Dear reader,
My name is Emma.
During Summer 2021, I had what one could call "the trip of a lifetime" and what I desperately wish to name "the beginning of my lifetime trips". I went to the United States for six weeks. During those eventful and enriching weeks, I had the opportunity to visit my family in Pennsylvania, have a weekend in Philadelphia, lose, and find myself in New York City.
But firstly, I want to talk about Haruki Murakami. Murakami is a contemporary Japanese author. A very praised writer. Especially in my family. Growing up, I saw my parents read regularly two - among many - authors: their absolute favorites, Stephen King and Haruki Murakami. Naturally, I got interested in them. But, after a traumatic experience at eleven years old, watching the old IT movies, I decided to stay away from King's art for a while. Drown by Haruki Murakami's aura from my parents' talks, I decided to steal two books from the dusty shelves in the back of the living room behind an even dustier sofa. I spent this summer reading "La ballade de l'impossible" et "Les Amants du Spoutnik". With endearing yet somewhat unreachable - for eleven years old - main characters, complicated and subtle love stories, realistic slices of life slowly fading into another dimension with fine touches of fantastic - those two books quickly became the favorite of a soon-to-be teenage girl with a wild imagination searching for an escape to a non-satisfying reality that was her own. As the years went by, I often returned to those readings. It always brought me a sort of comfort ... a quietness difficult to put into words.
Saving those books for my mother's spring cleaning, it is instinctively that I brought them in my suitcase, departing for the United States (increasing considerably the weight of those suitcases, too). Those books were a reassurance, some sort of lucky charms: even if the trip was bad, I would have those readings with me and in consequence, a resourceful escape. I spent two quiet and restful weeks with my dearest Uncle's family, in their cozy home, in the company of his bright wife, their most entertaining glowing daughter, and their endearing dog, in the most beautiful town of Pennsylvania. Those weeks felt like a calm dream, the one you wake up content from. Reflecting back, I could compare this period of time with the time and character setting period of Murakami's stories. Everything is calm, but, eventful enough to see the storm coming. The storm here is employed in a good way, the kind that turns your life upside down. Realistically, the stay was punctuated by rainy days. Summer rain. The kind that brings a smell of nostalgia and a contrariety to the summer plans. Contrariety that is quickly forgotten as the sun rises from the clouds, right after. And we go for a walk.
Taking me back from the airport to his home, my Uncle kindly asked me if there was anything specific that I wanted to do during my stay. Having watched the movie Philadelphia years ago and loved it, I responded that I wanted to visit this City. He agreed and generously prepared a weekend with him and his quick-witted daughter. This weekend made up of a Baseball game, lit fireworks, Historical Museum visits as well as, an exploration of The City of Brotherly Love would be the last with them and would lead me to New York. Philadelphia was an "amuse-bouche" of New York intensity. In "La Ballade de l'Impossible" and "Les Amants du Spoutnik", it is a trip that leads the character into another dimension, a subtly transformed reality.
New York was my reality for four weeks. A transformed reality - not so subtly tho. New York is immense, agitated, and crowded (a little dirty, too). Contrary to Watanabe and Sumire (the two books' characters) I wasn't in an appearing quieter environment to find myself or reflect on my life. No, my fever dream was not caused by the strange events which incurred, but, by the vividity of New York's whole being. As Michael Jackson said, I took a bite of the Big Apple. A bittersweet bite. In New York, I discovered my passion for acting was real and that my talent was somewhat exploitable. Cut short. In New York, I discovered love and desire but also, heartbreak. In New York, I discovered intimacy, feelings, and deep connections with whom I consider now friends for life. In New York, I discovered great teamwork but also, unfairness. New York is a bunch of contradictions that make your heart, soul, and head spin and cause this fever dream.
I didn't read "La Ballade de L'Impossibe" as well as "Les Amants du Spoutnik" during my stay. They were in my suitcase. I eyed them nostalgically every time I opened the red luggage. I read them coming back, deep under my covers, trying to cope with this wonderful trip and the heartbreak I felt returning home and leaving my newly found loved ones. Once again, they provided the comfort I hoped for. The journey of those reading is also an increasing deep fever dream. A somehow reassuring fever dream. A dream I would gladly return to - without changing a single thing.
Dear reader, I hope this blog wasn't too boring: I deeply wish you took interest in Murakami's literature, and if you did not already, read this author's work. Have a great day. Sincerest greetings!