This semester I am taking JPN 530, “Haruki Murakami and the Literature of Modern Japan”. My department are letting me count it for the Philosophy Ph.D., and in fact my supervisor is joining me for the class. I have no idea what the actual class sessions will be like—first one this afternoon—and I’m anxious about writing a literature term paper. But I already know that my weekends this semester are going to be great because I’ll be reading Murakami’s novels.

What’s particularly wonderful about this, and what I wanted to write about, is how nourishing I find reading literary fiction to be. For example, this weekend I read

This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock built when peace filled the world. … Potentiality knocks at the door of my heart.

and I was fed for the day. All my perceived needs dropped away; that’s all it takes. This stands in stark contrast to reading philosophy, which is almost always draining rather than nourishing—even philosophy I really want to read. Especially having to read philosophy at the weekend.

(quotation is from On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl on a Beautiful April Morning)