Books talking to me: The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I guess I don't have a lot to say, so sometimes I cop out with a youtube video or something. But, I feel that creative exercises allow me to write really fast, and I have fun doing it too. So I'm going to utilize the tag system for the first time ever, in my creation of a series that I really want to do.

Ready for it? It's really exciting.

It's BOOKS FROM MY SHELF THAT TALK TO ME!

...What? I make my books talk to me through personification. Come on, it's BOOKS FROM MY SHELF THAT TALK TO ME! Fine, I thought it was clever. See, I'm not really that talkative of a guy, but I do like to talk about books. I've bought a lot of them too, and I think that the way I feel about a book is something akin to recounting stories of traveling. They're experiences, and I want to see what they'll say to me back. It does feel pretentious though, something you might see in Mcsweenys or something else hipster-y. I guess you have to see it happen. The first book, one of my favorites, Haruki Murakami's "The Wind-up Bird Chronicle."

AH! TIME FOR WRITING YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHYUH

*ahem*

First Segment.

"The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" talks to me.

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Hey Rante. It's me. Remember when you bought me in junior year? It was after you resigned yourself to majoring in business in college. You just stopped reading! After your dad made you read "Rich Dad, Poor Dad (which, by the way, was a pretty lame book. I mean, come on, the guy thinks he's so cool but when you're bankrupt, what's he going to say then? Business adages are nice, but they don't help you when your company is corrupt. But anyway.)," you just stopped enjoying reading. You'd look at each book as useless. How the heck is someone supposed to raise a family only writing words? So you just kind of scrapped them off to the side, and resigned yourself to funds and what have you.

I know it's vain of me to say that I'm proud that I was the one that brought you back into reading. I mean, any number of books you met after me could have done that. In fact, reading "Life of Pi" and "A Confederacy of Dunces" the summer before probably had a more resounding effect on you. But I'm glad to say that you started to seriously delve into more literary fiction after meeting me. Murakami was a love letter that you gushed over, and you read my other counterparts voraciously, then you started reading the authors Murakami liked, then your foray into the classics, until suddenly you entered college declaring English. That I was the foundation that would bring you back to English, needless to say, makes me all warm and fuzzy all over.

You were obsessed with me. I mean, you've never reread me completely. You know that I'll always make the time for you! But I'm a commitment, and I know that you're way too busy for me at the moment. I'm happy that you wouldn't want me to slim down on any of my five hundred something pages. You do, though, frequently reread the parts that resound with you, Kumiko's letter in particular. Have you ever read anything so perfect? I know you like to quote that one a lot. Or that bit about how the loneliness gleamed like a razor blade, the pages taking on the shines of knives. Not in those words, but the general feeling. You love that.

You passed me on to so many people. You gave me to Kellan after that memorable summer at Harvard, you hounded Matt to read it after school on the bus, and you gave the book to you know, that one girl. She ditched her classes to go to the bookstore with you and on your suggestion I was given to her. She loved it. You hoped she would love you in the same way but she never did. You can't expect her to love you for the experience that I alone have given her, you can't do that. You just have to expose yourself, and if she doesn't want that, then by God you don't need her. You'll find someone yourself, don't worry.

But anyway, we have grown significantly together. Remember in high school, when you were so proud busting me out during silent sustained reading? Look at that complicated work, look at that young kid reading it! He must be so smart! I didn't want to mention it at the time, but using me to look good wasn't right, but I was patient with you and you came around. The first couple of pages or so might have been used to mitigate an image of you (after all, you did read about how I was the darling of literary critics everywhere), but a hundred pages in you were engrossed for real, and started to find meaning in every single sentence you could. I really, really liked that, that I as a story could help you mature, see the world in a much more productive light. Help you grow up a little.

You carried me to Boston, Massachusetts. I'm taken to trips everywhere. I'm surprised I haven't fallen apart. I mean, I am WRECKED. My pages are so soft from wear, there are stains from food, highlight marks, torn covers and a broken spine. But I've outlasted a lot of books you had before, and I think that it's because I'm so important to you that you refuse to let anything wreck me. And if they did, you wouldn't hesitate to buy me the next day. My philosophies had a big effect on you, but we know that there are depths to me that you haven't even scratched at yet. But in essence, I'm a simple love story, and the fact that I could make you want to be a better guy for the girls you meet make me feel special. Thanks.

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I now want to reread this book... Ah man, I tried last year but couldn't because of school, and a prior commitment to Bukowski.