(Taken out of the Jackson Heights Public Library) I have to be in the right mood for a Haruki Murakami novel. His short stories are easier to take. The novels are full of symbols, magic realism, nightmares and bizarre plot twists that make no sense unless you wrack your brain to figure them out. But the characters are so real and their plights so relatable that one is drawn into his mystical dreamscapes. This one at about 360 pages was intoxicating and not as much of a chore as the much-longer Wind-Up Bird Chronicles. (Some day I will try the 900-page IQ84.) The novel follows the seemingly separate but later interconnected stories of Kafka, a 15-year-old runaway who may or may not have killed his father, and Nakata, a 60-ish mentally-challenged man who can talk to cats. Their chapters alternate until their stories overlap and complete each other. In addition to talking cats, we have fish and leeches falling from the sky like rain, Johnny Walker and Colonel Sanders coming to life, stones with personality, enigmatic characters and relationships. Murakami not only echoes Kafka, but also Greek tragedy and The Sound of Music. It's a weird experience, mainly about coming of age, finding your identity and coming to terms with your past, but all in indirect and metaphorical ways. Strangely absorbing.
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