Haruki Murakami
This book delivers exactly what its author says in the foreword: “This is a book in which I have gathered my thoughts about what running has meant to me as a person.”
It was written between summer 2005 and autumn 2006 and comprises nine essays, written in different places and about different races – marathons and triathlons – and the training that went into them. Yet, the essays are not just about running, but are also a memoir about writing and how Murakami became a writer in the first place. His early life as the owner of a music bar was especially interesting; his love for music is undiminished as can be seen in his novels that all seem to have at least one character obsessed with music.
Overall, I’m not sure what to think of this book. I am not a runner and not much of a writer myself, which probably explains a certain detached interest. Murakami is also not very good when writing about himself. He seems to be more at ease in the role of a (self-) chronicler, preferring to keep his deeper thoughts to himself.
Certainly, the subject matter of long-distance running doesn’t lend itself easily to deep philosophical insights, but I also think that the vertical pronoun throws Murakami’s prose off somehow. At least all the “in my opinion’s” that were so obnoxious in his book on writing are less numerous here, which makes him sound much less pompous and more human.
I don’t regret having read this book, but had I not done so, I wouldn’t have missed much either. Try it out for yourself on amazon.