My new job is at a Japanese restaurant called Union Sushi and BBQ. Perfect for me since I know a lot about Japanese culture and know like a dozen words of Nihongo. The cocktail menu put together by Bittercube Bitters, a consulting duo out of Milwaukee, includes a cocktail called South of the Border, West of the Sun. It's a tequila-based cocktail and the name was inspired by Haruki Murakami's book of the same name.
Because I'm nerdy like that, I decided to read the book. Doing so broke a rule of mine. Let me explain, as if you care. I read Norwegian Wood about three weeks after arriving in Japan back in 2006. A fellow teacher had told me about it at the conference in Tokyo and soon after I ordered it via Amazon. At the time I was busy assimilating into a brand new culture. Surrounded by a language I had only known as background in Kurosawa films while trying to figure out why in the hell people drove so goddamn slowly and defensively, it was a time of serious adjustment. I was, of course, reading constantly at the time. I got home from work and since I had no television and the internet could provide only so much solace, I was devouring books.
And for whatever reason—perhaps the timing, the obvious cultural similarities between the book and my surroundings or maybe it was just the musty smell of the tatami in my apartment—the book spoke to me in ways few others ever really have. I found it to be funny, intelligent, poignant and I never wanted it to end. When it did, I loved the ending. One of the best I'd ever read. I feared by reading more books by Murakami NW would somehow lose some of its torque in my mind. It's silly, I suppose, but the book meant so much to me I just wanted to walk away from him for awhile. I wasn't so much afraid that other titles wouldn't stand up to it—though I can't read an Anthony Burgess title without comparing it to Clockwork and so he's essentially ruined for me—more than I didn't want to displace the perfect setting and time that the book had in my mind.
Yeah, it's weird. I get it.
But it's been four years and so I dove back in. And this was the perfect way to do it. Two-hundred pages and finished in two short sittings, the plot revolves around Hajime, a young Japanese kid who is quiet and smart and introspective. He befriends a girl, Shimamoto, who has a gimpy leg (You won't really notice the leg. She just drags it a bit.). Eventually she moves away and Hajime has some growing pains as he heads off to college. Eventually he marries and opens a couple of jazz clubs before Shimamoto unexpectedly stumbles (no pun there) back into his life.
" ... The world's full of boring things. Don't worry about it."
Just as I recall from NW, Murakami litters the book with brilliant observations and the story is seamless and fast-paced. His characters have incredible depth and Hajime is so intelligent and kind we seem to forgive him for his transgressions and his loose moral code.
One generation dies, and the next one takes over. That's how it goes. Lots of different ways to live. And lots of different ways to die. But in the end that doesn't make a bit of difference. All that remains is a desert.
In between all these deep themes and struggles of Hajime, Murakami does a great job toasting (pun intended) the bartending profession. He calls a bartender an artist and says a good one is hard to find, as he says below about one of Hajime's bartenders at the jazz club.
"I pay him a lot of money ... The reason for the high salary is his talent for mixing great drinks. Most people don't realize it, but good cocktails demand talent. Anyone can make passable drinks with a little effort. Train them for a few months and they can make a standard-issue mixed drink—the kind most bars serve. But if you want to take it to the next level, you've got to have a special flair. Like playing the piano, painting, running the hundred-metre sprint. Take me: I think I can mix a pretty good cocktail. I've studied and practiced. But there's no way I can compete with him. I put in exactly the same alcohol, shake the shaker for exactly the same amount of time and it doesn't taste as good. I have no idea why. All I can call it is talent. It's like art. There's a line only certain people can cross."
I'd love to believe I'm one of those people, but I can't be so sure. I just try to do my best and make sure to make the guest laugh. At least that way, if the drinks suck, they still have a good time.
Anyway, back to the book. I guess it is probably about growing up and healing and coming to terms with the inevitable passing of time. And though that may sound easy enough to come to terms with, if you sit quietly and think that one day you'll be nothing but dust, it can be a little hard to swallow. This melancholic tale is probably best for guys in their mid-thirties. Perfect for me, I suppose. It goes without saying how cool Murakami really is. Jazz and bartending? That oozes cool. I'm just saying. Anyway, now that I've read this, I can finally read Wind-Up Bird Chronicles so everyone can quit telling me I have to read it.
And so I can introduce the Youtube video below: Hajime is a fanatic of jazz and he and Shimamoto share a love for "Star-Crossed Lovers" by Duke Ellington and the title of the book takes its name from a Nat King Cole song, covered here by a band I've never heard of.
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