I’d never heard of Taichi Yamada. In fact, had I come across the paperback edition of Strangers in my local bookshop, I’m sure I would have taken it for a lovey-dovey Young Adult novel I’m way too cool to openly like. I mean, this cocktail dressed, pearl necklaced, shoes in hand girl walking away from the lens on the cover makes me think of prom nights gone bitter and, you know, feelings.
So yes, I doubt I’d have picked Strangers if it hadn’t been for one of my workmates (the only other person who reads around here, and more than me, go figure!) praising it as one of his absolute favorites. It being what looks like double spaced and less than 300 pages long anyway, I thought I’d give it a try, especially after what felt like a century long, The Book of Disquiet themed reading adventure.
I’ve read about 15 pages on my way to work this morning, and though I can’t quite form an opinion (at least it doesn’t seem like Young Adult material so far), the writing style does remind me of Haruki Murakami’s 1Q84, a book and writer I’ve always had mixed feelings about.
So anyway, Strangers will be my read for the rest of the week. I’ll squeeze it in between evening runs, back to back laundry sessions and yet another bank holiday weekend (no kidding, it feels like we’ve had one every week this month) which I’m sure will leave me moderately exhausted, hungover and very much aware of my almost-30-so-I-need-my-beauty-sleep status.
I finally finished The Book of Disquiet the other day, and I’d have definitely drowned my own Pessoa generated disquiet in significant amounts of alcohol, had I not finally accepted that getting tipsy on a week night doesn’t suit my soon to be three decades themed age. So I settled for shutting the book with a bang and shoving it onto the top most shelf, in between other tomes I won’t be rereading any time soon.
It’s not that I didn’t like Pessoa’s poetry like prose, it’s just that it was so very dreary, I’m actually quite proud I’ve managed to survive it without falling into a hopeless, more-serious-than-usual bout of depression.
You know and I know, grownup life tends to suck sometimes. And then sometimes it’s pretty good. Hear that, Pessoa?
The funniest thing I’ve come across while
struggling with reading The Book of Disquiet is this little nugget of invaluable information: there’s apparently a bookshop in Norway where they sell this book and only this, which the owner considers the best piece of literature in the world. Here’s a lovely link just in case you don’t trust my disquiet overdosed little brain.
But enough with all this crazy talk. What are you reading these days?
Oh and I know I haven’t been taking your book recommendations too seriously lately, with all this disquiet in the air (see what I did there?), but don’t think I’ve forgotten about them, and please, if you haven’t recommended me anything to read yet, do it here.