Reading 1Q84

Every night these days, I curl up with a book. I started by forcing myself. Not on the kindle. A real, physical, tangible book whose pages I can turn. An hour in bed with a story that isn’t my own. I cannot tell you how joyful it feels to read fiction, after having starved myself off it for so long.

I’m reading 1Q84- a Murakami classic. My heart is singing, connecting with characters, listening to their commentary, reimagining their works and my own. It is as the book suggests: 

No matter how clear the relationship of things might be in the forest of story, there never was a clear-cut solution…the role of the story was, in the broadest terms, to transpose a single problem into another form. Depending on the nature and direction of the problem, a solution could be suggested in the narrative. Tengo would return to the real world with that suggestion in hand.

That is what fiction does: it morphs the world a little, until something old emerges as something new, and you feel yourself renewed with a strange kind if glow that you had always possessed, but were running low on.

Oh Murakami, thank you for weaving your fantastically weird narratives with such grounded cores!


One thought on “Reading 1Q84

  1. I understood what fiction does, but is fiction as itself real? If not, then fiction can be a sort of escape from reality. And an escape from reality affects the reality. Its strange that something not real affects the entities that are real.

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