Have you ever bumped into an old flame, and suddenly your world feels like a record skipping? That's what hits Hajime, the ordinary guy at the center of Haruki Murakami's *South of the Border, West of the Sun*. One moment, he's running a jazz bar, content with his wife and kids. The next, Shimamoto, a ghost from his past, walks in, and everything gets thrown into beautiful, heartbreaking chaos.
This book is a rollercoaster ride of emotions, but not the kind that leaves you nauseous. It's more like a slow, melancholic melody that lingers long after the last note fades. Murakami paints a picture of love that's both powerful and fragile, leaving you wondering if it's a blessing or a curse.
Hajime's journey is one of confronting the past and the choices we make. He's not a perfect hero, but he's real. We see his flaws, his regrets, and the way memories can twist and distort like a half-remembered dream.
And then there's the music. Murakami is a master at weaving music references into his stories, and here, jazz becomes a character in itself. The smoky melodies and soulful voices echo the characters' emotions, creating a world that feels as real as your favorite record store.
The ending, like many Murakami novels, is a puzzle with missing pieces. It's up to you to decide what it means for Hajime and Shimamoto. Did they find redemption? Is there such a thing? That's the beauty of this book – it stays with you long after you turn the final page, humming its own quiet tune in your head.
Personal Rating: ⭐3.5 / ⭐ 5
