Kafka on the Shore

I had an interesting experience while reading the trippy Kafka on the Shore,  by Haruki Murakami.  I was about three-quarters of the way through it, and the main character is taking a literal and metaphorical plunge into a deep, unexplored woods. I'm reading along, and suddenly it hits me: this is my book! Now, in most ways they are completely different— I don't have Colonel Sanders or Johnny Walker Black as characters, nor does my book feature a man who talks to cats, and mine is set in Las Vegas, not Tokyo— but in the fundamental message of Murakami's book, the underlying tone of sadness and loss, in what it's trying to convey, it shares a subterranean current with This is How It Begins. At least to me, it does. It's like what my book would be had it been written in an alternative world by a 60-year-old Japanese surrealist writer.

And yes, would that it would sell so well...

As for the book itself? I'm not sure where I stand. It's certainly trippy, wildly inventive and compelling, but as it went on I found myself getting a little impatient with it. I kept vacillating between fascination and incredulity, especially when it started veering from psychological metaphysics to straight fantasy. It's the trouble I had with the heaven bits of The Lovely Bones. The final revelation was at once too concrete and unsatisfying. At first read, anyway. I wonder if some of it has to do with my lack of knowledge on Japanese culture—perhaps there were references that seemed far out there that are common knowledge in Japan. Or maybe it was the translation.

I remember thinking while reading the book, "If this were a graphic novel, I'd have no trouble buying what's happening." I think maybe  I give a lot more suspension of disbelief to graphic novels, where they are already one step removed from reality.

Still, the book is intriguing enough for me to keep twisting it in my mind weeks after I've read it, trying to arrive at a conclusion that makes sense. And many of the images— the stealer of cat souls, the downpour of leeches, the entire class that falls asleep in the woods at the same time—they'll stay with me for a good long time.

I'd love to hear from anyone who's read the book— what the hell's going on at the end?

She's 395 Pages, She's Beautiful, and She's Mine

We've both been trying to trim down. She's been a lot more successful than I have, but I don't begrudge her the weight she's lost. In fact, I can say that I was instrumental in making her trimmer. With some helpful prodding by (ex-) Agent J, she's got a whole new look: new title, new art for the manuscript cover, and a svelte figure. I've only lost two pounds, but she's twenty-six pages leaner.  

We're ready to step out and greet the New Lunar Year. Bring on the Rabbit!

A Final Swat of the Tiger

All this week, I kept thinking, "What shall I write about? What will be my first blog of the new year? I need for something to happen!"

Be careful what you wish for.

My new-found literary agent, Agent J, phoned me a few days ago with some unexpected news: he's no longer going to be working as an agent. Ruh-roh. He's finding it difficult making a living off of commission in the close-fisted, defensive environment the publishing world has become. Especially for fiction. A few other job offers in a related field have appeared, and he felt it best to strike while the proverbial iron was hot.

The timing is unfortunate. I have been finishing up my edits, cutting down the manuscript by more than 20 pages, so that we could send it out to publishers by month's end. Choi, the illustrator, has also been working hard on finishing the second graphic novel section so we could have about 2/3 of the illustrations completed for perusal— a goodly chunk. So close! So now we're in the position of being all dressed up for the prom, but with no date to take us there. Where's Duckie when you need him?

(Doug, referencing a much more current movie, suggested that I should have bitten Agent J on the lip. Kinda hard to do long-distance. But would it have made a difference, Agent J? Would it have?)

Agent J feels pretty bad about the abrupt departure, and I completely understand that he needs to do what he needs to do. He's offered to pass along the manuscript to a colleague of his at the agency, so there's that possibility. And the book is in better shape than it was when Agent J took it on, so I'm in a good position to be in should I have to begin the search again. Choi feels very positive, and I have her amazing work to bolster mine.

Maybe it's for the best. Agent J was far too good-looking; it would have caused endless distractions, I'm sure. That is, if we were ever to have met. In Chinese astrology, Tiger Years can be full of tumult and change; it's how you react to them that determines your outcome. Since I'm a Tiger, I need to just leap over this setback and spring onto something new.

And hey! I've got a title, now: This is How it Begins.

The morning after I got the news, I was walking the dog up a hill, and got a chance to see the sunrise. It was all pinks and lavenders, glowing and fresh. Hope personified. Houses, trees, rocks, everything was enveloped in this warm, vibrant light. Bright orange flowers formed themselves into arrows, pointing up.

This is How it Begins, indeed.