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Jeg klarer aldri helt å bestemme meg for om Murakami er symbolsk tvers igjennom, eller om han bevisst finner opp et univers som ikke gir mening.
Som vanlig er det mye som ikke blir forklart, mange tråder som ikke nøstes opp, mange ubesvarte spørsmål. Samtidig er Murakami god på å tegne opp mennesker, med deres tanker, begjær og følelser, med deres annerledeshet og likhet på samme tid. Språket er dessuten poetisk, selv om det noen ganger føles som staffasje.
Murakami sier noe grunnleggende om å være menneske, og å leve, samtidig han tegner opp en verden med overnaturlige og uforklarlige elementer. Denne balansegangen vipper nesten over i det absurde, noen vil hevde den gjør det. Det er ikke alltid lett å forstå hva han prøver å si, men det menneskelige forstår vi, og det blir hans styrke.
Listen up - there's no war that will end all wars.
Closing your eyes isn’t going to change anything. Nothing’s going to disappear just because you can’t see what’s going on. In fact, things will be even worse the next time you open your eyes. (...) Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won’t make time stand still.
"When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out from between their pages - a special odour of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between their covers."
A deserted library in the morning - there’s something about it that really gets to me. All possible words and ideas are there, resting peacefully.
"Layer upon layer of solitude, like folds of soft mud. The little bit of light that manages to penetrate to the depths lights up the surroundings like the remnants of some faint, distant memory. At these depths there's no sign of life. I don't know how long she looks at me - not at me, maybe, but at the spot where I am. Time's rules don't apply here. Time expands, then contracts, all in tune with the stirrings of the heart."
Everyone of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads—at least that’s where I imagine it—there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own little private library.
You are in love with a girl who is no more, jealous of a boy who’s gone for ever. Even so, this emotion you’re feeling is more real, and more intensely painful, than anything you’ve ever felt before. And there’s no way out. No possibility of finding an escape. You’ve wandered into a labyrinth of time, and the biggest problem of all is that you have no desire at all to get out. Am I right?
Endeleg fri frå skulepensum og tid til skjønnlitteratur igjen. Dette er bøkene eg håper på å få lese i sommar.
Ei liste over alle bøker og lydbøker som slukes i år, samt korte kommentarar om kva eg syntes om dei