Hanalei Bay

The beauty of a short story is its immediacy, how quickly it can be taken in and savored. Never would I be able to devote myself completely to reading short stories. Nor could I devote myself to writing short stories like some writers do - and do well - Tobias Wolff, George Saunders, Stuart Dybek, among many others, because I prefer for something bigger, sprawling, and far-reaching, something I can get lost inside of for an extended period of time. But I do love reading them every now and then. I've been reading Bolano's most recent tome, which began fantastically and is continuing in such a way, but for some reason on a sunny Saturday afternoon the mood for a Murakami short struck me. Sprawled out in the park, my second to last weekend here in San Diego, with the frolic scamper of dogs running around me, the passing of laughter and conversations, and the heights of downtown rising up and leaning over me, I flipped to a random page. Whichever story I landed in the middle of I would then turn to its beginning and read: Hanalein Bay. As for the picture, I've no response other than when I searched for an image of Hanalei Bay and Murakami this came up and instantly, my beyond-peculiar sensibility ruling me the way it does, I knew I had to use it.

"'I'm not a member of any 'generation'. I'm just me. Don't start lumping me in with any groups, please.'" 

"'There are only three ways to get along with a girl. One, shut up and listen to what she has to say. Two, tell her you like what she's wearing. And three, treat her to really good food. Easy, huh? If you do all that and still don't get the results you want, better give up."

"She had to accept things on this island as they were. As they were: fair or unfair, qualified or unqualified, it didn't matter. Sachi woke up the next morning as a healthy middle-aged woman. She loaded her suitcase into the backseat of her Dodge and left Hanalei Bay."