Sputnik Sweetheart

19 01 2011

I think I’ve said a lot before about how difficult it is for me to put in words the exact sensations that various things entice in me. I like many books and each has a distinct affect on me, to which I always struggle to give a name or sometimes even try to describe.

This is my first Haruki Murakami novel and it just swept me off the floor. Reading it was pure ecstasy and I thoroughly enjoyed my brief affair with it. I just can’t explain how or what I exactly felt but I can compare the intensity with what I experienced for Fritzgerald’s Jazz Stories, Ishiguro’s Remains of the Day or Mark Zusak’s The Book Thief.

The lead characters in this novel were hopeless loners and voracious readers. The characters were so intriguing that I read about them with eyes wide open in amazement. Murakami’s powerful prose had me spellbound and I surprised myself at my reaction. It’s as if my thoughts adorned new wings and I was transported to a new dimension altogether. Everything seemed too good to be true. And then I encountered something I’d been anticipating all along – the “eeriness factor”. Every Japanese work I’ve read so far had something spooky in it and this book didn’t prove otherwise. The novel turned creepy right from the point of Miu’s story and it ended abruptly or so it seemed to me. Not that this has ruined my initial sentiments but I usually feel uncomfortable around inexplicable things and unanswered questions.

There was not a dull moment while reading this book unlike many other good books and every time I resumed reading it, I felt overpowered by its magnetism.

I look forward to read more of Murakami.

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