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A review by aritrigupta
Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami, Haruki Murakami
4.0
4.5 loving stars
"In the world we live in, what we know and what we don’t know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion."
There are recurring themes in Murakami's books, most of which make their presence felt in each of the books in some way or another. And these themes are by no means happy or light or joyous - they are deep, ugly, frightful yet beautiful. His books make you feel these themes through the classical music, and cats and through his protagonists cooking or just talking. Honestly, it takes me some courage to pick up one of his books, because I know I'll be swept away, and at the end left with some heartbreak. This book was no different.
And again, I am partly scared of recommending this to anyone at all.
"On the outside nothing will be different. But something inside has burned up and vanished. Blood has been shed, and something inside me is gone. Face turned down, without a word, that something makes its exit. The door opens; the door shuts. The light goes out. This is the last day for the person I am right now. The very last twilight. When dawn comes, the person I am won’t be here any more. Someone else will occupy this body."
"In the world we live in, what we know and what we don’t know are like Siamese twins, inseparable, existing in a state of confusion."
There are recurring themes in Murakami's books, most of which make their presence felt in each of the books in some way or another. And these themes are by no means happy or light or joyous - they are deep, ugly, frightful yet beautiful. His books make you feel these themes through the classical music, and cats and through his protagonists cooking or just talking. Honestly, it takes me some courage to pick up one of his books, because I know I'll be swept away, and at the end left with some heartbreak. This book was no different.
And again, I am partly scared of recommending this to anyone at all.
"On the outside nothing will be different. But something inside has burned up and vanished. Blood has been shed, and something inside me is gone. Face turned down, without a word, that something makes its exit. The door opens; the door shuts. The light goes out. This is the last day for the person I am right now. The very last twilight. When dawn comes, the person I am won’t be here any more. Someone else will occupy this body."