The most surprising part to me about this apparent refusal is that this is a very good little book, and when I say little I mean it. At 130 pages and literally small enough to fit in your front shirt pocket its very short, but in those few pages Murakami crafted an interesting 20-something tale of being somewhat lost and dissatisfied. The sort of novel that echoes the likes of young Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and forecast writers like Bret Easton Ellis. This may sound like hyperbole, but I stick to it.
Murakami is the type of writer that one cannot be told about, he must be experienced, so I can't wait to make my way through the rest of his books, some I've read and will re-read some I've not, during this year leading up to the release of his largest work yet, '1Q84', coming in November, and I suggest you give him a try as well.
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