Dance, Dance, Dance, by Haruki Murakami

I found a web site that ranked Haruki Murakami's novels.  Dance Dance Dance came in first.  Most other sites rank it in the middle single digits (among his couple of dozen novels).  This is the first of his novels I've read.  I picked it up after reading his wonderful memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.  Even though he's a respected, award-winning novelist, I didn't particularly enjoy Dance Dance Dance.  It's not terrible, it was just sort of pointless.

I thought Murakami, a Japanese novelist, would give me a window to contemporary Japanese culture.  But the vast majority of the references to movies, music, and literature are Western.  The whole story seemed very American, from my American perspective.  This tells me that people in advanced cultures around the world share many cultural similarities, and/or that the Japanese embrace American culture.

I won't recount the plot (such as it is) itself.  It involves some sort of supernatural portal in a hotel.  It involves a middle-aged man's friendship with a teenage girl.  It involves a writer who is unhappy writing ad copy and restaurant reviews.  It involves the lost loves of the writer.  Murakami comments on consumerism, pop culture, and longing in love.  It all comes together in a hodgepodge of existential aimlessness and dream-like narrative.  Truthfully, I don't get the appeal of this book.