Or take Haruki Murakami for example. In his work he communicates so much of his own poignant observations about the world through his characters, without sounding preachy. His words tend to be gentle and poetic to the point of creating soft background music, with an effect similar to those in movie scenes. After reading almost all of his books, it’s still hard to pin how he does it. On the first page of his novel “Dance Dance Dance” there is this passage: “I wake up. I wonder where I am. Not only do I think about it, I also ask myself out loud: “Where am I?” But the question makes no sense. Even without asking, I know the answer. I am here, in my life. In my everyday life – an addition to my true being. A few incidents and affairs, circumstances that god-knows-when became my attributes, although I’ve never accepted them.” (A loose translation from another language.) I don’t know about others, but I find it hard to escape this riptide of vulnerability; helpless about the main character’s – my own – helplessness, I end up being pulled into yet another Murakami’s kingdom.