Norwegian wood

I copied this from my old blog. Am trying to get everything centralized. This piece in Sept 06 was about a book that I had read, and swept me away. Now re-reading it, I'm making some editorial changes, so that it doesn't sound like some book review exercise that secondary school teachers make you do.

In early 2006, my then boyfriend's father bought me this book. I had never heard of Mr Murakami before, but when he told me that it was a love story, I wasn't really interested. I read it almost half a year later, and it blew me away.

Mr. Murakami has this magical power with words, drawing me into his world, as he describe the autumn breeze of Kyoto or the sweetness of Spring in Tokyo.

He tells a story of love and of longing, and it stays with you, long after you read the last word. And it does, because I was Watanabe, Naoko or Midori at some point in time. I have felt the longings, the pining, the love, the hope and the desperation that they have felt.

Mr Murakami showed me how flawed love is, and how flawed we are. And yet, admist our imperfections, he urges us to bravely embrace life, and to go on hoping, living, loving.

It gives me the strength to go on- to look for and to hold on to love, even though I know very well, it could dissapear tomorrow.

I'm going to re-read the book later today.