In getting ready for the long-awaited release of 1Q84 on October 25th, I was pleasantly surprised to find evidence of Lemuria-Staff-Past who have also been devoted fans.
Enjoy this review by Catherine, Lemuria Class of 2006.
One of the more preoccupying themes of Japanese literature in this century has been the question of what it means to be Japanese, especially in an era that has seen the rise and fall of militarism and the decline of traditional culture; but from reading the books of Haruki Murakami, one of the country’s most celebrated novelists, you’d never know he was Japanese at all: his characters read Turgenev and Jack London, listen to Rossini and Bob Dylan, eat pate de foie gras and spaghetti, and know how to make a proper salty dog.
In Murakami’s early books, the references to Western pop culture were sometimes so obscure that they even flew over the heads of many Americans. Murakami’s protagonists are soft, irresolute men, often homebodies with dynamic girlfriends or wives, who go through long, inert periods of ennui — a blatant renunciation of the frenetic, male-dominated ethos of modern Japan. Breaking with his own tradition, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is Murakami’s attempt to not only glimpse at Japanese-ness, but to use a very wide lens.
This is a big, ambitious book clearly intended to establish Murakami as a major figure in world literature. Although his earlier books bristle with philosophical asides and literary allusions (Western, mainly), most critics treated him as a lightweight, a wise guy who never took anything seriously. Wind-Up Bird Chronicle almost self-consciously deals with a wide spectrum of heavy subjects: the transitory nature of romantic love, the evil vacuity of contemporary politics and, most provocative of all, the legacy of Japan’s violent aggression in World War II. But it all begins with a man losing his cat. Then his wife. (Then his mind?)
Focusing some of Wind-Up Bird Chronicle’s best chapters on the occupation of Manchukuo and the consequent border skirmishes with Russia and the Mongols, Murakami seizes upon a sense of collective guilt as cause of personal Japanese confusion. The Manchukuo passages are absolutely dazzling; the prose crisp and the visuals epic. The narrative leaps from 1930s Manchuria to 1980s Japan – with comparative stints spent in downtown Tokyo and Siberia.
The transitory nature of the book, to me, was one of the most intriguing elements of Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Yes, it is a big book, but one that is constantly changing. At times, I felt so far away from the original premise that I wondered if I was still reading the same book at all; oddly enough, instead of feeling muddled by the development of the book, I felt refreshed, glad to be always moving; leaving characters and plot lines behind; going deeper into the rabbit hole.
Many regard Wind-Up Bird Chronicle as Murakami’s masterpiece and I would be inclined to agree. The experience of reading this book is absolutely mesmerizing — and utterly indescribable, so perhaps I will stop trying to explain. Instead, I will say that Murakami has written a bold and generous book, and the resulting reading experience is its own reward. Trust me: It’s a beautiful mind bender.
Written by Catherine (Lemuria 2006)
For an introduction to Murakami and preview of 1Q84, click here.
Click here to see other blog posts on Murakami.
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