I love what I’ve read of Murakami (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and Hard Boiled Wonderland and The End of The World) and What I Talk About had me from the first page. However, this book is different from Murakami’s novels because it is a combination of a diary, a memoir, and a running guide. Also, it’s nonfiction. For me the most interesting part was when Murakami explained his personal history. I’m rather lazy when it comes to looking up information about authors I like, so this is the only time I’ve read about Murakami’s jazz bar and the conception of his first novel.

The rest of the book is a very detailed account of Murakami’s running history, marathon training, and thoughts on physical fitness. I’m not a runner but that didn’t put me off from reading this book. Greg pointed out that when someone is a huge nerd about something (and articulate), it’s often fun just to listen to them talk about their area of focus. I recommend this book because if you enjoy Murakami (like me!) you will find it interesting and if you enjoy running (not like me…) you will probably find it relatable.

Here are some quotes that I liked. A lot of them are from the first three quarters of the book, since the end seemed to focus on running more (maybe I just wasn’t paying as much attention). Quotes are separated by line breaks:

No matter how mundane some action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes a contemplative even meditative act.

I think this a common sentiment among artists. Immediately, I think of a blog post by Craig Thompson.

I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. Do that, and the next day’s work goes surprisingly smoothly.

Basically a writer has a quiet, inner motivation, and doesn’t seek validation in the outwardly visible.

This statement really resonated with me because I think I look for a lot of validation from other people. I need to focus on my own drive more and less on what people think.

Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent.

At this point I really start to wonder why, having flown all the way from Tokyo to this beautiful country, I have to run down this dreary commuter road. There must have been other things I could be doing. The body count for all these poor animals who lost their lives on Marathon Avenue is, n this day, three dogs and eleven cats. I count them all, which is kind of depressing.

This is in the context of Murakami running his first marathon. He few to Greece for some travel writing and decided to run from Athens to Marathon.

Nothing in the real world is as beautiful as the illusions of a person about to lose consciousness.

The special New England fall —short and lovely— fades in and out, and finally settles in. Little by little the deep, overwhelming green that surrounds us gives way to faint yellow. By the time I need to wear sweatpants over my running shorts, dead leaves are swirling in the wind and acorns are hitting the asphalt with a hard, dry crack. Industrious squirrels are running around like crazy trying to gather up enough provisions to last them through the winter.

Basically I agree with the view that writing novels is an unhealthy type of work. When we set off to write a novel, when we use writing to create a story, like it or not, a kind of toxin that lies deep down in all humanity rises to the surface. All writers have to come face-to-face with this toxin and, aware of the danger involved, discover a way to deal with it, because otherwise no creative activity in the real sense can take place.

I felt like a piece of beef being run, slowly, through a meat grinder.