Freckles and Misery

I'm up late tonight cause I've stayed awake to finish reading Sputnik Sweetheart. It's one of Haruki Murakami's lovely books. I'm a little bit hooked on him but it occurred to me the other day that, although obviously the story comes from him, maybe I am actually a fan of Philip Gabriel. Philip is his translator and I wonder if it's he who really imbues the stories with the serene quality that I find so seductive. It's weird reading books about people suffering despair and feeling suicidal - all expressed so very calmly.

The only way I'd know which writer is the one I really admire would be if I was to learn Japanese myself. Pffft.

I was talking to one of my patients about this the other day and he was telling me that a new translation of War and Peace has come out which is radically different to the standard translation. Apparently it's more working class. How odd. And interesting. If I had read the normal translation it would be good to compare and contrast. But I haven't. And, I suspect, if I couldn't be bothered to read it when I was seventeen, the chances of me finding the enthusiasm now are slim.

I bought three new fish today. Three fantail goldfish - a black one, a white one with an orange forehead (is there an official fish word for that bit?) and an orange one. No names as yet. I wish they were a dog.