I have to say that South of the Border, West of the Sun by Haruki Murakami was my least favorite book by him so far. However, I have pretty high standards for him, as I rank several of his other books among my all time favorites. It was a relatively light, quick read, which was okay for my flight from Denver to New Orleans a couple weeks ago. I made it almost all the way through the 213 pages in about two hours. Why I took the chance of blowing a sublime Murakami experience instead of blasting through my typical set of programming, bicycling, and business magazines, I’ll never know.
The protagonist is of classic Murakami form, an introspective Japanese man nearing middle age who loves jazz (same as Murakami, at least the jazz part), drinking solo, and occasionally wallowing in ennui. Missing, though, are the fantastical Borges-like moments that I loved so much in The Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, A Wild Sheep Chase, and The Elephant Vanishes.
Nonetheless, it’s a crisp, beautiful story and is absolutely worth reading by any Murakami addict, like myself, as well as by anyone who loves powerful writing rich in symbolism. If you’re unfortunate enough not to have encountered any other works by Murakami, though, I would recommend starting with The Hard-Boiled Wonderland. And definitely, don’t read any of his books in a distraction-filled zone like an airplane. I may need to read this one again.