MURAKAMI - 1Q84
You couldn’t easily tell from his expression or tone of voice what he was thinking or feeling.
He appeared to derive a good deal of pleasure from keeping others guessing. Mentally, he was very quick, that was for certain. He was the type of man who had his own sense of logic and reached his own conclusions without regard to the opinions of others. He did not engage in pointless intellectual display, but it was clear that he had read an enormous amount and that his knowledge was both wide-ranging and deep. Nor was it simply a matter of factual knowledge: he had an intuitive eye both for people and for books. His biases played a large role here, but for Komatsu bias was an important element of truth.
MURAKAMI - 1Q84
He never said a great deal, and he hated long-winded explanations, but when necessary he could present his views logically and precisely.
He had long limbs and nicotine-stained fingers, reminiscent of those failed revolutionary intellectuals in nineteenth-century Russian novels.
He rarely smiled, but when he did it was with his whole face. Not that it made him look especially happy - he was more like an old sorcerer chuckling to himself over an ominous prophecy he was about to reveal.
MURAKAMI - 1Q84
Clean and decently groomed, he always wore a tweed jacket, white oxford cloth or pale gray polo shirt, no tie, gray pants, suede shoes - a “uniform” meant to show the world he didn’t care about these things.
MURAKAMI - 1Q84
Komatsu’s fine, wiry hair was beginning to show a touch of gray in front. Tangled on the sides, it was long enough to cover his ears, and it always stayed that length, about a week overdue for a haircut. Tengo wondered how such a thing was possible.
MURAKAMI - 1Q84
At times Komatsu’s eyes would take on a sharp glow, like stars glittering in the winter night sky. And if something caused him to clam up, he would maintain his silence like a rock on the far side of the moon. All expression would disappear from his face, and his body seemed to go cold.
murakami - 1Q84
What he did know was that he could not help spending a large part of every day writing fiction. To him, writing was like breathing.
Komatsu said practically nothing as he listened to Tengo’s story. He seemed to like Tengo, though it was not clear why. Tengo was a big man (he had been a key member of his judo team in middle school, high school, and college), and he had the eyes of an early-waking farmer. He wore his hair short, seemed always to have a tan, and had cauliflower ears. He looked neither like a youthful devotee of literature nor like a teacher of mathematics, which was also something that Komatsu seemed to like about him.
