On domestic bliss and Murakami

When I came home last night I passed Eli on his way out. We had a very cute marriage moment. I had just finished the new Murakami book, he had just finished Gilead, so we swapped. Aw. My man's turned into quite a reader. I love a man with a book. A good book that is. A man with his nose in Grisham is intrinsically non-sexy.

Kafka on the Shore was fabulous. Of course. (Our next cat will be named Murakami.) It's more in the vein of Wind-up Bird Chronicles and Hard Boiled Wonderland etc. than his realistic, man-waxing-nostalgic-about-lost-teenage-love novels, but more optimistic, slightly less inscrutable. Now that I've finished I can read the reviews.