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Another one by Haruki Murakami! By now, I am a bit more acquainted with his style of writing and storytelling! Sputnik Sweetheart is Murakami’s work in its essence!

Three characters including the narrator, all of whom have some love inflicted pain! One is incapable of loving anyone, one is a homosexual passionately in love and the narrator is not loved by his love interest. It’s one of his short works but continues the legacy of well explained mysterious characters and unreal realities they face & experience. It’s pretty much what all his books are about, someone loves someone madly but the love is rarely reciprocated likewise, some character will have  some weird fascinating past and the ends are blurry and unsatisfying! Still , all of Marukami’s work I have read till now has been absolutely gripping.

Sumire, narrator’s friend falls in love with Miu,  a woman 17 years older than her and ends up working for her. Narrator loves Sumire but Sumire considers him dearest of friends. Miu has encountered a strange incident after which she feels being ‘split’ into two. I cannot stop myself from mentioning it vaguely! Trapped in a Ferris Wheel Miu sees herself (through the window)  being violated by a man in her apartment and next day all her hair turn white! You could sanely accept such insane things in a Murakami book only 🙂 .  After this, Miu cannot love anyone! Still, she gives in when Sumire explicitly shows love for her. And then something strange happens which makes Miu and the narrator meet.

Like always, the plot is just a simple story but Murakami’s words do the magic! Sumire’s love for Miu, Miu’s inability to find her real self and Narrator’s agony and pain when Sumire does not feel the same way.. They are all woven beautifully in the story! The words are so flawless and make you stop and think. Close-to-life characters, excellent prose and thought provoking lines in Murakami’s World, that’s what Sputnik Sweetheart offers you!

As always, some quotes

In dreams you don’t need to make any distinctions between things. Not at all. Boundaries don’t exist. So in dreams there are hardly ever collisions. Even if there are, they don’t hurt. Reality is different. Reality bites. Reality, reality.

We’re both looking at the same moon, in the same world. We’re connected to reality by the same line. All I have to do is quietly draw it towards me.

So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that’s stolen from us – that’s snatched right out of our hands – even if we are left completely

changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off

behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of insurmountable emptiness…Maybe, in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost.

Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single, overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover – drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each – what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them. Knowing all the while that their lives are fleeting.

Don’t pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life, and it’d lose even its imperfection.

You know what I’d really like to do the most right now? Climb up to the top of some high place like the pyramids. The highest place I can find. Where you can see forever. Stand on the very top, look all around the world, see all the scenery, and see with my own eyes what’s been lost from the world

Writing novels is much the same. You gather up bones and make your gate, but no matter how wonderful the gate might be, that alone doesn’t make it a living breathing novel. A story is not something of this world. A real story requires a kind of magical baptism to link the world on this side with the world on the other side.

Understanding is but the sum of misunderstandings.

Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life and it’d lose even its imperfection.

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