Ordinary Strangeness

Strange Weather in Tokyo
Hiromi Kawakami

If I try with right amount of effort I could almost see them with their beer or sake, feasting on tuna with fermented soybeans and all those izakaya bar food. The protagonist is 40, and I'm around the same age. I haven't accomplished much but I've been fortunate enough to have the ability to delve maturely into what I'm reading by matching it with an experience. I've tried natto in an Izakaya before and it's an acquired taste. A chilly autumn has brushed my skin. I've seen faces of strangers and it could have been theirs.

somewhere around Shibuya. I couldn't remember the name. It was good place. A famous izakaya to see nomikai first hand. I am thankful to my hosts.

Both the novels I read from Hiromi Kawakami (Strange Weather in Tokyo and The Nakano Thrift Shop) take on ordinary people. The ordinariness is engaging, an effortless joy to read. It's easy to identify with the flawed personalities of their characters. Flaws that forms their charm. "Even a cracked pot has a lid that fits." It's an easy read but it invites you to immerse into the character's psyche, which you will find, is almost a bit like your own. And while the reads are easy and concise, like haikus, it reveals the teeming beauty of ordinary things, prolonged nightfall, a glow in the sky, seemingly gentle feelings that are exploding inside us. Murmurs are so loud.

Little Bells

He descends the stairs to his piano and practices La Campanella by Liszt. He's discovered music in his heart, found out how meaningful it is, what a joy it is to share music. She's awake but she's still sleepy. I scoop her up from the bed and she lays her head on my shoulder to sleep more while I dance her along to La Campanella. She's three now, getting heavy, so I'd like to hold on as long as I can. She's potty-trained now, almost deliberately. She sings her soul out, learning and expressing herself through song. "When you feel so mad, and want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four." 

D. makes us delicious pancakes and starts to prepare lunch. These days, she and I spend afternoons in cafes near our daughter's school. We eat our lunch boxes then books and coffee or milk tea. Sometimes we shop, run errands or some groceries. The two of us alone, holding hands again as if loving is a constant first time. The commute or the drive is not always easy, but the afternoons are all golden.   

The little bells keep playing.