I believe Haruki Murakami when he says in his book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running(affiliate link):

“Most of what I know about writing I’ve learned through running everyday.”

The parallels of running any kind of distance and writing are very similar.

There’s a sense of monotony, a feeling of “when the hell will this end?” There’s a certain kind of mental pain involved in both actions. Running and writing don’t require too much gear: for running, shorts and shoes; writing, a pen and paper.

You can run or write anywhere.

There is something else running and writing have in common: a quiet sense of huge accomplishment when a novel or big run is done.

*          *          *

I haven’t read too much by Haruki Murakami. My first exposure to his writing came when a friend loaned me a copy of Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World: A Novel (Vintage International) (affiliate link). I liked the dreamy quality and duality of the storyline. I’ve read some Murakami short fiction, but that was it.

One evening while knocking around a bookstore, I was surprised to see What I Talk About When I Talk About Running in the athletics/running section of the store. I knew Murakami liked to run, but I didn’t know he wrote a book about running. Thumbing through the book, I noticed he also talks about writing in the book.

I’ve done a lot more writing than running in my life, but in recent years, I’ve started running here and there–it’s something I enjoy. So of course, I had to read the book.

*          *          *

This is definitely a book for runners, but if you like Murakami’s writing, or if you write and want to read a different kind of writing book, it’s worth reading. While I’ve never run a marathon (and don’t see a time in my life that I ever will), I agree with statements like:

“…writing novels and running full marathons are very much alike.”

It’s not a ground-breaking statement; I’ve heard writing compared to many hard things, including several female writers saying writing a novel is worse than childbirth. (I don’t see a time in my life that I ever give birth, either!)

Early on, Murakami tells readers that he’s not out to write pretty prose or do anything more than put down his thoughts about running and writing for himself. And that’s what I like about the book.

It’s simple.

When he describes running the reverse course of the first Marathon run, the feelings he describes are similar to the ups and downs experienced when writing a novel. When he talks about those perfect runs when the weather is just right, it is a reminder of those times when all the words come together, like a cool breeze coming down a mountain when you’re starting to overheat.

Murakami does devote a couple chapters of the book to writing. Even if you’re a writer who hates the thought of running, it’s worth reading the sections he devotes to writing and what it takes to sit alone in a room for hours and hours, isolated from loved ones–even if it’s just for reassurance that you’re not alone in feeling like this:

“No matter how much I write, though, I never reach a conclusion. And no matter how much I rewrite, I never reach a destination. Even after decades of writing, the same holds true.”

It’s always nice when you hear writers you look up to dealing with the same nagging feelings as the rest of us. That’s nothing new to me, but I find it comforting–not because it means Haruki Murakami struggles with rewrites and a sense of perfection, but in knowing that if that feeling is always there, I should begin treating writing more like a race.

We can only do the best we can do in an allotted amount of time or distance (word count), but we can’t go back and rerun a race we just finished.

The best we can do is learn from each race and do better the next time we sit down to write.

*          *          *

From the morning I started running a couple years ago after playing tennis with a friend from work, I’ve noticed my writing has improved. When I walk, I think about writing; when I run, I think about nothing.

It’s an act of mobile meditation. I don’t feel a thing until I stop, but somewhere deep in my mind, I’m working on things I don’t seem to resolve when I walk and actively think about them.

Murakami is a writer who views becoming a novelist as a not-so-healthy profession. The sitting, the isolation, the inability to never stop working in his head…he sees it as a toxic act. I wouldn’t go that far, but I know what he means when he says:

“For me, the main goal of exercising is to maintain, and improve, my physical condition in order to keep on writing novels.”

“To deal with something unhealthy, a person needs to be as healthy as possible.”

*          *          *

Whether you run or not, I think every writer can find something worthwhile in What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.

Murakami’s rise from becoming the owner of a jazz club to becoming a revered writer in Japan and around the world is inspiring, and it’s all there in the book, step by step on the pavement as he runs along creating a life where he–

“…placed the highest priority on the sort of life that lets me focus on writing.”

That’s something we should all be doing if we really want to make it writing.

In Murakami’s world, there are no excuses. If you are “too busy” to write, you are simply not a writer.

“Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that’s the essense of running, and a metaphor for life–and for me, for writing as well.”

I’ve been meaning to write a review about Allison Hoover Bartlett’s The Man Who Loved Books Too Much for awhile, now.

The book was given to me as a Christmas gift; it was one of my favorite gifts received last December.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is the true story of John Gilkey, a thief of rare books, and Ken Sanders, a rare bookseller turned detective out to stop Gilkey and his obsession. The reporting is honest and thorough; the author presents the facts and leaves the reader to decide just how bad a man John Gilkey is.

For me, this is where the book gets very interesting. I would never steal a rare book, but I think there is a little bit of Gilkey in many book lovers. Put me near first edition Vonneguts, first editions of the books that made me want to write, or first editions of the books read to me as a child and and I’d feel their pull.

John Gilkey is your average guy who believes he was destined for greater things. You know that guy who says life didn’t deal him a fair hand? That’s John Gilkey.

Unable to attain those greater things, he begins stealing books. While Gilkey’s main reason for stealing books stems from a love of reading and obsessive character qualities, he has other reasons for becoming a thief. Gilkey hopes to amass a collection that will brand him as an erudite individual with social standing–because, obviously, to have such a wonderful collection, one must have things going for him!

On his trail is Ken Sanders, a quiet man who sells rare books. While my initial description of the book may have you thinking it’s a cat-and-mouse chase story like Catch Me if You Can, The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is never hurried, yet I couldn’t stop turning the pages.

“Some pay for their success with soaring blood pressure or dissolved marriages. He paid with jail time.”
- Allison Hoover Bartlett, from The Man Who Loved Books Too Much

What I loved most: The Man Who Loved Books Too Much is a book about what makes obsessive people tick. Allison Hoover Bartlett opens the back of John Gilkey’s pocket watch and shows us the mechanism that keeps him ticking along, seemingly unable to stop himself from stealing books. Even after serving repeated prison time, Gilkey keeps at it.

It’s that focus on obsessive psychology readers will find fascinating while reading this book. I find John Gilkey to be an extremely annoying and odious individual. I would never pretend that he is justified in what he does (Gilkey’s justifications for stealing all fall flat with me). But for as wrong as he is, I feel for him. I believe that Gilkey believes he’s protecting rare books from many of the wealthy collectors who buy them just because they can. He is a quirky, unlikeable person with a likeable trait: a love of books.

I would love to have a first edition of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. Few times while reading have I ever felt for a character as much as a scene in the book when a list of resolutions to improve Gatsby’s life is found written in the back of a Hopalong Cassidy book. Like Gatsby, Gilkey struggles with who he is and what he wishes he were. The difference: Gatsby did it, while Gilkey seems destined to repeated failure. Desperation, sadness, and the easy way out replaces drive in Gilkey’s world.

Near the end of The Man Who Loved Books Too Much, Allison Hoover Bartlett breaks away from the story of Gilkey and Sanders and talks about the future of books. She briefly ponders the fate of physical books when e-books become widely accepted. She mentions her teenage children, and touches on their relationship with reading:

“They will have no objection to reading e-books. At the same time, though, I think that may strengthen their attachment to the physical books they do keep.”
- Allison Hoover Bartlett

I know this is true for me.

Even when e-books become the norm, there will always be people who love physical books too much. In some way, perhaps more than ever.

If you feel a need to defend physical books in a world that’s going electronic, there’s a little bit of John Gilkey inside you.

The Man Who Loved Books Too Much examines this trait in many of us who love books, while doing an excellent job giving the reader an inside look at the world of rare books and literary obsession.

Yesterday, I wrote about giving the gift of reading.

In yesterday’s blog entry, I wrote about how my mom is one of the people who made me love reading.

We had a very rare white Christmas in north Texas. (I haven’t seen a white Christmas in 25 years, when I used to live north of Chicago.)

The snow started falling before my wife and I drove over to my mom’s apartment.

By the time we would have left my mom’s place after the festivities, the roads were icy. We decided to spend the night. (There’s no snow or ice removal in Texas, and the roads tend to be filled with Texans in big pickup trucks and people from up north all trying to prove they can drive on ice at 60 mph, so even if you can make it, why risk it?)

One of my Christmas gifts was Allison Hoover Bartlett’s The Man Who Loved Books Too Much.

The book (non fiction) is about a book thief and a bookseller of rare books who becomes a private investigator to track the thief down.

I’ve written about books surviving in a world of ebooks. It is clear that books will always be loved by some people — so much so that some people are willing to go to prison for the rare books they steal.

I’ve never stolen books, but I know the appeal of having special copies of the books that mean the world to us. The copy of Rootabaga Stories my mother read to me as a child? I have it in my possession. The signed first edition of Carl Sandburg’s The Sandburg Range that I found in a box of books my mom had stored away? It’s on a shelf nearby.

I have a tattered copy of Doris Burns’s Andrew Henry’s Meadow. Some pages are a bit moldy and torn; the dirt on the cover and some pages is the dirt from my backyard of the house where I grew up. I kept the book in the rag-tag clubhouse that my mom and some friends built as a surprise for me when I returned from visiting my father in Kansas the summer before starting fifth grade.

While it’s not the copy of Munro Leaf’s The Story of Ferdinand my mom read to me as a child, my wife and I bought a copy of the book one day so we had it. (She loved the book as a child, too.)

Were money no object, I could easily see myself traveling the world and buying books.

I would never steal them, but I can definitely see the appeal.

(Were I to steal a rare book or manuscript, I think I’d go for something by Shakespeare. What book or manuscript would you risk prison for?)

*          *          *

One of the big surprise gifts last night was a book.

Robert Olmstead’s A Trail of Heart’s Blood Wherever We Go is my favorite book.

There’s just something about it that I love; it’s so different than the books that followed from him.

I bought the first printing when it went to paperback on a whim. There was something about the blue cover of that edition that caught my eye, and the description of the book dragged me in.

My mom bought me a first edition of the hardback for Christmas.

I’ve meant to buy it in the past; I know it’s not a hard or expensive find, but that she thought about it and bought it means so much to me.

It seems fitting; she is, after all, the person who introduced me to books.

I’m a very lucky son.

]]> http://www.christophergronlund.com/blog/tjw/2009/12/25/the-gift-of-books/feed/ 5 http://www.christophergronlund.com/blog/tjw/2009/09/20/the-book-pile-border-songs/ http://www.christophergronlund.com/blog/tjw/2009/09/20/the-book-pile-border-songs/#comments Sun, 20 Sep 2009 15:49:52 +0000 Christopher Gronlund http://www.christophergronlund.com/blog/tjw/?p=118

I loved Jim Lynch’s, The Highest Tide.

Since the publication of the book, I’ve kept my eye open for Lynch’s next book. Apparently, my eyes have been closed this summer, because his latest book, Border Songs, has been out for a few months.

Some reviewers have said that it’s the same plot as The Highest Tide, only with different characters and a different setting.

I don’t care if that turns out to be true.

I’ve read the first two chapters on my iTouch (Kindle application), and it’s just more good writing! It feels much different from The Highest Tide, too.

I loved Lynch’s writing in The Highest Tide and suspect that I’ll love Border Songs, too.