This book is Murakami's 6th novel and it should be kind of a sequel of 'Wild Sheep Chase', but not exactly. The unnamed narrator (Baku- I in Japanese) spent 4 years doing mostly nothing since he came back from Sapporo, Hokaido and the Dolphin Hotel, however he keeps feeling drawn back to it, and hears the girl who dissappeared there crying for him. Baku goes to Sapporo again, but the old Dolphin hotel is gone. There is a shiny-looking monstrosity instead. However the SheepMan is still there and so is a cute receptionist (Yumiyoshi is her name we learn at the end, how fascinating that many characters in Murakami's books have no names or symbolic names) which has also seen the dark 16th floor and 'is connected' in the SheepMan's switchboard (we learn later).
Baku goes back to Tokyo with an angst-filled teenager of 13 who is also psychic, in a way. Baku is lost in the world of his superstar actor-friend, the superstar parents of Yuki (famous writer and photographer, the writers name an anagram of Haruki Murakami). He becomes a baby sitter for the little Yuki and takes her to Hawaii with generous monetary help from her parents, who cannot be bothered, it seems with full-time parenting. In all that, the connections to the world of the SheepMan do not weaken, whether it is through a Thai hooker or a vision of Kiki that leads Baku to an apartment with six skeletons.
Back in Tokyo, and away from the police who gave Baku hell for a few days before because of the murder of a high-class call-girl Mai, his actor-friend turns out to have murdered Kiki, or maybe not? Maybe Kiki just disappeared from this world as if she never existed here. However dream and reality melds for Baku, as in most Murakami novels, and maybe that is how it should be. We all live in personal realities which are just individual reflections and bastardizations of the objective reality, which cannot be objectively perceived anyway, thanks to our human senses. Thus is everything is subjective why not push that subjectivity into directions which makes sense only to us and make only us happy instead of buying into the current consensus reality being pushed down our throats from every possible direction.
At the end, as all Murakami's books, this one is also about losing something, getting lost yourself, and then finding everything, after one passes through a myriad of trials and soul-searchings, some in the outside world and some in the inside one.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Monday, December 12, 2011
"Emotional Intelligence" by Daniel Goleman
The entire book could probably be summarized in a few paragraphs, and I am being generous there. The problem with all these self-help books, even in the ruse of psychology textbooks-wannabes is that they all state the obvious: "don't get upset", "be more balanced", "don't feel bad", "take action" and similar blah, blah, which is obvious to any thinking person, but the problem is that we can't get ourselves to do what we know needs to be done because of emotional holdbacks. Of course the bully shouldn't bully the other children but work on his own emotional and family issues. But how to do it? What exactly to do? Step by step. The only thing that most self-help books seem to imply is that we all need to get a therapist. Which should be just fine if one can afford it, or have one's insurance pay for it, but most people out there cannot. Then you need good friends. Or a supportive and understanding family. Sure. But what if you can't get any of those or you don't have them readily available?
The book postulates that there is such a thing as emotional intelligence and that it is different from the regular, IQ intelligence. Then goes on to beat around the bush and quote stories and case studies from author's practice and his own life (how NOT tacky) where the principles of the so-called emotional intelligence are demonstrated and proved-by-anecdote. Overall a tedious reading, as most of these books are, and not much new knowledge to be obtained than what would one get by reading an average Wikipedia page on the issue.
The book postulates that there is such a thing as emotional intelligence and that it is different from the regular, IQ intelligence. Then goes on to beat around the bush and quote stories and case studies from author's practice and his own life (how NOT tacky) where the principles of the so-called emotional intelligence are demonstrated and proved-by-anecdote. Overall a tedious reading, as most of these books are, and not much new knowledge to be obtained than what would one get by reading an average Wikipedia page on the issue.
"A Farewell to Arms" by Ernest Hemingway
A second read of this classic. I saw the movie too, but I didn't like it too much; too stiff and dry, which is definitely not the book, if you understand it right. The first time I read it, it was in translation, and translation never does justice to the real thing. That's one of the reasons I am trying to learn as many languages as possible. Hemingway's English is a special language. It is simple, creeps up on you without you even noticing and grips you and won't let go, like that little animal from Jack London's stories. The language is simple, the words are simple, but it is in that simplicity that the most horrifying events and the deepest emotions, loss, love, in-love, out-of-love are described with more emotional effect than the most pompous 19th century prose.
Hemingway started out as a journalist, so his style started in journalistic factualism and brevity. He also fought in WWI, and in the the Italian Army, so the character in the book is largely himself, though, of course, poetic license allows for plenty of 'what could have happened' scenarios. The story is of an American volunteer in the Italian Army, driver of an ambulance and also a low-rank officer. He sees and talks about the real war. Not the patriotic BS that the masses are being fed in the cities, but the pointless, senseless killing and apathy and absence of any morale or will to fight, except among the dumb and the idiots and the ones profiteering from it. The only respite from the constant killing and attempts to escape the front on the smart ones part are the whorehouses, and the big event there is when the girls get changed.
Our hero drinks hard, talks hard and records even harder conversations of his fellow men, half of which despise him, especially the higher-up officers, and the other half are trying to get something from him. Just like real life. It is the realism of the novel that is most striking. It happens during WWI, but it could be any conflict, anywhere, anytime, from the Romans to Libya, human nature doesn't change. Homo homini lupus est. And it has to be that way, otherwise we wouldn't have evolved. And nowhere that is more evident than during time of war. There is a love story, of course, though it doesn't get fully developed until the end of the book, and it is better that way, as the infantile English nurse with her constant gibberish gets on one's nerves, and, no matter how awful it sounds, there is a smidgen of a relief when she doesn't survive the childbirth. The character goes back to his hotel, his wife and child dead. That is the last sentence of the novel.
The real pleasure in the novel is the language. The language flows and is natural and is interesting in ways and places one would not expect to have interest, especially for the reader in the second decade of the 21st century - not enough sex or graphic description of violence and suffering. Everything is understated and explained in regular, everyday language, which only makes it more authentic and genuine. One has a feeling that is actually there and knows that the author has been there.
Hemingway started out as a journalist, so his style started in journalistic factualism and brevity. He also fought in WWI, and in the the Italian Army, so the character in the book is largely himself, though, of course, poetic license allows for plenty of 'what could have happened' scenarios. The story is of an American volunteer in the Italian Army, driver of an ambulance and also a low-rank officer. He sees and talks about the real war. Not the patriotic BS that the masses are being fed in the cities, but the pointless, senseless killing and apathy and absence of any morale or will to fight, except among the dumb and the idiots and the ones profiteering from it. The only respite from the constant killing and attempts to escape the front on the smart ones part are the whorehouses, and the big event there is when the girls get changed.
Our hero drinks hard, talks hard and records even harder conversations of his fellow men, half of which despise him, especially the higher-up officers, and the other half are trying to get something from him. Just like real life. It is the realism of the novel that is most striking. It happens during WWI, but it could be any conflict, anywhere, anytime, from the Romans to Libya, human nature doesn't change. Homo homini lupus est. And it has to be that way, otherwise we wouldn't have evolved. And nowhere that is more evident than during time of war. There is a love story, of course, though it doesn't get fully developed until the end of the book, and it is better that way, as the infantile English nurse with her constant gibberish gets on one's nerves, and, no matter how awful it sounds, there is a smidgen of a relief when she doesn't survive the childbirth. The character goes back to his hotel, his wife and child dead. That is the last sentence of the novel.
The real pleasure in the novel is the language. The language flows and is natural and is interesting in ways and places one would not expect to have interest, especially for the reader in the second decade of the 21st century - not enough sex or graphic description of violence and suffering. Everything is understated and explained in regular, everyday language, which only makes it more authentic and genuine. One has a feeling that is actually there and knows that the author has been there.
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