Kafka on the Shore

by Haruki Murakami

plus that weird story about an execution device.” “‘In the Penal Colony,’”

I wasn’t just giving some general theory of Kafka’s fiction, I was talking about something very real. Kafka’s complex, mysterious execution device wasn’t some metaphor or allegory—it’s actually here, all around me. But I don’t think anybody would get that. Not Oshima. Not anybody.

The term “spirit projection” sprang to mind. Are you familiar with it? Japanese folk tales are full of this sort of thing, where the soul temporarily leaves the body and goes off a great distance to take care of some vital task and then returns to reunite with the body.

“That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and

It’s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It’s just like Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibilities. Flip this around and you could say that where there’s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise. Just like we see with Eichmann.

trainer at the gym taught me the routine. “Prisoners in solitary confinement like this best,” he explained, calling it the “world’s loneliest workout routine.” I focus on what I’m doing and go through a couple of sets, my shirt getting sweaty in the process.

Silence, I discover, is something you can actually hear.

It feels great, having the sun on places it never reaches.”

“That’s how stories happen—with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There’s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

“Kafka, in everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”

But what disgusts me even more are people who have no imagination. The kind T. S. Eliot calls hollow men. People who fill up that lack of imagination with heartless bits of straw, not even aware of what they’re doing. Callous people who throw a lot of empty words at you, trying to force you to do what you don’t want to.

As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive.

As Nakata sat there, umbrella and canvas bag in hand, office workers streamed back inside after their lunch hour. Another scene he’d never laid eyes on before in his life. As if by mutual consent, all the people were well dressed—ties, shiny briefcases, and high heels, everyone rushing off in the same direction. For the life of him Nakata couldn’t understand what so many people like this could possibly be up to.

A ironic photo with slow shutter speed

“I happen to like the strange ones,” the driver said. “People who look normal and live a normal life—they’re the ones you have to watch out for.”

The Tale of Genji, for instance, is filled with living spirits. In the Heian period—or at least in its psychological realm—on occasion people could become living spirits and travel through space to carry out whatever desires they had.

There’s one thing, I discover, the girl and I have in common. We’re both in love with someone who’s no longer of this world.

This is the first time you’ve ever been jealous in your life. Now you finally understand what it feels like. It’s like a brush fire torching your heart.

To hold her as much as you want, to make love to her over and over. To let your fingers run over every single part of her body, and let her do the same to you.

asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime.”

Anton Chekhov put it best when he said, ‘If a pistol appears in a story, eventually it’s got to be fired.’

What doesn’t play a role shouldn’t exist. What necessity requires does need to exist.

I nod. “I know. But metaphors can reduce the distance.” “We’re not metaphors.” “I know,” I say. “But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.”

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves.

My grandpa used to say that things never work out like you think they will, but that’s what makes life interesting,

People need a place they can go back to. There’s still time to make it, I think. For me, and for you.”

listening to time passing by.

Listen To the time paszing by. This is a good title!

“Haydn’s first cello concerto. Pierre Fournier’s playing the solo,” the

Rubinstein-Heifetz-Feuermann version of the Archduke Trio again.

‘Pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.’”