman had created for me. This was truly one of my favourite books of 2013, and I know its appeal will only grow along with me as the years go by.

REVIEW: The Goldfinch - Donna Tarrt

Grief, Loss and Art

Over 10 years since her last outing with 'The Little Friend,' Donna Tartt's latest novel follows a grief-stricken Theo Decker, whose mother is killed in a bombing at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Theo, who finds himself amongst the destruction, panicked and disoriented, escapes with a valuable painting, Fabritius’s ‘The Goldfinch.’ As Theo moves away to Las Vegas to live with his father, his fixation with the painting, and the need to protect it, becomes symbolic of his grief, loss and the life he left behind.

It's difficult to not be sucked in by Tartt's beautiful prose and this is where the novel really shines. It is littered with a cast of bright, wonderful and weird characters that could’ve been plucked directly from a work of Dickens, whilst still maintaining relevance to the seedy Vegas back drop. Even the novel experience of just getting to know them all and watching them hurl through life together, as you’re immersed in this sprawling narrative, is a treat in itself.

The end left me with a bittersweet taste in my mouth whilst at the same time wholly satisfied. Whether I may or may not have agreed with the overall sentiment at the end of the book, I had to remember that after nearly 800 pages, it wasn’t my life I was living. It was Theo Decker’s. Fans may have had to wait 10 years for Tartt’s return but if you were anything like me, for a novel as triumphant as this, I would happily wait another 10 years for the next.