For once I can say this without a moment's hesitation or guilt attached--my reading at the moment is all over the place. But in an entirely pleasing and good way. I've got a variety of really excellent reads on go at the moment, and I think I have a very workable rotation going so most of them get a little daily attention--a classic, a mystery, a historical novel with an alternate history slant to it, a book of letters and a few contemporary novels . . . something for every mood. I want this to be a year of new discoveries and firsts, and it would seem I am off to a good start.
My first "first" is a novel by a writer who has been only on the periphery of my reading. I know he's famous and well respected and someone I really should read, but I just haven't felt compelled enough to pick up a book on my own initiative. Well, that changed after I read my first story by Haruki Murakami last year in my weekly New Yorker reading (how many times did I note down a new author--have I mentioned how much I love reading the New Yorker?). "Scheherazade" was one of my favorite stories that I read last year and I mentally added him to my must read list.
I was at the bookstore just before the holidays and allowed myself a small indulgence of a couple of new books, and Sputnik Sweetheart was one of my choices. Murakami is a very prolific writer and it was hard to choose a book to start with, but as this had been recommended and the story appealed I decided to finally give him a try. Part of the description of the story is that it is "a profound meditation on human longing". Now there's something I know a little bit about. It's not so much that I had been intimidated by him, but I have been working under the assumption that he's quite quirky and I don't always do "quirky" well.
Maybe Sputnik Sweetheart is not one of his more unusual stories, or maybe it is and I just put him off for no real good reason, but I am thoroughly enjoying the book and suspect I am about to become a devotee of Murakami's work. I'm not very far into the story yet, but this is what I can tell you so far. It's narrated by a man, a youngish man who met Sumire (Violet in Japanese) as a student in college. He's a good friend of hers, and it would seem he's a little bit in love with her, too, though their friendship is only platonic. He's telling the story of Sumire and Miu, an older woman Sumire met at a wedding and falls in love with.
What's so good about this story is how well "K", the narrator, tells it--he paints this really interesting and vivid portrait of his friend. I already have lots of little pencil markings in the margins, but here is one of his descriptions of Sumire that will give you a sense of her:
"Sumire was a hopeless romantic, set in her ways--a bit innocent, to put a nice spin on it. Start her talking, and she'd go nonstop, but if she was with someone she didn't get along with--most people in the world, in other words--she barely opened her mouth. She smoked too much, and you could count on her to lose her ticket every time she rode the train. She'd get so engrossed in her thoughts at times that she'd forget to eat, and she was as thin as one of those war orphans in an old Italian movie--like a stick with eyes. I'd love to show you a photo of her, but I don't have any. She detested having her photo taken--no desire to leave behind for posterity a Portrait of the Artist as a Young (Wo)man. If there were a photograph of Sumire taken at that time, I know it would be a valuable record of how special certain people are."
Sumire is a burgeoning writer who happens to be reading Jack Kerouac at the moment. She has lots of bookish qualities, which I think you would appreciate as much as I do. I'm intrigued as to where the story is going as Sumire is going to disappear soon, and "K" is going to go off searching for her. So, this is part love (unrequited) story, part detective story. What's not to love. I've already got another of Murakami's books winging its way to me even as I type!