Maybe that's my problem - that I really felt as if this book was less subtle than some of his others. Not that it wasn't... interesting... but it seems that either he or his translator came out and said so much that didn't need to be said. The "i'm just here"-ed ness of his earlier works, especially his shorter ones, didn't seem as present. Or maybe I'm exaggerating his style. Maybe he was always this way and I'm just pretending he wasn't because my illusory Murakami was perfect and the real writer does things I don't have to like.
Or maybe I just wasn't so hot on the book.
At this point, I'd prefer some laughter. Not that I've anything harrowing going on, or any mind melding crisis. Nothing like that. Just... sometimes I do fall into the freshman lit student trap of wanting something FUN to read instead of all that depressing stuff. I'm sure I'll get out of it once I'm back in classes and can *talk* about the things I'm reading.
