Book Review: South of the Border, West of the Sun

Book #76

“For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a ‘Reserved’ sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I’d never see her again,” — Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

Sometimes when I look back at what I’ve read, it’s not only what I’ve read that makes me glad: it’s the order I read the books in. This book, for instance, was preceded by Murakami’s After Dark and Jean-Dominique Bauby’s The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The two Murakamis go beautifully together, they’re both short explorations of the human psyche and relationships. Bauby’s book deals with loss and beauty. South of the Border felt a little like a mesh of the two books I’d read before it.

I can’t seem to properly gather my thoughts for this review, which is unfortunate. The book was incredibly wonderful. It begins in Hajime’s childhood, where he meets another only child, Shimamoto. Murakami spends the first couple of chapters talking about how siblings change our lives and our personalities, and how it feels to live in a society where you were the exception if you were an only child. However, when Hajime has to change schools, they don’t keep in touch, although she continued to hold “a special place in [his] heart”. 

I could expand on the plot a little, but the book really should be read and enjoyed, since it’s not that long anyway. Hajime has constant “what if’s” going through his mind, and it’s almost as if we’re shown a parallel life he could’ve lived. I put the book down and was still hungry for more Murakami.