June 20th, 2022 - Houyhnhnm

Dear TNY,

I’m in Atlanta at a friend’s house and I never meant to read “Houyhnhnm” this morning because of busyness, but I had some time to start it and then I was compelled to finish.

And, I liked it.

I found the voice in this to be plain, but not simple.  The narrative has a sense of curiosity to it.  Of tenderness and care.  I began with being upset by the fact that it was another story about some fucking academic (and, I mean, come on…the sound of New York…you uppity twats), but the story changes into some kind of…introspective buddy comedy?  But really a tragedy?  But still a comedy?

What I’m saying is that it’s a fucking talking horse that tells bad jokes, you know?  And I think I began to fall in love with this horse, if I’m honest with you.  I think this incredibly unexpected, yet obvious plot idea speaks to this weird step that I think we all wish we got to experience the loss of a person:  some other medium with which to wean ourselves off of their presence. 

Like, here’s something else while I’m rambling:  I wish this is what every Murakami story was like.

I had a few quibbles with this story.  One being that the story ended with some bullshit about the mom.  Meh.  What’s that about?  She was barely present and then this story tries to hammer home that this was about family?  Nah.  And I didn’t think the bullshit about searching for horses in literature was necessary.  It didn’t come back in at all.  Felt intentionally pretentious.

Anyway, I didn’t cry.  But I did feel like I might have cried if I hadn’t been pressure reading this in a living room with my sons and everyone milling about because it was morning.  But that’s on me.  Maybe it would have hit differently under different conditions. 

Either way, I’m glad I read it and I wish I had a Xan.

Thanks, bud.

Nick

P.S. I’m writing this section after a whole day of walking around Atlanta with my boys.  Did the cemetery.  And MLK’s grave.  And there was a lot of death talk.  Which this story has in it too.  And the boys are undecided on how they want to be disposed of after death.  And usually I am too.  But today, it came to me.  I want to be cremated and I want the boys to take me on one last roadtrip, a la Elizabethtown, and dust me all over the shit that we did together.  I like the thought of them having to interrupt their adult lives and get in a vehicle together to throw ashes around and talk about how much of an asshole I was, and at that point still would be an asshole because of the task.  You know how I knew it was the right choice?  Because I was crying thinking about it and then more cry telling them about it.  But if I had a horse that would talk to them afterwards, that would be even better.