Wow. This book was my introduction to Haruki Murakami and I think I might be in love... 
 It's confessional, oddly romantic, and relentlessly nostalgic. The narrator reminisces about his days as a student in 1969 Tokyo, particularly about the women he knew and loved, the ones that he had (and that had him), the ones that got away, and the ones he could never have. Just as I felt the story was meandering a bit, the protagonist had a conversation about his study of Euripedes, and with that explained, I saw the whole narrative snap into place. Again, wow. 
 It's written with such a genuine voice, too, that I wondered how autobiographical it was. According the translator's note, the answer is "not at all," but it has such a feeling of truth to it. I finished the book yesterday and I admit my heart is still aching. 
 I can't wait to read more of Murakami's works!