Murakami stepped out into the bright morning air at the Jovellanos Theatre, where Casimiro Velasco Street meets Begoña Walk. The scene carried the weight of a homecoming for a writer whose works travel far beyond this city. The mayor of Gijón stood nearby, Carmen Morion among the early guests, and journalists formed a respectful cluster as the protocol team of the Princess of Asturias Foundation prepared to welcome him. A chorus of readers broke into applause as the creator of Tokio Blues walked the short distance from his car to the grand doorway of the Jovellanos, a moment that felt like a celebration of his global presence meeting a local turnout.
This moment appeared to foreshadow a triumph shaped by the affection of his readers, already evident in the crowd assembled across the literary festival. From 92 reading clubs spanning four autonomous communities Asturias, Galicia, Cantabria and Castilla y León, the support was palpable. The theater lobby buzzed with excitement an hour after events began, readers pressing forward with admiration as Murakami was welcomed as a towering star of the festival. His distinctive voice carried through the hall, and he defended his literary approach by distinguishing it from magical realism, describing it instead as a form of inspectorism. He spoke with journalist Berna González Harbour, who conducted the first interview and then guided a lively Q and A session with readers whose questions were both earnest and focused. Harbour noted that a portion of the audience could not hear the simultaneous translation clearly as Murakami spoke in Japanese, a challenge that underscored the intimacy and immediacy of the encounter for those present.
The conversation made clear that Murakami cared little about being branded as lacking in what some call Japaneseness. He explained that his parents were teachers of Japanese literature, and he had felt pressure to conform, yet he chose a different path. The audience laughed generously at these confessions, the Jovellanos’ stalls and stands alive with energy and curiosity that had rarely been seen at the venue.
Listeners learned that Murakami’s first Western novel read was Stendhal’s The Red and the Black, a story about Julien Sorel who rejects intellectual duties and longs for a different kind of life. He recalled that he was twelve when he read it, a copy that had been circulating through a home filled with books. Now, at seventy-four, he admitted reading The Brothers Karamazov four times, a confession that drew broad nods of recognition from those who treasure heavy, challenging literature. The remark reinforced the sense that Murakami values enduring works that invite rereading and deeper reflection.
In sharing his own method, Murakami offered a candid portrait of a writer who works with a keen sense of timing. He described how ideas arrive when they want to and how he writes in bursts when inspiration strikes, unburdened by the fear of getting stuck. He spoke about writing in the early hours, preparing a coffee, and letting the writing unfold as the day begins. He called that morning quiet the best part of the day, a moment when the mind feels unguarded and the story can take shape. When fatigue arrives, music takes over and guides him back to the work, a practice he described as a habit as reliable as breathing. On that night in Gijón he even mentioned a recent listening of Liszt performed by Martín García, a reminder of how musical currents often ride alongside narrative creation. Murakami’s relationship with music was described as a fond and almost baroque companionship that informs the mood of his writing more than any explicit plan.
Asked where ideas originate, Murakami offered a humility that resonated with the audience. He hoped they would fall like rain from the sky, a spontaneous influx rather than a carefully plotted plan. He recounted the moment that sparked his first novel, Hear the Wind Sing, when a baseball game sparked a sudden thought that maybe he could become a writer. This impulse remains a guiding thread, shaping his approach to longer and shorter works in a deliberate cycle. He reflected that length might bring more enjoyment, a sentiment grounded in the belief that more pages allow more time to savor the story and its world. The conversation also touched on how he speaks and persuades, nurturing new readers along the way. By the end of the evening, a substantial number of Spaniards felt an urgent urge to read Murakami’s latest book before it reaches their shores, and he encouraged them to dive into it as soon as possible because translated work can arrive with a delay. His closing encouragement was simple and direct: read it and discover the world within the pages.