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3.67 AVERAGE
3.67 AVERAGE
emotional
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I love a bit of murakami smut but this book did make me too sad at points. Then brought me right back with the smut
Some things just fade out.
I didn’t feel like I was in my own body; my body was just a lonely, temporary container I happened to be borrowing.
Day after day you watch the sun rise in the east, pass across the sky, then sink in the west, and something breaks inside you and dies. You toss your plow aside and, your head completely empty of thought, begin walking toward the west. Heading toward a land that lies west of the sun. Like someone possessed, you walk on, day after day, not eating or drinking, until you collapse on the ground and die. That’s hysteria siberiana.
It had been a long time since I’d seen the dawn. At one end of the sky a line of blue appeared, and like blue ink on a piece of paper, it spread slowly across the horizon. If you gathered together all the shades of blue in the world and picked the bluest, the epitome of blue, this was the color you would choose.
On the surface I was the same as always. Actually, I was friendlier, kinder, more talkative than ever. But as I sat on a barstool, looking around my establishment everything looked monotonous, lusterless. No longer a carefully crafted, colorful castle in the air, what lay before me was a typical noisy bar-artificial, superficial, and shabby. A stage setting, props built for the sole purpose of getting drunks to part with their cash. Any illusions to the contrary had disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Spoiler
I didn’t feel like I was in my own body; my body was just a lonely, temporary container I happened to be borrowing.
Day after day you watch the sun rise in the east, pass across the sky, then sink in the west, and something breaks inside you and dies. You toss your plow aside and, your head completely empty of thought, begin walking toward the west. Heading toward a land that lies west of the sun. Like someone possessed, you walk on, day after day, not eating or drinking, until you collapse on the ground and die. That’s hysteria siberiana.
It had been a long time since I’d seen the dawn. At one end of the sky a line of blue appeared, and like blue ink on a piece of paper, it spread slowly across the horizon. If you gathered together all the shades of blue in the world and picked the bluest, the epitome of blue, this was the color you would choose.
On the surface I was the same as always. Actually, I was friendlier, kinder, more talkative than ever. But as I sat on a barstool, looking around my establishment everything looked monotonous, lusterless. No longer a carefully crafted, colorful castle in the air, what lay before me was a typical noisy bar-artificial, superficial, and shabby. A stage setting, props built for the sole purpose of getting drunks to part with their cash. Any illusions to the contrary had disappeared in a puff of smoke.
How does Murakami make me feel like I’m in a quiet jazz bar, rain on the windows, drink in hand—completely immersed? And how does he make me feel for someone like Hajime, a man who drifts through life, acting mostly out of selfishness?
South of the Border, West of the Sun isn’t as surreal as some of Murakami’s other work, but it’s just as haunting. It’s about longing, regret, and the stories we tell ourselves about the past. Shimamoto feels more like a memory than a real person—maybe that’s exactly what she is. The book leaves you unsure of what’s real, and that lingering uncertainty is what makes it so powerful.
It’s a quiet, aching read that sneaks up on you—and stays with you long after the last page.
South of the Border, West of the Sun isn’t as surreal as some of Murakami’s other work, but it’s just as haunting. It’s about longing, regret, and the stories we tell ourselves about the past. Shimamoto feels more like a memory than a real person—maybe that’s exactly what she is. The book leaves you unsure of what’s real, and that lingering uncertainty is what makes it so powerful.
It’s a quiet, aching read that sneaks up on you—and stays with you long after the last page.
emotional
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
tense
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Men be stupid under the pretense of unique and intense and we let them get away with it huh.
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
emotional
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Nope, sorry I really couldn't empathize with the lying, cheating and entitled piece of trash that this man is