(Much to Powei’s dismay) I finished Kafka on the Shore yesterday. Things didn’t start to line up until about the 15th chapter and when the two storylines clicked in my head, it was over. I was sucked in, body and soul.

Murakami deals with mysterious parallel worlds that only his protagonists can see, but never master. There’s a reason why only people who can talk to cats or people who can project their spirit or people who aren’t really people can move between the worlds. Because sometimes we get trapped in them and can’t get out.

Maybe that’s what happened to those characters. They got in, but they can’t ever get out. But they’re still in this world somehow, but as ghosts, walking on water, effortlessly as if on air.

I feel that way when I read. I think that is why I read books in one sitting. Swallow them whole, because time is an enemy that’ll swallow you. So I go first.

It’s not ideal–I know I’m not getting a full experience. But it’s a real experience: my head is full of colors and mist and words, like music, and all I see are blurs of things that are supposed to be real. Maybe they are and maybe they aren’t.

It possesses me for a day, a week, but not more than that. I forget after a while and it is better that way, because then I stay real.

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