the back of the book says it’s about a guy in his late 30s reminiscing on his first love in the late 60s- early 70s but it’s about so much more than that. murakami could write about paint drying and he’d find a way to make it poetic. it brings me comfort that people half a century ago felt the way i do now. murakami is infamous for horribly written women tho, so be forewarned. there’s also a movie if reading isn’t your thing but ive never seen it so i can’t speak to its quality
