Earlier, I wrote about reading my first short story post-stroke, the titular story of his collection, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. I began reading Haruki Murakami’s short story collection almost two months ago, in halting steps, sometimes only a page a day, determined to make my favorite author my first read under these new circumstances.
I secretly hoped that in my vulnerable state, and in the process of rebuilding, that I would take on some of his talents, and incorporate these stories deeper into my conscience.
I have made steady progress through the book, looking forward to those few pages a day, feeling my brain go fuzzy very quickly at first, and then holding onto clarity weeks later and pages later, feeling my progress and feeling the stories pierce my psyche farther and faster. In this way, reading the book has given me hope, and in this way, I have participated in Murakami’s imaginary worlds.
Last night (can you believe it?) I finished the book. 332 pages. Dozens of short stories. I clapped the book closed, to great satisfaction.
This morning, I added it to my 2007 book list.