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A review by vulpini
What I Talk about When I Talk about Running by Haruki Murakami
3.0
Murakami and I don't quite mesh. He's never met me or read my writing, of course, so our enmity is one-sided. In fact, I'm sure that if we were to ever meet, we would probably make light and pleasant conversation. However, I've met his books, and they've all so far been acquaintances I'd rather not renew.
After meeting so many Murakami fans, I've made a sincere effort. But he's just not the guy for me. This is why I was surprised, when after my latest Murakami attempt of the year, I found myself actually enjoying What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. I listened to the audio book during my runs while Murakami talked about his runs and for a moment it was as if we were running together in a quiet morning, cutting a path through cool air, our voices and birdsong the only sounds in the world.
Maybe the difference is that since I turned thirty, I've become hyperaware of aging, and Murakami discusses his own feelings on the subject as an older man. Maybe it's the fact that this being a book about his own personal feelings and relationship with writing and running, he only briefly mentioned women. Personally, while I find his prose elegant and spare and enjoy his dreamlike worlds...Murakami just can not write a realistic woman! I'm not the only person to say this, and others have said it much better. I'm tired of giving him so many chances, if this is as good as it gets, I'll read a different author.
In the end, Haruki and I came upon a forking path, and we each ran our separate ways. Maybe we'll meet another time. Probably not.
After meeting so many Murakami fans, I've made a sincere effort. But he's just not the guy for me. This is why I was surprised, when after my latest Murakami attempt of the year, I found myself actually enjoying What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. I listened to the audio book during my runs while Murakami talked about his runs and for a moment it was as if we were running together in a quiet morning, cutting a path through cool air, our voices and birdsong the only sounds in the world.
Maybe the difference is that since I turned thirty, I've become hyperaware of aging, and Murakami discusses his own feelings on the subject as an older man. Maybe it's the fact that this being a book about his own personal feelings and relationship with writing and running, he only briefly mentioned women. Personally, while I find his prose elegant and spare and enjoy his dreamlike worlds...Murakami just can not write a realistic woman! I'm not the only person to say this, and others have said it much better. I'm tired of giving him so many chances, if this is as good as it gets, I'll read a different author.
In the end, Haruki and I came upon a forking path, and we each ran our separate ways. Maybe we'll meet another time. Probably not.