Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (translated by Jay Rubin) begins with the epitome of the everyman, Toru Okada, making pasta and listening to Rossini in his suburban Tokyo home. It’s a book you will almost certainly have heard of, by a writer you can’t possible be unaware of, and as well as being a work that launched a thousand memes, it’s actually a very, very good read □ To kick the month off, though, I’m looking at a book I’ve read several times before, albeit in pre-blogging times, so it’s a perfect opportunity to rectify what looks like a surprising oversight in my catalogue of reviews. I’ve got a lot of books lined up (too many, if I’m honest), and I think you’ll all be interested in my selections, even if they’re probably slanted more towards older, even classic, works. Having finally got all of my posts on 2021 out of the way, I’m now free to start a new year of reviewing, and as most of you will be aware, round these parts that means only one thing – #JanuaryInJapan! Yes, as has been the case for many years now, I’ll be focusing on Japanese literature for a month or so, and I’m looking forward to this annual opportunity to indulge my love of J-Lit immensely.
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