On Haruki Murakami
There’s something about a writer whose characters’ (and perhaps personal) sensibilities match your own. That’s one of the things I realized after getting into Haruki Murakami’s novels and short stories. Many of his male characters possess no grand vision. They aren’t kings, CEOs, or politicians. They’re just doing their best at living in a post-modern, post-scarcity world. Granted, there’s magical realism around just about every corner, but, still, the people inhabiting Murakami’s stories might as well live next door.
I was in my early 20s when I started reading Murakami. I had enjoyed the anime Haibane Renmei and read that his 1985 novel Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World influenced the setting. It was a great book, one I mentioned was one of my favorites in an essay my study abroad coordinators used to pair me with a Japanese host family. Lo and behold, my room in my host family’s apartment featured a bookcase with a pristine first edition, slipcover and all. Yet, at the time, Murakami was only one of the half-a-dozen Japanese authors I devoured before studying abroad in Tokyo. I desperately wanted to understand the place I was going to and the people who lived there.
I continued reading Murakami after graduating college in 2008. Even though I loved what I read, I think I was a little too young for it. The men in Murakami’s stories are in their mid-30s. Now I’m in my mid-30s and realize Murakami’s characters make a lot more sense. They go with the flow yet are deeply introspective. I consider myself good at the latter but still working on the former.
For all his originality, Murakami does have his favorite motifs.
Despite considering myself a fan, I could never get more than a third of the way through 1Q84, Kafka on the Shore, or The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The writing was excellent, but I prefer shorter novels and short stories. Speaking of which, my personal favorites are “honey pie,” “The Year of Spaghetti,” “The Ice Man,” and “The Second Bakery Attack.” The latter, in particular, is memorable for how ridiculous yet believable it is. I even assigned it years ago when I taught high school creative writing.
I felt that Underground: The Tokyo Gas Attack and the Japanese Psyche was an excellent book not just for the subject matter. Murakami shamelessly loves American music and a lot of western culture. He has spent a good chunk of his life living in or visiting the United States. I got the feeling that, in a way, Underground is his attempt to “go home” and consider who he and his people really are. It’s an interesting mental exercise that, just as importantly, sheds much-needed light on Japan’s second-worst act of domestic terrorism.
I’ve picked up Murakami after a long pause, “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.” I’m only about 40 pages in, but it feels like taking a breath of fresh air or meeting an old friend after a long time. I’m going to savor the rest over the next few days. And after that, who knows? Maybe I’ll buy a used copy of 1Q84 and try again.