☆☆☆☆☆




點擊這裡下載

類似圖書 點擊查看全場最低價

---

內容簡介

In 1982, having sold his jazz bar to devote himself to writing, Murakami began running to keep fit. A year later, he'd completed a solo course from Athens to Marathon, and now, after dozens of such races, not to mention triathlons and a slew of critically acclaimed books, he reflects upon the influence the sport has had on his life and on his writing. Equal parts travelogue, training log, and reminiscence, this revealing memoir covers his four-month preparation for the 2005 New York City Marathon and settings ranging from Tokyo's Jingu Gaien gardens, where he once shared the course with an Olympian, to the Charles River in Boston among young women who outpace him. Through this marvellous lens of sport emerges a cornucopia of memories and insights: the eureka moment when he decided to become a writer, his greatest triumphs and disappointments, his passion for vintage LPs, and the experience, after fifty, of seeing his race times improve and then fall back. By turns funny and sobering, playful and philosophical.

作者簡介

Haruki Murakami was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into forty-two languages. The most recent of his many honours is the Franz Kafka Prize.

精彩書評

"Murakami's latest is a nonfiction work mostly concerned with his thoughts on the long-distance running he has engaged in for much of his adult life. Through a mix of adapted diary entries, old essays, reminiscences and life advice, Murakami crafts a charming little volume notable for its good-natured and intimate tone. While the subject matter is radically different from the fabulous and surreal fiction that Murakami (The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) most often produces, longtime readers will recognize the source of the isolated, journeying protagonists of the author's novels in the formative running experiences recounted. Murakami's insistence on focusing almost exclusively on running can grow somewhat tedious over the course of the book, but discrete, absorbing episodes, such as a will-breaking 62-mile ultramarathon and a solo re-creation of the historic first marathon in Greece serve as dynamic and well-rendered highlights. Murakami offers precious little insight into much of his life as a writer, but what he does provide should be of value to those trying to understand the author's long and fruitful career. An early section recounting Murakami's transition from nightclub owner to novelist offers a particularly vivid picture of an artist soaring into flight for the first time."
--Publishers Weekly

"Haruki Murakami has established himself as one of the most interesting and innovative novelists of the last two decades, combining pop culture with a magic-realistic sensibility that has garnered the author a faithful following. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running couldn't differ more from the rest of Murakami's work. This slender volume catalogs the author's love for that most solitary of athletic endeavors, though even Murakami's prodigious talent as a writer can't quite bridge the gap between the cultish world of hard-core running and a broader audience. This hit-and-miss effort—with something, literally, lost in the translation and some lazy writing—will be welcomed by a small (probably athletic) audience, but may not reach readers who aren't already on board with Murakami or running."
--Bookmarks Magazine

精彩書摘

AUGUST 5, 2005 . KAUAI, HAWAII

Who's Going to Laugh at Mick Jagger?

I'm on Kauai, in Hawaii, today, Friday, August 5, 2005. It's unbelievably clear and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. As if the concept clouds doesn't even exist. I came here at the end of July and, as always, we rented a condo. During the mornings, when it's cool, I sit at my desk, writing all sorts of things. Like now: I'm writing this, a piece on running that I can pretty much compose as I wish. It's summer, so naturally it's hot. Hawaii's been called the island of eternal summer, but since it's in the Northern Hemisphere there are, arguably, four seasons of a sort. Summer is somewhat hotter than winter. I spend a lot of time in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and compared to Cambridge--so muggy and hot with all its bricks and concrete it's like a form of torture--summer in Hawaii is a veritable paradise. No need for an air conditioner here--just leave the window open, and a refreshing breeze blows in. People in Cambridge are always surprised when they hear I'm spending August in Hawaii. "Why would you want to spend summer in a hot place like that?" they invariably ask. But they don't know what it's like. How the constant trade winds from the northeast make summers cool. How happy life is here, where we can enjoy lounging around, reading a book in the shade of trees, or, if the notion strikes us, go down, just as we are, for a dip in the inlet.

Since I arrived in Hawaii I've run about an hour every day, six days a week. It's two and a half months now since I resumed my old lifestyle in which, unless it's totally unavoidable, I run every single day. Today I ran for an hour and ten minutes, listening on my Walkman to two albums by the Lovin' Spoonful--Daydream and Hums of the Lovin' Spoonful--which I'd recorded on an MD disc.

Right now I'm aiming at increasing the distance I run, so speed is less of an issue. As long as I can run a certain distance, that's all I care about. Sometimes I run fast when I feel like it, but if I increase the pace I shorten the amount of time I run, the point being to let the exhilaration I feel at the end of each run carry over to the next day. This is the same sort of tack I find necessary when writing a novel. I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. Do that, and the next day's work goes surprisingly smoothly. I think Ernest Hemingway did something like that. To keep on going, you have to keep up the rhythm. This is the important thing for long-term projects. Once you set the pace, the rest will follow. The problem is getting the flywheel to spin at a set speed--and to get to that point takes as much concentration and effort as you can manage.

It rained for a short time while I was running, but it was a cooling rain that felt good. A thick cloud blew in from the ocean right over me, and a gentle rain fell for a while, but then, as if it had remembered, "Oh, I've got to do some errands!," it whisked itself away without so much as a glance back. And then the merciless sun was back, scorching the ground. It's a very easy-to-understand weather pattern. Nothing abstruse or ambivalent about it, not a speck of the metaphor or the symbolic. On the way I passed a few other joggers, about an equal number of men and women. The energetic ones were zipping down the road, slicing through the air like they had robbers at their heels. Others, overweight, huffed and puffed, their eyes half closed, their shoulders slumped like this was the last thing in the world they wanted to be doing. They looked like maybe a week ago their doctors had told them they have diabetes and warned them they had to start exercising. I'm somewhere in the middle.

I love listening to the Lovin' Spoonful. Their music is sort of laid-back and never pretentious. Listening to this soothing music brings back a lot of memories of the 1960s. Nothing really special, though. If they were to make a movie about my life (just the thought of which scares me), these would be the scenes they'd leave on the cutting-room floor. "We can leave this episode out," the editor would explain. "It's not bad, but it's sort of ordinary and doesn't amount to much." Those kinds of memories--unpretentious, commonplace. But for me, they're all meaningful and valuable. As each of these memories flits across my mind, I'm sure I unconsciously smile, or give a slight frown. Commonplace they might be, but the accumulation of these memories has led to one result: me. Me here and now, on the north shore of Kauai. Sometimes when I think of life, I feel like a piece of driftwood washed up on shore.

As I run, the trade winds blowing in from the direction of the lighthouse rustle the leaves of the eucalyptus over my head.

I began living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, at the end of May of this year, and running has once again been the mainstay of my daily routine ever since. I'm seriously running now. By seriously I mean thirty-six miles a week. In other words, six miles a day, six days a week. It would be better if I ran seven days, but I have to factor in rainy days, and days when work keeps me too busy. There are some days, too, when frankly I just feel too tired to run. Taking all this into account, I leave one day a week as a day off. So, at thirty-six miles per week, I cover 156 miles every month, which for me is my standard for serious running.

In June I followed this plan exactly, running 156 miles on the nose What I Talk About When I Talk About Running 當我談跑步時我談些什麼 [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書

評分☆☆☆☆☆

挺好看的呀！！雖然有點晚

評分☆☆☆☆☆

很好

評分☆☆☆☆☆

618活動太好瞭嘛買到心儀已久的書籍

評分☆☆☆☆☆

看上去真顯檔次 真是愛不釋手啊 大氣

評分☆☆☆☆☆

刷一年英文原著，走起，堅持

評分☆☆☆☆☆

在逼乎上看到有人強烈推薦，讀一讀

評分☆☆☆☆☆

朋友推薦我看的，的書，我每一本都有，的內容很值得一讀。'-.,,,-.(-),,'.',,,-62---.,'.'.--,-.''.',''-.--—,,—(),'.--1982,,.,',,,,.,,,-2005',,.:,,,,,.,.願我們身邊多一些主教般光明的使者，有更多人能加入到助人為樂、見義勇為的隊伍中來。5,2005.,'?',,,,5,2005.',.'.,,.,',,.:',.','.',',,..,,--'--.--,.'.?.''..,,,,,,,.',.',',.,'--'--'.',.,'.,,...,'..,.-.,.--.,.,,,,,'!,.,.'--.,.,.,.,,,,..'.'.-.1960.,.(),'-.,.',''.--,.,'.,',.,:.,.,.,.,,,.'.-.,,.,,.,,.,.,-,156,.,156.186.,.'.,'.(.).'.'.,,.,,.','.',,.',.,,.',.,,,.,.,,'.1982-.',------.-,,'',.,.,'.'.--,--.'',.'---.,,.,,.'--'.'..''--'.',-..'.-,,,,,'.'-.,,?,'.,:,.,',',''.'',--,,--,..',','.,,',...

評分☆☆☆☆☆

挺好

評分☆☆☆☆☆

京東書城的書比彆傢的都要好，正版包郵，而且還送貨上樓，非常不錯。1982,,.,',,,,.,,,-2005',,.:,,,,,.,.5,2005.,'?',,,,5,2005.',.'.,,.,',,.:',.','.',',,..,,--'--.--,.'.?.''..,,,,,,,.',.',',.,'--'--'.',.,'.,,...,'..,.-.,.--.,.,,,,,'!,.,.'--.,.,.,.,,,,..'.'.-.1960.,.(),'-.,.',''.--,.,'.,',.,:.,.,.,.,,,.'.-.,,.,,.,,.,.,-,156,.,156.186.,.'.,'.(.).'.'.,,.,,.','.',,.',.,,.',.,,,.,.,,'.1982-.',------.-,,'',.,.,'.'.--,--.'',.'---.,,.,,.'--'.'..''--'.',-..'.-,,,,,'.'-.,,?,'.,:,.,',',''.'',--,,--,..',','.,,',...

類似圖書 點擊查看全場最低價

查看全網最低價