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A review by matcha4a
First Person Singular by Haruki Murakami
5.0
I wonder if I compile short stories mostly about my hyper-fixations like, say, van Gogh and not only his paintings but also his letters; the songs under my 'The Best Songs for a 1998 Monalissa' Spotify playlist; my favorite authors/books; my hs-days PBA team; that random kid who almost became my first boyfriend in the summer before high school but all thanks to the obstructing non-4G world back then; the best coffee bean in town; strong feminists I look up to; Philippine history and my political history frustrations; my untidy poem collection, my random musings about black holes, the moon, my favorite star, and my favorite galaxy—will I ever outsell Murakami? Probably not. Unless I've already shown the world my ability to explain the inexplicable and write the unimaginable like Murakami's previous best-selling novels.
In short, this book is just an entire collection of his random musings about what makes a Haruki Murakami. That should make sense. If you're not really *that* into him, it will surely disappoint. Let's say Murakami himself isn't overrated, I don't think this book would easily go overrated.
Never mind, I don't want to spoil the fun. I love this old fella. If I could hug each page of everything he has written, I would. That's why, obviously, despite the negative remarks this book has received, I'm still here at the bottom of his feet, thanking and praising him for releasing this one. I humbly accepted each story as it is. Whether some stories really happened to him or not, whether a part of this book is non-fiction or not, I refused the frustration and decided not to find the logic. Just another tale-telling session with my favorite old man—I took it that way instead—looking up to him as always like a father I never had.
Authors are susceptible to naturally including personal life fragments in their writing. Maybe that's why (only at some point) it felt like it's a parallel to Norwegian Wood, Colorless Tsukuru, and Kafka on the Shore. Maybe, the fact that we're both freaking INFPs has something to do with this madness that I love the 8 stories equally. 5/5 stars, so to speak.
In short, this book is just an entire collection of his random musings about what makes a Haruki Murakami. That should make sense. If you're not really *that* into him, it will surely disappoint. Let's say Murakami himself isn't overrated, I don't think this book would easily go overrated.
Never mind, I don't want to spoil the fun. I love this old fella. If I could hug each page of everything he has written, I would. That's why, obviously, despite the negative remarks this book has received, I'm still here at the bottom of his feet, thanking and praising him for releasing this one. I humbly accepted each story as it is. Whether some stories really happened to him or not, whether a part of this book is non-fiction or not, I refused the frustration and decided not to find the logic. Just another tale-telling session with my favorite old man—I took it that way instead—looking up to him as always like a father I never had.
Authors are susceptible to naturally including personal life fragments in their writing. Maybe that's why (only at some point) it felt like it's a parallel to Norwegian Wood, Colorless Tsukuru, and Kafka on the Shore. Maybe, the fact that we're both freaking INFPs has something to do with this madness that I love the 8 stories equally. 5/5 stars, so to speak.