(i thoroughly enjoyed ian buruma's writeup and it took it upon myself to produce this image to post on my blog with my digital subscription to the new yorker. all rights are reserved by the new yorker and will be removed upon request).
Saturday, October 15, 2011
i recently read an informative and wonderfully-written 1996 profile of haruki murakami that was published in the new yorker, and i just wanted to share the piece's aptly-written first page.
(i thoroughly enjoyed ian buruma's writeup and it took it upon myself to produce this image to post on my blog with my digital subscription to the new yorker. all rights are reserved by the new yorker and will be removed upon request).
(i thoroughly enjoyed ian buruma's writeup and it took it upon myself to produce this image to post on my blog with my digital subscription to the new yorker. all rights are reserved by the new yorker and will be removed upon request).
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how cool is it to completely disengage from your heritage as if it doesn't exist? i guess i understand. there was a time in my life when i was convinced i was white, embarrassed to talk to my parents in front of my friends.. but now i think it seems selfish. is it irony? or cowardice? (of course i'm just basing this on the first page. i'm not familiar with his work. just my opinion on what i've read here)
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