Tuesday, December 11, 2018

More Interiority

This inner life is part of what makes the Ozarks such a mysterious mountain region.


Monday, December 10, 2018

A Colorful Cave Friend

Another Blanchard Springs visitor, he's obviously seen the sun.


Sunday, December 09, 2018

A Lighter Shade of Pale

As with most caverns, I suppose, Blanchard Springs has its pale critters, like the crayfish shown above, some lighter than others.


Saturday, December 08, 2018

Blanchard Springs Bats' Quotidian Droppings

But in the totally inspiring Blanchard Springs Cavern!

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Friday, December 07, 2018

What goes in must come out

The inside expels the outside that had come inside.

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Thursday, December 06, 2018

Ozarks from the Inside

In this, we see the Ozarks from the inside.


Wednesday, December 05, 2018

Better High Spots in the Ozarks' Boston Mountains

Now, this is better, not quite so high, but far better than Mt. Magazine for the lookout eye. Or outlook eye. One or the other.


Tuesday, December 04, 2018

Mt. Magazine, Arkansas's Highest, Most-Disappointing High Spot

 Not especially impressive, Mt. Magazine rises to a reasonable 2,753 feet. The mountain is a crumbly sort, though, so enjoy it while it lasts . . .


Monday, December 03, 2018

Murakami: "Deep Wells"

Bland Woman, Sleeping Willow:
"I sometimes think that people's hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what's at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while" (Murakami).
"From deep wells, you must have drawn your anger . . ." (Hodges).

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Sunday, December 02, 2018

Murakami: Running Off at the Mouth?

This title looks interesting:
What I Talk about When I Talk about Talking about What I Talk about When I'm Talking about Talking about Running
As does this:
"So the fact that I'm me and no one else is one of my greatest assets. Emotional hurt is the price a person has to pay in order to be independent."
The man knows what he's talking about!

(Lest there be any misunderstanding, no humor in this blog post intends any harm, so take all humor here as mild satire.)

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Saturday, December 01, 2018

Darwin Young's Origin of Evil

That's the title, Darwin Young's Origin of Evil (by Bak Jiri or Park Ji Ri or Park Ji-ri), and we learned yesterday - my wife and I - that our translation of the first 20 pages to this novel has gotten for us a KLTI grant to subsidize a translation of the next 60 pages. (The KLTI, of course, is the Korean Literature Translation Institute.) If the eighty-page total sooner or later gets the attention of an American publisher, we'll probably be selected to translate the entire book of some 500 pages.

Some followers might want to read this book sooner rather than later, but time will take time . . .


Friday, November 30, 2018

Speaking of the Arts: Ballet

Making that high leap in the photo above is my student Shin Yelin (신예린), who gave me this image that I might post it on my blog. She tells me that she began ballet lessons when she was eight, inspired by a performance of Giselle. Her parents didn't push her; she made the decision on her own, and continues to hold to it in her love for this style of dance despite the pain to her feet. She was photographed in this leap a year ago last July and gave me the right to post this picture here on my blog.


Thursday, November 29, 2018

Ozawa and Murakami: Music!

Some publicist wrote:
"a series of conversations on their shared passion: music, [and] interspersed with ruminations [ . . . ] on the essential nature of both music and writing [ and thus. . . ] an unprecedented glimpse into the minds of two maestros."
Or so on, till the end, thought the publicist . . . who nevertheless is right.


Wednesday, November 28, 2018

Murakami: Visible Darkness

Things that happen only during "the spooky hours between midnight and dawn . . ."
"In this world, there are things you can only do alone, and things you can only do with somebody else. It's important to combine the two in just the right amount."
A "pyrotechnical genius," he sets the novel on fire . . .


Tuesday, November 27, 2018

Murakami: The Wind-Up, the Pitch

The well is full of desolated hope:
"I realize full well how hard it must be to go on living alone in a place from which someone has left you, but there is nothing so cruel in this world as the desolation of having nothing to hope for."
But the world just keeps spinning 'round . . .


Monday, November 26, 2018

Murakami: Color Red

Somewhere in the story, some character says something like the following:
"You can hide memories, but you can't erase history."
Well, I say that you can erase history, but only if it has been written down. Just take your eraser and rub out what's been written. But far more history has never been written down.


Sunday, November 25, 2018

Murakami goes wild . . .

A darn good sheeple-chase!
"Humans by necessity must have a midway point between their desires and their pride. Just as all objects must have a center of gravity . . . . Only when it is gone do people realize it even existed."
What goes up, must come down . . .


Saturday, November 24, 2018

Same as it ever was!

And see what Murakami's up to these days:
"Once, when I was younger, I thought I could be someone else . . . . But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn't going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return."
Let's do the Twist, like we did  last summer! Dance, dance, dance!


Friday, November 23, 2018

Murakami as Journalist

On Monday, March 20, 1995, five members of the religious cult Aum Shinrikyo released the poison gas sarin on the Tokyo subway system:
"I have no physical symptoms, but psychologically there's this burden . . . . It takes positive thinking to overcome fear, otherwise you'll carry around this victim mentality forever."
Sarin is twenty-six times more deadly than cyanide, and Murakami details the story.


Thursday, November 22, 2018

Everything Sheep-Shape

Murakami feels the passing of time:
"Unfortunately, the clock is ticking, the hours are going by. The past increases, the future recedes. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting."
Regrets, I've had a few . . .


Wednesday, November 21, 2018

South of the Border, West of the Sun: Difficult Directions

"Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star . . . . Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything."


Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Murakami never forgets . . .


"There are some things about myself I can't explain to anyone. There are some things I don't understand at all." (This very pageless page cited yesterday)


Monday, November 19, 2018

Murakami once said . . .

The Elephant Vanishes: Stories. Are we telling stories . . . Lies? But why?
"There are some things about myself I can't explain to anyone. There are some things I don't understand at all."
Let us lie together . . . or break bread together on our knees. And is the elephant now gone? Look carefully . . .


Sunday, November 18, 2018

Murakami's Windsong?

Typical Murakami?
"There are wells, deep wells, dug in our hearts."
"From deep wells, you must have drawn your anger . . ." (Hodges)


Saturday, November 17, 2018

Without Murakami?

Murakami must have lucid dreams:
"Dreams are the kind of things you can - when you need to - borrow and lend out."
Unless he means the books that he writes, available in The Strange Library.


Friday, November 16, 2018

Murakami knocks 'em dead

Better ways to live than by killing . . .
"Today when I awoke from a nap the faceless man was there with me. He was seated on the chair across from the sofa I'd been sleeping on, staring straight at me with a pair of imaginary eyes in a face that wasn't."
. . . but not by looking death in the face.


Thursday, November 15, 2018

Norwegian Would

Murakami would . . . wouldn't he?
"I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more."
Can a man be so inattentive?


Wednesday, November 14, 2018

A Murmur of Murakami

Can a library whisper:
"Beyond the inner door was a shadowy corridor lit by a single flickering bulb. We stepped into the dying light."
Murakami's maybe.


Tuesday, November 13, 2018

A Slight Murakami

Kafka? Some German-Jewish writer on the eve of the holocaust who might or might not have said these words in Murakami's novel:
"Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on . . . . Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes."
But a true coward would stand up for what he believes in and proudly close his eyes.

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Monday, November 12, 2018

Another Murakami excerpt . . .

Excerpt of an excerpt:
The taxi's radio was tuned to a classical FM broadcast. Janacek's Sinfonietta — probably not the ideal music to hear in a taxi caught in traffic. The middle-aged driver didn't seem to be listening very closely, either. With his mouth clamped shut, he stared straight ahead at the endless line of cars stretching out on the elevated expressway, like a veteran fisherman standing in the bow of his boat, reading the ominous confluence of two currents. Aomame settled into the broad back seat, closed her eyes, and listened to the music.

How many people could recognize Janacek's Sinfonietta after hearing just the first few bars? Probably somewhere between "very few" and "almost none." But for some reason, Aomame was one of the few who could.
Good hook. Good series of hooks! I think I'll do this for a few days since I'm so busy.


Sunday, November 11, 2018

Psst . . . Haruki Murakami

Even the Mike is Green

There was this great big screaming capitalized MOMENT OF INSPIRATION:
In 1978 Murakami was in the bleachers of Jingu Stadium watching a baseball game between the Yakult Swallows and the Hiroshima Carp when Dave Hilton, an American, came to bat. According to an oft-repeated story, in the instant that he [i.e., Dave Hilton] hit a double, Murakami suddenly realized that he could write a novel. He went home and began writing that night.
The story almost seems to say a man of great screaming . . . or do I mean great scheming?