His stories talk about dreams but also feel like dreams – odd, trembling narratives that return in stir-snatches. It is precisely this elusive, gossamer quality of Murakami’s books that endears his writing so much to me. But unlike other writers, Murakami sews these threads together in a most unusual, almost avant-garde fashion they shimmer brightly for a few moments, then immediately slip out of vision.
These are what make up the fabric of a Murakami tale. Moons, loneliness, love, music, sex and dreaming. Why? Was the earth put here just to nourish human loneliness?”
“Why do people have to be this lonely? What’s the point of it all? Millions of people in this world, all of them yearning, looking to others to satisfy them, yet isolating themselves.
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