I’ll be honest: Although I enjoyed this running/writing memoir by famous author Murakami, I didn’t love it.
The book is not particularly ambitious or enthusiastic or exciting or monumental. But of course most the handiwork of running itself – especially the daily training – IS neither very exciting nor enthusiasm-enducing, nor monumental; I remember quite well from my recent years as a runner. That is why the book does manage to evoke aspects of the experience of BEING A RUNNER quite well. Running is always in the background of a runner’s everyday life – when will I be able to train today? Does my knee only hurt or is it injured? Do I need to rest more? Can I reach the time I aimed at? Should I train more often? Is this shoe too cushioned? – and in this role it plays in the everyday, running IS a pretty sober, uncinematic affair.
And that’s how running comes across in the book. It deals with running as something that fits the author’s uncompetitive nature and pragmatically fulfills his need for an activity that will keep him physically fit enough to do all the writing (and living). The prose is relaxed and sober, kind of like any regular distance runner’s informal log to himself. It does come across that there are elements in running that Murakami does enjoy, but he does not appear to have too much enthusiasm for the activity itself. But maybe that’s a matter of personality / taste because I personally prefer grander, deeper kinds of joy than the sober relationship he is in with running.
So this book is a well-done piece on a writing runner’s everyday, but I don’t find it very moving or even that insightful. Well, I am a sucker for the extraordinary, after all 🙂
I picked up my first own passport this week in preparation for fulfilling my dream of travelling parts of the world for a bit after I graduate my master’s in June! I’m stoked!
But why travel now, when money is short and it’d be important to follow up graduation with a nice entry-level job?
Well, I always had good reasons to delay travelling to a later stage of my life, when “the time” would be right. Before this decision to travel in 2018, I’d just always assumed I would travel to some distant parts of the world some day, that my life would definitely include that aspect. But I never made any concrete plans. Life always gets in the way. And before you know it, you’ve got a nice flat or house to pay and keep, a neat job, friendly coworkers, a membership at the gym and a busy circle of friends, maybe there are kids to take care of, and you’re so deeply established where you are that the idea of leaving it behind for even a bit is so uncomfortable and would require so many arrangements that “that time” just never comes.
Don’t get me wrong, this picture I painted sounds like a lovely life, but I would be so sad to miss out on this (potential) part of me. So I just have to try and dare and see what travelling does with me. 😊
The story narrates the struggles and fates of a handful of characters on and around the Dutch East Indies Company’s trading post Dejima right off the bay of Nagasaki (Japan) starting in 1799. We chiefly follow the Dutch clerk Jacob de Zoet as he navigates his way around the foreign culture, corruption, homesickness, blossoming friendships, and rivalries. And in the midst of it all, de Zoet falls in love with Miss Aibagawa, a Japanese midwife studying with a certain Dr Marinus. We follow her fate as she is sent off against her will to the disquieting Lord Abbot Enomoto’s shrine on Mount Shiranui. The shrine holds a dark secret, and within its confines, she tries to forge a place for herself.
What it really is about
This book weaves together clashes at the level of cultures, at the level of groups of people, at the level of individuals, and at the level of values, goals, ambitions, dreams, and personalities – it captures the never-ending task of every human being to negotiate their own way through all of these struggles.
We see clashes of belief systems, of ambition and veracity, of cultural independence and colonial connectedness, of science and traditional beliefs, of systems and principles of sovereignty, of the cruelties of slavery and how frighteningly easy one goes along with what counts as normal; clashes of dreams and realities, of one’s personal goals and one’s loyalties, one’s ideals and the dark sides everyone has, of arrogance and humility, of struggling and of acceptance and of forging a place for oneself.
Mitchell hardly ever suggests any easy answers or solutions for all these clashes and themes and I really appreciate that. What I love most, though, is the novel’s rich down-to-earth melancholia about the way one’s life turns out with time, through all the forces and influences out of one’s control, including incalculable consequences of one’s own actions and inactions. It offers a superb portrayal of the struggles one goes through in making the choices one has to make, or forever regret, to stay true to oneself. And finally, the novel beautifully drives home how we can ultimately only ever ascertain and assess some of these things, and most of them in hindsight.
A little postscript: Mitchell’s “The Bone Clocks,” (2014) set in the same universe, should be read before this book as it makes sense of some of the happenings at Mount Shiranui Shrine, at least partly redeeming their otherwise uncomfortably orientalist vibes.
It’s a sort of an end of an era for me recently since I finished the Gormenghast book trilogy and, almost in parallel, the video game Dark Souls 1.
Both works are difficult to navigate, but richly rewarding. Their worlds are uncanny and gothic, but distinct; the eerie characters and their fates as you live through them are intense – that is, if you find within yourself the patience and motivation to finish these difficult masterpieces. I did, and against all odds, I lived to tell you about it.
Dark Souls (videogame)
That’s because Dark Souls is one big incredible suffer fest journey of an action/adventure/roleplay videogame. Hated and loved universally for its incredible but somehow fair difficulty, it demands the utmost in concentration and in willingness to try, die, learn, and try again (the PC version is aptly named “Prepare to Die Edition”). It is so intense that at times, it feels like what you are doing is learning an area and its enemies’ moves by heart, and only when you have really internalised them will you succeed.
Nevertheless, this is for some reason fun; probably not least because of the genius level design and the incredible feeling of accomplishment upon finally mastering previously unthinkably difficult sections or boss fights (the other day, I actually dreamt reading an article online about the Gaping Dragon unanimously being seen as the objectively hardest boss. That was probably my brain justifying my endless fight with it).
Also, I admit I am a competitive person at times, and I don’t accept defeat. So this explains the 1 1/2 painful but intense years I spent with this game!
I absolutely love the dark atmosphere of ever-shifting mystery shrouding the world; I love the feel of the almost Gormenghast-ishly bizarre inhabitants and of your character’s own cryptic story and part to play in the world. You only ever get bits and pieces of stories to be puzzled together from seldom interactions with in-game characters, events, and item descriptions. I am a detective, I like that.
Gormenghast – what an incredible place, and what a wondrous journey of a book trilogy (written 1946, 1950, and 1959).
The books are textbook examples for portraying surreal characters. In time, the vast Gormenghast castle itself comes to feel like a character with a life entirely of its own – its personality consisting of immemorial, weird rituals meticulously observed by its inhabitants; its physical shape consisting of an unending, untraceable net of tracts, buildings, corridors, and rooms, one more ancient than the next; all of it labyrinthine and most of it long forgotten.
The plot of the first two books follows the madness, ambitions, hopes, and dreams of several inhabitants:
The old depressed Lord Sepulchrave, 76th Earl of Groan, whose only escape from the demands of his office is his library. His son, the 77th Earl Titus Groan who is born into Gormenghast and but an infant for the entire length of the first book, and whose yearning for freedom from the life written for him is a major driver for changes; along with the ambition of Steerpike, the kitchen boy of unknown origin; Sepulchrave’s loyal servant Mr Flay whose coming is ever accompanied by the persistent cracking of his joints and who takes marvellous pride in his profession; his nemesis, the horroresque cook Swelter; the hopelessly romantic, touchingly impulsive, artistic melancholy sister of Titus, Lady Fuchsia Groan, whose intense childhood and youth we follow; the uncannily mad but eerily ambitious twin sisters of Sepulchrave, Cora and Clarice; the inquisitive Dr. Alfred Prunesquallor and his annoying, vain sister Irma who is in dire need of love; the ever-fussy Nannie Slag; Sourdust, the ancient master of ritual, and his son Barquentine, the school professor Bellgrove, the Bright Carvers, The Thing, Kedra…
The first two books follow the castle inhabitants over several years through many events and developments: the library is burned, central characters die, others fall in love, and out of love; the castle is flooded, some characters manipulate others, some follow their hopes, others kill, yet others find a new life; some meet tragic ends; and Gormenghast castle is always in the background… many things happen, but the book takes its sweet time for them. I think comparisons with Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings are not entirely misplaced.
(For me, the third book in the trilogy felt rather odd and off. We leave Gormenghast behind and enter a world that is even stranger and more unpredictable. Maybe that is an accurate depiction of what it feels like to have grown up within the castle and then leave it. Also, the additional layer of Mervyn Peake’s alleged dwindling mental faculties during its writing makes the oddness of the book all the more eerie.)
I loved these first two books for their very own distinctive feel – not always smooth or easy to read, but richly rewarding, and always one-of-a-kind. You do need a lot of patience and time to let the picture these books paint develop, and flow, though. Suffice it to say that Mervyn Peake’s trilogy is a grand piece of olde English literature (and that I have probably learnt more new English words from it than during the whole previous year, although I would hazard a guess that Peake’s favourite word might just be “undulating”).
I painted a little reminder for the new year to let ourselves blossom in all the right directions for all the right reasons:
So I start off my planning for 2018 with a little thought experiment: Who, what, where would I be if nothing in the world held me back, neither circumstances nor fear? Dream big, no judging and no reality checks.
Now I review these visions. What of these things feel “just right” – which ideas hit the sweet spot between exactly-me, deeply motivating, and uncomfortable, but sort of attainable? Then I start planning out the steps needed to get there. Choose some priorities. And review regularly.
The regular-review step is what I neglected too much in 2017. So here’s to a fresh start with the magic of a whole new year spreading out ahead! And weekly and monthly review sessions 😉
I love poems but sometimes I do not know what to do with them.
When a poem speaks to me, it is a super intense feeling, like I glow and rain at the same time. I leave words. I leave time, I reread the poem a few times, trying each time to read it again for the first time. And then – such intense emotion, a pressure, a wanting to engage with the poem and the person behind it and my feelings they evoked more deeply. From that rises a sort of helplessness, and of being lost. What do you do with a poem that speaks to you? Sometimes I copy a poem into my planner or print it and hang it up in my room.
But then what? What do you do with poems?
With a book or a story, it is so much easier. You can revel in all that you just read and lived through. There is so much more material. You can go back and relive favourite moments either by rereading them on paper, or by letting them unfold again in your head. You can look for sentences that were especially neat or profound or whatever. Remember the characters, let them come alive in your head. Come up with different outcomes in situations. Look up discussions of the book on the internet or talk to friends about them. Think about the stringency of the story line. Look for stories by the side, read between the lines. There is so much more to do. And most stories are less controversial and more shareable.
Maybe I am missing out on something and my understanding of poetry is still defective. But maybe I am onto something.
Maybe books and stories are closer to our everyday experience of our lives. We know how to interact with characters and stories we have met with. We do so all the time. In fact, we do hardly anything but move around situations in our heads, thinking about other people, events to come, events past, connecting ideas, things to be done, yadda yadda. We do it every day, almost every waking minute not focused on some other task (and this is probably what mindfulness and meditation is supposed to get us out of for a while).
But poems, they are more transcendent. The heaviness, the pressure I feel radiating from a poem that speaks to me is, perhaps, of the same kind as the deep glow of my magic moments, les instants radieux. They are profound, but they escape direct interaction. They are more momentary, and perhaps best unexplained, quite unlike everything else. They bestow a sort of shimmer, a meaning outside words, to us quite straightforwardly and that makes them feel momentous and in need of further interaction. But maybe they work in a way that escapes abstraction.
And so all we can adequately do in answer to art that touches us is try to share it with others, and make more art.
But that does not really solve the problem, it just tries to explain it. It’s all I got so far.
This is the central question of lesson 2 in Little Coffee Fox’s course Fast-Paced Productivity. The goal is to “dig deep and find motivation for your productivity” in the form of a “short explanation of your core motivation”.
I was advised to sit down and try to formulate what it is that keeps me going, and what has the potential to motivate and re-align me in moments of stress. So I went and scribbled down a whole page of would-be Why-Statements, but nothing felt quite right. It was over the course of a few days where my thoughts kept returning to Why-Statements that I finally came up with my three Why-Statements, and in the right order. I will spare you all the ruminations and get right to them:
I want to make myself proud.
I want to be conscious and open towards it all, good and bad.
Les Instants Radieux.
1. I want to make myself proud.
… for me is the motivation I get from the prospect of having acted and decided in a way that makes me proud of myself. This combines two aspects:
First, I am proud of myself when I do my best, no matter the outcome. This refers to days where nothing goes right, but I do not let myself be side-tracked, I do not procrastinate, I just keep trying diligently and calmly. At the end of the day, even if nothing went right, I can be proud of myself. This is a reason for pride intrinsic to my work the activity.
Secondly, I am proud of myself when the product or outcome of what I did is good. This is a reason for pride intrinsic to my work the product. This has long, perhaps since I started primary school, been my primary motivation, and this is problematic for a number of reasons – suffice it to say I believe it to be the root of all perfectionism, and therefore anxiety, self-doubt, and procrastination. But I believe it is still a fair and useful motivation to have alongside the balancing factor of doing my best no matter the outcome.
2. I want to be conscious and open towards it all, good and bad.
… for me is a reminder that there is value for me in my experiences, my being alive and consciously perceiving both what I do and what happens to and around me. It goes in the direction of neutral acceptance; perhaps it is a form of grace, of transcendence without religion. It is about losing the self with its problems to a somewhat stoic, non-judgemental sense, however temporary, of being a conscious part of existence, of the world, of my life as a story. “Less of me, less of me, concede and believe.”
This is a curious and open perspective which I wish to take up more often and which gives me a perspective within which to detach myself from the intense emotional nature of being me in my everyday life, if that makes sense.
3. Les Instants Radieux.
… are about a deep sense of joy; the moments that make life worth living. This joy is not simple hedonistic pleasure, but a more profound, shimmering joy of moments that feel just right, meaningful and authentic. There is a sense of the transcendent here, too; but it is less stoic and instead more connected to what I like, what I think is beautiful, to whom and what I personally love in the world. “Magic moments” might be a more accessible formulation, but I personally love the beauty in this expression taken from Alcest – La Nuit Marche Avec Moi (who have given me so many of these moments with their music).