Blog 5 (late) - Alex DeRosa

I found The Strange Library to be a very enjoyable reading experience. The story itself had the classic Murakami magic, and I appreciated Chip Kidd's interpretation for the cover and design of the book. The book format (with the top opening cover and the huge text split up by illustrations)  served the story really well. I thought the illustrations were unique and effective—especially the series with the starling at the end of the story. Having the dog's eye looming above each page also added an ominous tone to the whole book. 

Looking at Ted Goossen's translation style compared to Birnbaum, Rubin, and Gabriel, I can definitely say I prefer the other three to Ted. There's nothing inherently incorrect about the way Goossen translates, and perhaps I'm biased because I read the other three first, but something felt like something was missing from Goossen's interpretation. I know that having the Sheep Man speak in rambling sentences without spaces was just Birnbaum's creative interpretation, but I found it weird to see the Sheep Man speaking more normally in The Strange Library. The inconsistencies around the capitalization of the Sheep Man's name/title also confused me at some points. It's not a bad translation, but I think I prefer the style of the other three translators. 

Blog #5 (Late) - Kate Waldron

 Number9Dream seems to reference Murakami in a manner similar to how Murakami himself draws from his inspirations. While reading it, the author’s voice felt so distinct that I had difficulty actively identifying possible allusions to Murakami. To me, it was more reminiscent of In the Miso Soup because of its grittiness and how explicitly it dealt with sex and drugs, or “Johnny Mnemonic” with the nonchalant yet chaotic voice of the narrator. In a work like “The Reluctant Fundamentalist” I couldn’t help but think “Oh, she’s Reiko!” during my reading. Being ambiguously referential allows for a more cohesive work while still giving a nod to the inspirational author.

With the comparison to Norwegian Wood, identifying Eiji as a Watanabe figure and Daimon as Nagasawa, Eiji is also going through a major sexual event on a twentieth birthday. Granted, it is his own birthday rather than a woman’s, but it still stands that he has been abandoned in the aftermath by someone he has put his trust in. Like Watanabe, he seems a solitary figure, celebrating his birthday alone before being taken under the wing of a suave, financially endowed, and morally scrupulous person like Nagasawa. The themes from Norwegian Wood of isolation and coming of age seem to appear in a similar form in Number9Dream, though, naturally, are not exclusive to either. Eiji lying about his age and claiming he has smoked "ever since [his] twentieth birthday" warp age and time somewhat similarly to how Watanabe does in his reflections on alternating back and forth between ages forever. As a more tenuous connection, Eiji also buys Marlboros, which are only a brand of cigarette, but immediately brings to mind Chandler for me in the context of Murakami. The fact these connections are all more speculative speaks to a restrained approach to referencing, dropping little "Easter eggs" as Sarah has put it for readers familiar with the inspirations works rather than recontextualizing the narrative beat for beat.

-Kate Waldron

Blog #5 - Colorless Tsukuru + Ghosts - Evan

The first chapter of Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki felt quite unique for a Murakami story. Throughout this course, we have read works of Murakami primarily written in the first person, and the switch to the third person was surprisingly welcome. I think that his literary voice lends itself remarkably well to the third person, providing a similar sense of detachment to that of his first-person Boku. In fact, despite Boku being the protagonist in any given first-person Murakami novel, it often feels as if it's written in the third person. I also found it very interesting how a somewhat large cast had been introduced from the outset. In my experience, his stories tend to have very compact casts, but introducing five important characters immediately definitely made my ears perk up, so to say. 

Having read the first chapter of Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki, I find myself very eager to pick the novel up. I have heard others' opinions on Murakami's novels saying that he uses certain tropes as a crutch and that a lot of his novels are very similar. While I disagree, as I think each Murakami novel has its own distinctive vibe, I think that the multiple factors that already seem to set Tsukuru Tazaki apart from his other works have me intrigued. 

P.S., Auster's Ghosts brought back extremely strong memories of The Long Goodbye. There is the obvious connection of a 1940s-style detective, but the general ambiance of the story made me feel the same way I felt reading Chandler. I think it is very clear why Murakami enjoys Auster's work, and why it inspired aspects of Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki. 

Blog #4 (Late) - Sleep

Reading Sleep had me the most engaged I had been in a Murakami story since A Wild Sheep Chase. I think that this short story is one of his best, and hit all the marks on what makes a Murakami story a Murakami story; particularly, the blurred boundary between reality and the other world. 

Throughout our study of Murakami's works this semester, I find it no understatement to say that he has some real trouble writing female characters most of the time. The cast of Norweigan Wood comes to mind foremost. However, it feels like in writing this story with a female protagonist narrating in the first person he made a real attempt at making this character feel fleshed out and real.

The ending of this short story could seem abrupt and confusing at first glance, but I feel that with some analysis, it makes quite a lot of sense. My interpretation of the ending dealt with the protagonist's sexual trauma which was mentioned quite briefly toward the end of the story. She mentions a college boyfriend who had sex with her without her consent, and this explanation is placed directly before the climactic end. I think that it is this sexual trauma that caused her initial sleeplessness-- the timelines match as well, as mentioned at the beginning of the story. Under this assumption, it is safe to assume that the sleep-paralysis-type dream that she has which acts as the catalyst for her second bout of sleeplessness is the manifestation of that repressed trauma. This is proven further in the parallels in the two scenes with water-- the first, with the creature pouring water on her feet endlessly, and the second with her tears coming uncontrollably. 

Similarly, earlier in the story a police officer tells the protagonist not to hang around certain areas late at night, as a couple was assaulted earlier. The woman was sexually assaulted, and the man was murdered. At the end of the story, the protagonist goes-- dressed as a man-- to a dangerous area. This is, presumably, done so she can face the same fate as the man instead of the fate of the woman that she already faced from her college boyfriend. 

Looking at it through that lens, a lot of the story's contents start making sense to me, but that's just my interpretation of the text. 

-Evan

Ghosts and Mirrors

 We talked about this in class but I saw a lot of similarities between Ghosts and earlier works that we’ve read in class like “William Wilson” and “Mirrors”. Mr. Blue is struggling with this case in particular as it requires him to sit still and be alone with his thoughts as he is observing Mr. Black. As the days go on, Mr. Blue becomes resentful of Mr. Black because of what he is putting him through, just as Poe begins to resent William Wilson for always being there, to remind him of a part of him he’d rather keep hidden. But if this is the case I wonder what part of himself Mr. Blue wants to keep hidden, perhaps that he is unhappy with his life. You can see how the two might be linked, or that one is the mirrored image of the other– especially through their mirrored actions. As Blue sits by the window, taking notes on Black, Black mirrors the action, writing something of his own by the window. And when they both go into the store, Blue has to decide quickly whether to follow Black home or do some shopping of his own, because he is a mirrored image of Black he goes through the motions of shopping. The title Ghosts made me think about what this was referring to. I don’t particularly believe that Black was a ghost from the beginning, but I understand the word ghosts as another way of saying shadows. People often talk about shadows of themselves, referring to an alter ego or another world– like in Jordan Peele’s movie “Us” where the shadow selves try to take over. Similarly, in Ghosts the tension culminates in the final scene in Mr. Black’s house where the two fight it out and Blue kills Black. The same happens in Poe’s story, where the narrator stabs his alter ego to death. In all of these stories, the protagonist is almost unwilling to admit that the shadow self is the part of themselves that they dislike the most, and they manifest it into an entirely separate person. Black yells out, "You were the whole world to me, Blue, and now I’ve turned you into my death, " implying that perhaps they are one and the same and that a death to one is a death to the other. Black’s original plan was to kill Blue with him, wiping their shared existence away, however, Blue takes control of the situation and kills Black before he has the chance. In this scene, the image on the other side of the mirror wins and takes over the ego, but it is hard to tell which one is the shadow.

- Sarah Rosenthal

Blog Post 5 - Regarding Women (Again)

     I know almost everything I have written about in this class is in regards to women and Murakami's portrayal of women. But, this blog post especially I cannot stay away from the topic, being that we read so many female oriented works. 

    While I do not think the portrayal of females is bad by any means and in some cases such as Sleep's main character and Reiko from Norwegian Wood, the female protagonist is written wonderfully, Murakami's patterns on writing the troubles of women is a bit concerning. After reading about the various females of Murakami, they can be separated into pre-made tropes. The first is the Murakami woman who has been involved in and is haunted by a rape incident. This includes the woman from Sleep, Shiro's fake rape claim, Reiko's rape by her student, the white haired woman of Sputnik Sweetheart, Creta Kano, etc. The second trope are women who are married and this splits off into two subtypes. The first type are women who have children and then resent them. In this category is the protagonist from Sleep again, the woman from the The Ice Man, and the woman from the Little Green Monster if you subscribe to the idea that the green monster is her child, possibly an unwanted child. The second subtype are women who have not had children yet and by not putting their "duties" in the forefront of their mind seem to be punished. This category includes the wife from Tony Takitani who loved her clothes too much, the wife from Drive my Car who would cheat constantly, and the girl from Barn Burning who lived life for herself and had no mind for settling down.

    While it is not a major problem that they are split into these minimal categories, Murakami male protagonists themselves fitting into one category, the problem is the meaning that these categories hold. Each trope is relating a woman back to men. By having a woman's rape still have major power over her (it causing Watashi of Sleep to get in her car and want to get murdered) it is a parallel of man, or the man that did it, still having power over her. And similarly, with the married women who live to have children, the man has power over her through their offsprings who represent their fathers (in both The Ice Man and Sleep). She is unhappy, living in the world her husband prefers. Contrarily, the women who allow themselves to indulge in their wanted worlds and fantasies, like Tony's wife and Kafuku's wife (I absolutely do not support her cheating!) are killed off young, leaving us with their husband, the man now telling their stories through the male lens. By killing off rebellious and confident women, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth and makes it seem like these kinds of women are not allowed in Murakami's world.

    However in recent years, this has started to dismantle slightly. Glimmers of this started with Midori all the way back in Norwegian Wood who was based off a real woman. And now we have Misaki from Drive my Car, the hunchback from Samsa in Love, and Aomame of 1Q84 (from our brief discussion of her). It seems Murakami has begun to truly think about women in his stories as protagonists, capable of various storylines independent of male impact and influence. This may be way too much and too serious for a blog post but all these ideas have been constantly circling in my brain for the past few classes, building up on each other and where else would I be able to put them at this point?

- Anna-Maria Marinescu

Magical Realism

I really enjoy the magical realism aspects of Murakami’s writing. There are so many unexplainable coincidences in life; I think he weaves the magic into his stories very seamlessly. Murakami's magical realism is sometimes different from other stories I've read with magical realism, specifically Jorge Luis Borges. With Borges, his stories are a lot more explicit in their magical aspects. For example, there are infinite libraries that go on forever, books that never open to the same page twice, or knife fights that seem to repeat throughout history. These stories center themselves around the mythical or magical places/people/objects in them. Murakami on the other hand seems to weave in the magical aspects into mostly mundane settings. It's hard to even pinpoint the magic when reading stand-alone pieces. However, after reading so many of his stories back to back it becomes easier to point out the instances of magic. For example, I think music and magical realism often go hand in hand. There’s a certain quality of music that can’t be quite captured by the written word in the same way that magic cannot be easily conveyed. Magical realism, like music, can also enhance the feelings of the characters or their environment. For example, in The Ghosts of Lexington, the ghosts don't have any sort of explanation given to them so they can be interpreted in many ways. I think their presence heightens the loneliness the narrator feels but they could also symbolize the friends of the homeowner who might have died due to aids. The coincidences in Chance Traveler also feel slightly magical, especially when the narrator makes special notes on the ear mole. Murakami characters who have moles or disfigured body parts often have unique and magical qualities to them; it's like magic must need to manifest physically. 

Viv