Contrary to popular opinion, Johan Cruyff had two signature moves. His autobiography, written as he was dying from cancer and published in October 2016 by Macmillan, spends two sentences on one and 200 pages on the other.
In which we discuss post-structuralism, Dr Strangelove’s black glove, Roland Barthes and Waterstones in Orchard Square, Sheffield, by means of an extended orgasm metaphor (the metaphor is extended, not the orgasm).
In 1974 a group of friends were implicated in the murder of a young man who disappeared after a night out. With no body, no weapon and no motive, the only evidence that police had was a bad dream that one of the group had. And then a second man went missing…
It’s a difficult book to read. There are some horrific parts, such as the description of two teen girls, playing dead to avoid being shot, whilst Breivik walks through the group shooting bodies on the ground. The two friends hold hands as they wait for their turn to die.
Social media has facilitated a great change in our thinking and behaviour. Interactions that I couldn’t have conceived of whilst I sat tapping in ZX Spectrum games out of a magazine are now commonplace, and frankly very little seems futuristic.
It was about halfway through reading Murakami’s thirteenth novel that I realised quite why I love his books so much.