The better half has been pushing this one on me for some time now and was curious to know what I think. So thank you for having now added to my list of favourite quotes:
Before I launch into my ramblings, it's worth pointing to here that this novel doesn't actually fall into the sci fi/fantasy categories I aim to explore. Though it weaves dreamlike narratives into the story, in my opinion, it can classify as fiction. The reason I include it here is because I was disoriented many times in ways that reminded me of fantasy novels and that, on the whole, I think Mitchell has a grandeur vision of all his novels as a pyramidal structure of a fantastical tale loosely seeping into one another and all pointing to some end of the world finale... to be continued with Cloud Atlas!
It's my second novel by Mitchell, after The Bone Clocks, whose title takes inspiration from Lennon's song. Try playing it as Eiji's imagination runs wild! I must admit, though I was enthused by the promising psychedelic beginnings, with fantasies of shoot outs and floods and reunions with abandoning fathers, a chunk of the book forgets its dreaming tendencies only to revert to them in full swing by the end... David seems to have made a mental note of using a literary trope that doesn't serve him throughout. Shame. Another trope that ended exasperating me was his use of story within a story as both interlude and echoing narrative. Didn't do it for me. And to be expected, throughout, the book uses unabashedly the reference of the number 9 in its multiple forms as wink wink nudge nudges.
The story is a straightforward bildungsroman in Japan of a Eiji, a young man setting out from his village home to big chaotic Tokyo in search of his father which is really his search for identity, family, love and meaning.
*don't we know this
His mom is a nutcase with an alcoholic propensity who threw him over the balcony in a fit of anger when he was a baby and his twin sister died drowning after he had prayed for success in a football match in exchange for 'anything'. In the end, he finds love and a renewed interest in his mother whilst we are afforded a short glimpse of a jerk of a father as our Eiji delivers him a wonderfully named Kamikaze pizza. We are given 8 chapters with the 9th left blank. Tada!
After a good 20 pages of disorientation, I enjoyed navigating what is real and what is fantasy or (waking) dreams. I did find it slightly tedious in the end because David fails to capitalise on his idea. He is a master of describing scenes of violence where heads get crushed by bowling balls and heads sizzle on grizzles whilst eyes pop out of their sockets. Reservoir Dog style. Yummy! And Yuzu Daimon is one of the biggest literary jerks I've encountered.
It was one of the rare books that for me depicted perfectly first love with its awkward charms and confounding. David does like his strong, tough, ambitious young female characters. Three spring to mind: Ai (the lover's interest with the perfect neck), Anjum the spirited twin with all the sparks her twin lacks and Sachiko, Ai's room mate and Eiji's pizza boss whose every comment made me want to laugh out loud then memorise them to use in my own everyday discourse.
I smugly picked up on the echoes of Murakami's "Norwegian Wood", especially with Eiji and Yuzu's double date in the Love hotel. Unlike Murakami, there is kindness that infuses the book, from Eiji's quirky landlord, to the Cat and Sachiko's blunt comments helping our protagonist out when at a loss and Onizuka's silent generosity.
And finally, to end on one of my favourite passages because in the end, this is about sketching the literary memories of my Kiwi:
Dreams are shores where the ocean of spirit meets the land of matter.
Before I launch into my ramblings, it's worth pointing to here that this novel doesn't actually fall into the sci fi/fantasy categories I aim to explore. Though it weaves dreamlike narratives into the story, in my opinion, it can classify as fiction. The reason I include it here is because I was disoriented many times in ways that reminded me of fantasy novels and that, on the whole, I think Mitchell has a grandeur vision of all his novels as a pyramidal structure of a fantastical tale loosely seeping into one another and all pointing to some end of the world finale... to be continued with Cloud Atlas!
It's my second novel by Mitchell, after The Bone Clocks, whose title takes inspiration from Lennon's song. Try playing it as Eiji's imagination runs wild! I must admit, though I was enthused by the promising psychedelic beginnings, with fantasies of shoot outs and floods and reunions with abandoning fathers, a chunk of the book forgets its dreaming tendencies only to revert to them in full swing by the end... David seems to have made a mental note of using a literary trope that doesn't serve him throughout. Shame. Another trope that ended exasperating me was his use of story within a story as both interlude and echoing narrative. Didn't do it for me. And to be expected, throughout, the book uses unabashedly the reference of the number 9 in its multiple forms as wink wink nudge nudges.
The story is a straightforward bildungsroman in Japan of a Eiji, a young man setting out from his village home to big chaotic Tokyo in search of his father which is really his search for identity, family, love and meaning.
You look for your meaning. You find it, and at that moment, your meaning changes, and you have to start all over again.*
*don't we know this
His mom is a nutcase with an alcoholic propensity who threw him over the balcony in a fit of anger when he was a baby and his twin sister died drowning after he had prayed for success in a football match in exchange for 'anything'. In the end, he finds love and a renewed interest in his mother whilst we are afforded a short glimpse of a jerk of a father as our Eiji delivers him a wonderfully named Kamikaze pizza. We are given 8 chapters with the 9th left blank. Tada!
After a good 20 pages of disorientation, I enjoyed navigating what is real and what is fantasy or (waking) dreams. I did find it slightly tedious in the end because David fails to capitalise on his idea. He is a master of describing scenes of violence where heads get crushed by bowling balls and heads sizzle on grizzles whilst eyes pop out of their sockets. Reservoir Dog style. Yummy! And Yuzu Daimon is one of the biggest literary jerks I've encountered.
It was one of the rare books that for me depicted perfectly first love with its awkward charms and confounding. David does like his strong, tough, ambitious young female characters. Three spring to mind: Ai (the lover's interest with the perfect neck), Anjum the spirited twin with all the sparks her twin lacks and Sachiko, Ai's room mate and Eiji's pizza boss whose every comment made me want to laugh out loud then memorise them to use in my own everyday discourse.
You are a biped sent from heaven...
I smugly picked up on the echoes of Murakami's "Norwegian Wood", especially with Eiji and Yuzu's double date in the Love hotel. Unlike Murakami, there is kindness that infuses the book, from Eiji's quirky landlord, to the Cat and Sachiko's blunt comments helping our protagonist out when at a loss and Onizuka's silent generosity.
And finally, to end on one of my favourite passages because in the end, this is about sketching the literary memories of my Kiwi:
I was your age. I was in love. Or maybe I was mentally ill. Same difference.... We started going out in my cousin's car for sessions at the reservoir. Counted stars. Counted her birthmarks. Never knew bliss like that, never will again.
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