Kafka on the Shore

by Haruki Murakami

My eyes in the mirror are cold as a lizard’s, my expression fixed and unreadable. I can’t remember the last time I laughed or even showed a hint of a smile to other people. Even to myself.

Slowly, like a movie fadeout, the real world evaporates. I’m alone, inside the world of the story. My favorite feeling in the world.

We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology . . . But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.

He has no sense that it was something he decided to do himself, or that he had a choice. He’s like totally passive. But I think in real life people are like that. It’s not so easy to make choices on your own.”

I’m not a fast reader. I like to linger over each sentence, enjoying the style. If I don’t enjoy the writing, I stop.

Story of my life.

Works that have a certain imperfection to them have an appeal for that very reason—or at least they appeal to certain types of people. Just like you’re attracted to Soseki’s The Miner. There’s something in it that draws you in, more than more fully realized novels like Kokoro or Sanshiro. You discover something about that work that tugs at your heart—or maybe we should say the work discovers you.

The concept of death was beyond his powers of imagination. And pain was something he wasn’t aware of until he actually felt it. As an abstract concept pain didn’t mean a thing.

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

This is the best part! I hope you’ll appreciate how hard I’ve tried to make this entertaining for you.”

THIS LUNATIC

But then he understood. Johnnie Walker was laughing. Stabbed in the stomach and chest, his blood spouting out, he continued to laugh.

Shit, this guy is really messed up in the head! Poor, Nakata. He was so pure. The cats don't deserve this shit either.

“From my own experience, when someone is trying very hard to get something, they don’t. And when they’re running away from something as hard as they can, it usually catches up with them. I’m generalizing, of course.”

“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.”

“Yes, there is. Nakata just murdered somebody.”

Omg, Nakata is so honest!

Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it’s important to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. 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. They’re a lost cause, and I don’t want anyone like that coming in here.”

Strong and independent? I’m neither one. I’m just being pushed along by reality, whether I like it or not. But I don’t say anything.

“My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime.”

“Perhaps most people in the world aren’t trying to be free, Kafka. They just think they are. It’s all an illusion. If they really were set free, most people would be in a real bind. You’d better remember that. People actually prefer not being free.”

“The strength I’m looking for isn’t the kind where you win or lose. I’m not after a wall that’ll repel power coming from outside. What I want is the kind of strength to be able to absorb that outside power, to stand up to it. The strength to quietly endure things—unfairness, misfortune, sadness, mistakes, misunderstandings.”

As long as I was alive, I was something. That was just how it was. But somewhere along the line it all changed. Living turned me into nothing. Weird . . . People are born in order to live, right? But the longer I’ve lived, the more I’ve lost what’s inside me—and ended up empty. And I bet the longer I live, the emptier, the more worthless, I’ll become.

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

“We keep this up much longer, I’ll turn into a regular singer-songwriter,”

I love their dynamic so much LOL.

“Listen up—there’s no war that will end all wars,” Crow tells me. “War breeds war. Lapping up the blood shed by violence, feeding on wounded flesh. War is a perfect, self-contained being. You need to know that.”

“Hey, Gramps,” Hoshino said to Nakata. “Could you get up, just for a few minutes? I don’t know what the hell to do. And I miss your voice.”

Poor Hoshino.