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

Blog Post #5 - Cassandra Berrette

    Coming to this class, I was very interested in expanding my (literary) horizons. I have read various other Japanese authors in the past (like Kotomi Li, Rin Usami, Yoko Ogawa, etc.), and I was very fascinated with the allure of Murakami that I often heard in passing. Even though I have (semi) come to appreciate the uniqueness that comes with Murakami and his writing, his works are not something that I prefer. 

    Reflecting on various readings that we did this semester, Murakami is not really my cup of tea when it comes to foreign literature. I often found that I did not ‘vibe’ well with his writing style. To me, his writing is very discombobulated. I found that I had to re-read the texts assigned a lot because of that. I usually enjoy unconventional writing styles and writing with surreal and dreamlike elements, but his writing did not do that for me. I found this to be especially true with his novels. One of major qualms with Murakami as well is the depiction of women. This is why I enjoyed the interview between Murakami and  Kawakami. Even though he claims it to be coincidental, it was a bit off-putting with how many of the women protagonists serve the male protagonists, especially in their quest for truth. I also did not enjoy the extensive descriptions of the women in his stories that were brodering on objectification. 

    Even though Murakami’s work was not something that I thoroughly enjoyed, hearing the different perspectives on his writing was interesting. I found that I really preferred his short stories over his full-length novels. I really enjoyed “The Little Green Monster,” which is why I chose this story as inspiration for my final project. I found it fascinating that Murakami explained his story as the cruelty women possess, mainly because I interpreted it as a woman refusing to perform. Her refusal to perform and accept what is proposed to her was not cruelty to me, but a woman reclaiming her agency.

- Cassandra Berrette

Blog Post 5 - Max Dahlstrom

 I was pretty intrigued by our discussion of magical realism, partly because it reminded me a lot of surrealism. I had some trouble differentiating between the two at first because they both seemed to involve realistic settings in which illogical or unexplainable things happen. After reading some articles about their differences online, I found that people typically differentiate the two genres in regards to the internal vs. external experiences of the illogical. While both genres involve illogical occurrences that challenge different conventions, magical realism tends to focus on the illogical as it occurs in society, whereas surrealism focuses on the illogical as it occurs in our imagination and our subconscious and usually involves more dreamlike settings.

I’m also interested in how magical realism can be used as a tool of critique. In some stories we’ve read by Murakami, it seems like he uses magical realism in a way that can be interpreted as exposing the arbitrariness of certain social conventions and rules. The most obvious example to me is ‘The Bakery Attack’ story in which the protagonists demand that some exchange occurs between them and the baker, even though he offers to give them the food for free. The logic of the demand for this exchange goes unquestioned by the characters and the narration, but it makes no sense to the audience. It seems like it exaggerates conventions that exist in the real world to poke fun at them, in a similar way to how satire typically operates.

I also wanted to mention that I found Stretcher’s interpretation of Magical Realism in Murakami’s texts very interesting. Stretcher explains that Murakami’s works have consistently been most popular among audiences between the ages of 20 and 30 because they use magical realism to play around with identity and its flexibility. He thinks that Murakami’s stories resonate so well with this audience because they touch on the conflict that people have at this age when choosing what they will pursue in life, specifically the choice between becoming a part of the ‘system’ or struggling against it. Stretcher suggests that Murakami used magical realism to play around with identity because he was wary of the loss of individuality ushered in by mass consumerism in post-1970 Japan.

- Max Dahlstrom

Blog Post #5 - Sexuality and Women in Murakami

 I think I will continuously find problem with Murakami's depiction of women, especially after reading the "Chance Traveler" and "Ghosts of Lexington", since it felt like Murakami treats gay characters, a marginalized group which he also stereotypes, better than his female protagonists/characters. Even though he often uses the same mold to depict gay men - well-dressed, neat, polite - these are fairly positive attributes compared to the fact that the women are usually mentally unwell, overly sexual, or sometimes their characters just aren't developed enough to give the reader an idea of their personalities. For one, Murakami's depictions of gay men lack the same sexualization as he includes for women. Taki Kano is repeatedly raped, "abused every way imaginable", Kuro has a "well-developed bust by the time she was sixteen", and also the numerous sex scenes in Norwegian Wood. By contrast, the pianist in "Chance Traveler" gets a nice reconciliation with his sister, and even when the story's about him, the two women end up suffering by way of developing cancer. The gay male body remains intact while the female body undergoes "mutilation" through breast surgery. In "Ghosts of Lexington", it could be argued that Casey experiences bodily degradation, with the theory that HIV/AIDs has taken a toll on him, but his ending/potential demise is much less clear than in "Sleep" or "Creta Kano", leaving the option open that he survives, whereas the women are graphically killed. Another point is that Murakami's gay relationships are fairly stable, long-term, and monogamous, while the women often find themselves in more tumultuous or unhappy relationships. I think my main issue is that Murakami seems to use rape/murder/suicide of women as a plot point, and it feels unnecessary or cruel, since the male characters don't go through the same level of trauma or suffering. Even if they're gay and outside the "norm" of his usual characters, it's like their being male still saves them from enduring the same things that the women go through. One other thing I wanted to bring up was Murakami's sparse use of lesbian characters. There was Reiko in Norwegian Wood, but there was a brief line in "Chance Traveler", "she was popular (more with other girls than with boys, perhaps)", that I thought was interesting if read as the woman being lesbian or bisexual. The line seems unnecessary otherwise, just a brief parenthetical, but I think in the context of how it's brought up, "her twelve years of marriage hadn't exactly been all roses, but she had no particular complaints", and the story being about sexuality, it's a possible theory.

- Alice Liao

laura blog post #5

 Earlier this week in class, we talked about magical realism, and it seemed like of his works, Norwegian Wood seems the least magical realist at first. This of course depends on the reading of it, but if you take the story at face value, everything that occurs could feasibly happen in the real world. I feel that in Norwegian Wood, the closest thing it has to magical realism is the way time seems to work in it. This definitely ties in with the theory that Naoko is already dead and the sanitorium is the underworld, but it seems like the time in the story moves much more slowly in the sanatorium, with much more attention given to the events in the shorter time period where Toru is there. I feel like this also has to do with the fact that so much of the story is based on Naoko and Toru’s relationship with her, so naturally there would be a significant part of the story focusing on her, but it’s also interesting to consider just how much time seems to slow down when Toru is at the sanatorium/’underworld.’ This can be contrasted with the part of the story that takes place in Tokyo and with Midori, where there are large timeskips. While I’m unsure if this manipulation of time within the text totally constitutes as magical realism, I feel like there’s something significant in the way time is treated inside and outside of the sanatorium with Naoko.

- Laura Hurley

Brittany Olson Blog #5

Ok this blog post is going to be a mishmash of everything we've been doing for the last couple of weeks to buckle up folks. 

I thought our discussions surrounding Murakami writing about women and LGBT+ really interesting. I really liked both the Ice Man and The Green Monster. Creta Kano on the other hand, yikes. The entire story, especially the part about her water being the reason she was so frequently SA'd felt like blatant unapologetic victim blaming and completely unnecessary. The Ice Man is probably my favorite out of all of Murakami's female narrators. I went through a lot of different emotions while reading it. The dynamic of the couple prior to their trip to the South Pole felt realistic and romantic in a weird way. The impending doom once she realized she was pregnant was really successful in illustrating the fear and dread she experienced when it was solidified that she was likely never going to leave. 

The interview with Murakami was kind of frustrating to read. I thought his refusal to deny any pattern in his female characters (whether it is intentional or not) was kind of a cop-out. In reality, most of the time this pattern of using women as a foil for corresponding male characters is unintentional and refusing to acknowledge it is only perpetuating the trope. 

Now I'm going to talk about the final project becuase yikes. 

I am in no way a creative writer outside of autobiographical lyrics. Last semester in the Modern Japanese Fiction course, I experienced the same kind of assignment as a final project and the same kind of dread. Last time I wrote my own version of Kawakami's the People in Our Neighborhood and it took me forever to even land on a concept. At least this time it can be in English! For this assignment, I thought it was interesting how easily a concept came to me. That's probably due to how in depth we talked about the different aspects of Murakami's work, and the Boku type of narrator reoccurs so often. So for my short story, I am going to at least attempt to show how apathetic Boku can be. I have never written in a male perspective, so let's hope it comes as naturally to me as it did for Murakami to write in a female perspective. 

-Brittany Olson

Blog Post #5 - Kara Beigh

  I found “Sleep” to be quite possibly my favorite Murakami short story. I was glad to see him write a female protagonist, and found her to be less detached than his other male protagonists. I also found the story to be really relatable as a woman. I too have neglected sleep in favor of reading and have gotten completely sucked into a book or series. I didn’t really like the inclusion of the old man scene, though I understand it can be interpreted as a transition into the Other World. I wish he wrote the transition a little differently, a little less weird, though I guess that’s who he is as an author. I also didn’t like the ending, which stressed me out to an unusual degree. 

After “Sleep,” I was excited to read his other female main character stories, but they disappointed me. “Creta Kano” felt unnecessary and was uncomfortable to read due to the many, many references to sexual assault. “Ice Man” wasn’t as offensive, but it didn’t really leave an impact on me at all. When I first read “The Little Green Monster,” I didn’t like it, but it’s grown on me. As a big animal person, I didn’t like to see the monster being emotionally tortured, and I thought her response was excessive and unusually cruel. I didn’t understand her cruelty until I thought of the one person whom I really dislike. Suddenly, the story made sense to me. For all of Murakami’s short stories or books, I always seem to follow “I liked it…” with a “but.” No story fully satisfies me, though “Sleep” came close. 

Blog Post #5

I am writing my final blog post on my thoughts on the final paper. 

I can't remember the last time I wrote fiction. It must have been early in high school. Since starting college anything I have had to write has been non-fiction, mostly research based. So this final paper is a kind of fun and interesting switch-up. What stood out to me today in class was what Murakami said about writing naturally. This is how I have always wrote. I tend to come in with some specifics I want to throw in, but then I kind of just have to start writing and see where it takes me. I know the stream of consciousness style of writing can sometimes lead to some clunky sentences and of course many a grammatical error, but it seems to work. 

I have employed this strategy for the final paper. So far I have made it through the beginning and got close to half way in. I've already thought through the end, but am now stuck somewhere in the middle. This is great, because this is where the substance needs to be. Of course the hardest part is building the journey between the intro and end, but in creative writing I have an infinite amount of ways I can go. This is never the issue with a research paper. You are given an objective task. This task is the substance, and everything else will form around it. Now it is my story and only I can figure out where it goes next. Overall it has been fun though, it forces me to think in ways I haven't been able to in a long time. In the end there isn't a wrong answer, which is something I am so used to. 

It is interesting to sit and ask yourself, what would Murakami do? Would he explain this more? No, always no, leave it vague, but also particular. How would he work in some obscure reference? Do I throw in a strange sex scene? He would, but no. It is a cool experience to weave your own voice through his filter. 

In class it was said, the deeper you dig to try to find the meaning in Murakami's work the more things seem to not link-up. My take on this is, him being this "natural writer" sometimes leads to a labyrinth. He takes you down so many pathways, and you will inevitably be lost. Truthfully I think some of the charm of his books is in the fact that not everything lines up, not every path leads anywhere, and honestly I think it might just be him writing as it comes to him and then forgetting to tie up all the loose ends. 

I'll be excited, and hopefully not disappointed, to see how my paper finishes up. Overall it has been a great semester of learning more and more about his works and those who surround him. 

- Emmett Glazer

Blog Post #5

 At the start of class I don't think I really gave too much thought about the naming convention for Murakami, especially because I don't speak Japanese. I previously thought of names as just that -- a way to refer to someone or a character. I had some idea that names using character based languages (like Chinese and Japanese) have distinct meanings as per the written characters, but I never really tried to figure out the meaning of the names. After reading Stretcher's article about Murakami and his use of magical realism, only then did I have a realization about HM's characters. My realization came from the Stretcher's analysis of the four characters in Murakami's Colorless short story and how their naming convention reflect distinctive characteristics, like how Shirane (Shiro) is aptly described white root, due to her beauty and model-like figure, as being firmly planted in the group and her beliefs. Another example would be Oumi (Ao) is written as blue sea, who washes over some of his opponents during his rugby matches (and how rainfall is a significant point of conversation in the chapter). Perhaps I'd like to do something like this in my short story. 

As the course inevitably comes to an end, I definitely feel like my appreciation for Murakami's work has grown. I guess that means this class has done it's job haha. I might have to read more of his short stories and I appreciate having been exposed to so many of his influences. Something I noticed is that it's easier to read Murakami's work first, then to find the comparison in the influencer's text afterward. Murakami likes to take a few things and run with it in his text, versus making a carbon copy with a few rewords or recontextualizations. 

For the sake of writing down ideas so I won't forget, there are a few ideas I'm trying to incorporate with my short story. For characters, I wanted to use the proverb "hear no/see no/speak no evil" to create those particular characters and utilize some of HM's ability to describe characters and their demeanor solely from descriptions. For magical realism, I wanted to make each character able to understand content despite having an impairment which would treat them as normal characters but the names would remind the reader that they still have a disability. I also wanted a vanishing act kind of thing whenever a character "xyz evil" (heard, spoke, saw, etc.) but I think I'm going to skip this part because it would make the story kind of regimented into fine > problem > disappear > repeat. In terms of pure structure, I don't know if I want to make it straight bodies of text like in the short stories we've been reading or if I want to make it more chapter-like like the influencer's works we've read. I do see benefits to using either style but I might keep it as straight text with maybe line breaks to denote an end of a certain section.

Thanks for a great semester and I can't wait to present my final work later :)

Alexander Wen

Blog Post #5

Hi all, 

For this weeks blog post, I wanted to talk about elements of intertextuality in Murakami, and the notion that he may unconsciously base his stories on others that he has read. I have noticed in class that myself and many of you are constantly thinking of events that occur in Murakami novels and short stories that occur elsewhere in literature. A poignant example was today in class, with the comparison of the ending of Paul Auster's Ghosts and a very similar scene occurring in Murakami's Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I am fairly sure that if he were asked about these scenes, Murakami would not explicitly mention being influenced by Auster's work. However, I am confident that the two scenes are related in some way. Murakami's Wind-Up Bird Chronicle was published nearly a decade after Auster released Ghosts, and Murakami has mentioned he is a fan of Auster's works. Therefore, I would argue that Murakami was subconsciously influenced by the scene that occurs in Ghosts in which the protagonist beats up a mysterious counterpart and leaves him to die. 

I think that Murakami, like many of us, has been greatly swayed by the books he has read throughout his life. We saw this in A Wild Sheep Chase, with its inspiration being drawn from Chandler novels, and we have read many other examples of similar works from Carver to Edgar Allen Poe. This is not to say that Murakami is plagiarizing in anyway by creating stories that have been influenced by the books he has read, quite the opposite. I feel as if Murakami's stories greatly benefit, and perhaps build upon the ideas presented in these "classic" works of other authors. I also feel as if my readings of these authors will now be viewed through a Murakami-skewed perspective, which will change my understanding of the works as well. To make a long story short, I believe that intertextuality as a whole is much more complex than we try to make it out to be. Ultimately, I think that it is next to impossible to write in the absence of intertextuality. The very nature of human thought is to be influenced by that which we see and read, and these thoughts can express themselves explicitly or subconsciously in our speech and writing. I've also begun writing my final project short story, and while the assignment is quite literally to write in Murakami's style, I can't help but feel as if I am being influenced by all the works of Murakami I have read subconsciously, and the replication of his style does not feel forced, but almost natural. Maybe it is just me, but I feel that the same may have occurred for Murakami. Perhaps his stories are merely influenced by the most recent impactful book he has read? 

- Sam Soares

Strecher Article - Audree Post #5

One of the things that has fascinated me the most about Murakami's works is how he presents and deals with identity, and so when reading the Strecher article about how Murakami's use of magical realism serves as yet another tool to understand identity in his works, I was immediately intrigued. 

I found it very interesting how the article situated Murakami's writing within the historical context of a generation of Japanese people for whom identity was already something they were struggling with. Strecher says that "Murakami has shown contemporary readers their own faces in the mirror." I liked this sentence for one, because it uses a recurring Murakami symbol, namely the mirror, but also because it links Murakami's often detached narrators to the real world struggle of being confused about one's identity. The fact that the detachedness of a character in a book can actually enable people to become more cognizant of their own identities is a really interesting effect of Murakami's writing. 

Strecher also points out Murakami's use of the term "black box" to refer to the unconscious, which reminded me of the black box theory of the mind Although the idea was starting to lose steam when Murakami was writing, it was nonetheless the dominant psychological theory in the West when Murakami must have been growing up. I wonder if Murakami used this term purposefully with knowledge of the theory or if the idea of the mind being a black box was just intuitive to him and therefore decided to use that phrase accordingly. 

Another thing that struck me from the article was how Strecher describes Murakami's use of magical realism: "In Murakami's magical realist universe [...] the linguistic connections, which in real life are unknown, unconscious, or even unintelligible, become magically visible and tangible. In short, they become magically real." The idea that aspects of one's mind and identity that are unavailable to us can make themselves known through magically real elements is really interesting and rang very true for me. The Little Green Monster I find to be a really great example of this. Instead of describing whatever trauma the main character has literally and realistically, Murakami makes the narrator interact with this magical creature that stands in for what is going on in her mind. In this way the reader can interpret the story in many different ways, or they don't have to interpret it at all and simply take it as a strange story of a woman being mean to a helpless creature. The explicit unreality of the magical elements makes for much more subtle and implicit meaning. Indeed, the main characters don't often acknowledge, consciously at least, the strangeness of the magical elements. This is a hallmark of magical realism but I also interpret it as the characters simply not having full awareness of their psychological states, of their inability to see what's inside the black boxes of their minds.

Murakami's Female Protagonists - Krisha

Having read and discussed the female protagonists from the 4 short stories we read, I am legitimately surprised and delighted at how interesting they were. Having witnessed the women in other Murakami stories, I was not expecting too much which is why these stories were almost all such a fascinating read.

Almost. "Creta Kano" was a stupidly violent affair but the mythical references were too hard to resist. There are aspects of the labyrinth and the Minotaur and the Greek myth parts are fun to try to take apart. That's about it for that story though, it is just a little too violent to really enjoy the myth.

"Sleep" is by far the champion. The protagonist's descent into sleeplessness is such a fascinating journey. Watching her turn her back on a family that won't ever quite get her, watching her rediscover and devour Russian literature, all of that was really fun to take part in as the reader. You could feel the emotions of excitement and acceptance when it comes to sleeplessness. Instead of making this a story of dread or fear (until the very end but that ending is a whole other beast), "Sleep" gives a women trapped in an average life a chance to do what she wants to do and its so refreshing.

"The Ice Man" was not that interesting for my first read but that was on me as the reader. I was way too bogged down by details of the South Pole. Rereading it after class discussion helped me to better understand what it was bringing to the table. There is loss of self that comes with living your home for a partner, no matter how neat or cool the partner is, and that loss of self only gets worse when you become the outlier. What a life, trapped in the South Pole with no connections and a family to drag her down. Certainly a depressing lens to marriage and immigration, but a very powerful one.

"Little Green Monster" slaps. I know there is a lot of evidence to point to the monster being Midori's youthful/free spirited personality but man it was fun to just watch her rip the creature apart. Reading the story as Midori's inner turmoil does add evidence to the argument that Murakami writes about 70s-80s Japanese consumerism at the expense of the self. She traded her chaotic identity for a nice house, a nice kitchen, and a nice husband. 

Murakami and Magical Realism - Alanis (post 5)

After reading the work that discusses Murakami and magical realism, I was impressed to see the analysis of what they say as a “realistic narrative setting” being created, and disrupted by something “bizarre or the magical” (267). I think that in some senses, Murakami’s earlier works can be seen as magical realism when we consider the kinds of disruptions that happened in stories like Norwegian Wood or A Wild Sheep Chase. Even though the article focuses on a lot of Murakami’s works, I will only discuss those two and his later works that I don’t really think fit under magical realism. In Norwegian Wood, there is a search for self and here he actually uses names for his characters and ends the novel in a what seems like dazed or perhaps a dead state, showing how fast two consciousnesses (or worlds) come together or go apart. The same is said throughout the plot of A Wild Sheep Chase, and both of these works have some events that just can’t be explained with logical means. 

However, I feel like as Murakami evolved as a writer, he moved away from this specific genre of realism, and I think a lot of his other works have a more logical (or can be logical, or at least not magical) explanation for certain events. With the exception of Samsa in Love, where we can’t really explain how the main character became a human, stories like Tony Takitani,  Sydney Green Street and The Bakery Attack (and the second one) to me seem to be short stories where more logical things happen. Not that the events make sense to the average person, but they’re not so absurd where the only explanation is magic. The explanation could be, “Wow, these people are just weird” or “I guess some people do that.” Perhaps the article more so argues that his long stories are works of magical realism, but Murakami has written so much I think labeling him there would be inaccurate. His novels that we have read seem to be there though for sure.

Blog Post #4

 Murakami’s Sleep is a subtle portrayal of a woman reclaiming her autonomy and defying the norms constraining women and mothers. While sharing a similar overall theme and imagery to Chopin’s Awakening, I felt that the protagonist in Sleep was less self-aware of her plight and indifference towards her husband and child than Edna. With the onset of her sleeplessness, she finally begins living life for her own enjoyment, or at the very least she becomes aware of the life she’s been living and the robotic routines she has fallen into. In this sleepless world, she is able to read without being concerned with thoughts about others and she can swim as long as she pleases without restricting her leisure time. Even a pleasure as simple as chocolate is again savored. In fact, after her night paralysis, it appears that the protagonist has entered the “other” world– a world where medicine and physics do not apply and she is able to go on living in a paradise without rest. In fact, she worries that this restlessness is an abysmal, eternal death that she may be experiencing. 

Both characters’ fates are sealed for them, as marked by an inability to recognize one's self and body. In The Awakening, after storming out of church, Edna lays down on Madame Antoine’s bed and begins looking at, as if noticing her own body for the first time, her own arms. In Sleep, the protagonist looks in the mirror and barely recognizes herself in the reflection because she looks so youthful and alive despite having not rested in 17 days. They both then die in similar ways. Edna describes the ocean as a wandering abyss that invites the soul, while Sleep’s protagonist is enveloped in a dark abyss before being confronted by the two attackers. Despite their attempts to free themselves from their domestic cages, they must come to terms with the fact that they will never be able to escape and cannot go on living like that– when Edna throws her wedding ring to the ground, ironically the servant appears and tells her to put it back on, this small display of free-will is immediately shut down and she is reminded of her responsibilities. Unable to handle the notion that they no longer belong only to themselves, they enter the abyss. The contrast, however, is that Edna goes willingly, almost peacefully, while at the last moment, the woman is frightened in her car at the proximity of death.

- Sarah

Blog 4 - postmodernism

For this blog post, I wanted to discuss postmodernism and the idea of Murakami being a postmodernist writer. In many of the readings we’ve done recently, the interpretation of Murakami as a postmodernist has resonated with me. In the article we read by Dr. Mary Klages on postmodernism, she explains that postmodernism tends to reject grand narratives and instead views the world as a less cohesive place, celebrating fragmentation and lack of any inherent meaning. These themes are present in many of the works we’ve read, most notably A Wild Sheep Chase, where most of things that happen seem a bit absurd and surreal, as they define expectations and traditional narrative conventions. 

More recently, the two ‘Bakery Attack’ short stories seemed to fit this definition of postmodernism especially well. The main characters in these stories don’t act logically and their motives defy our expectations. In the first story, when the protagonists attack the bakery and the baker offers them bread for free, they refuse by suggesting that some exchange must take place. This defiance to receiving the bread for free doesn’t seem to make much sense, and it seems like Murakami wrote it this way to exaggerate and mock commodification. The attackers are offered the bread for free, but this breaks down their entire understanding and experience of exchange, in which some sort of currency is necessary to mediate exchange. Funnily enough, the form of currency they end up using is the ‘appreciation of Wagner.’ The role of Wagner in the story also has a postmodernist function in its own right. The baker is a Communist, yet he loves listening to Wagner, a known favorite of the Nazis, who are also the mortal enemy of  Communists. This is a way of poking fun at political ideologies that utilize grand narratives, as a Communist can enjoy music that is heavily associated with the Nazis. Wagner is used as a ‘floating signifier’ in this story, meaning that its referents, associations, and meanings are malleable and arbitrary, as demonstrated by its ability to be enjoyed by both Nazis and Communists, as Murakami’s story suggests. It exposes the arbitrariness of the cultural baggage that comes with different pieces of art and language more generally, which is an important theme in postmodernist theory.

- Max Dahlstrom

brittany olson blog 4

Hello!

We have read so many short stories in the last couple of weeks that a lot of them have meshed in to one weird magical realism goo in my brain if I am being honest. I agree with some of the sentiments said in class about Murakami being a better short story writer than a novelist. My favorites so far have been Sleep and The Bakery Attack (both 1&2). I really enjoyed the first short film based on the first bakery attack. I think it sat really comfortably on the line of absurdism and reality that I think the second film was missing. The Kristen Dunst one just felt off and I am not exactly sure why, maybe the dialogue felt unnatural or a lot of the fun questions about the wife that came up during the reading fell to the side, but the vibe was definitely off. Which is a shame because I enjoyed reading the second much more than the first.

The female narration in Sleep was interesting. I had to keep reminding myself that the narrator was a woman, as going into any Murakami work, I have a predetermined image of Boku. I don't think Boku is necessarily absent from this piece though. In the description of the husband, at least his outward description before we see his actions seem like almost a replica of how people perceive Boku. Murakami paints the husband as nothing special, mundane appearance, mundane job, yet everyone likes him. That is Boku to a T in my mind. Watashi is a very relatable character. I found myself identifying the escapist aspects of reading, especially going back to books as well as finding comfort in small things such as chocolate and the solace of your old beat up car. I think Watashi also resembles Boku in some respects, as she doesn't really acknowledge the weird things that happen to her or talk to anyone about the matter. If I woke up to an old man pour water all over my feet in the middle of the night, even if it is a sleep paralysis demon or a nightmare, I would definitely wake my partner up, whether it be for comfort or just to share the absurdity of it. If I were to not sleep for an extended period of time, I would definitely ask someone about it whether I was feeling any effects from it or not. But Murakami's characters don't do that, even if they are described as a normal to a fault. 

-Brittany Olson

Blog Post #4 - Cassandra Berrette

I really enjoyed reading The Awakening by Kate Chopin and “Sleep” by Murakami. Both of these pieces of writing had interesting female protagonists with a compelling narrative to match. In both of these pieces, I noticed both of the authors used the motif of water, which was pretty fascinating. 

In The Awakening, the motif of water symbolizes rebirth and liberation. Throughout the fragments of the story, Edna, the protagonist, is often described as looking towards the ocean, typically with longing. She is drawn to water because it represents liberation, specifically in death, and a rebirth away from societal expectations and repression. Edna’s connection with the water enables her to establish independence, which makes sense since water is often described as ‘uncontrollable’ and free. 

I am not sure if this is right, but, in “Sleep” by Murakami, I saw a religious interpretation of the water motif of rebirth. Often in the Christian faith, particularly in Protestantism, there are cultural customs of washing one’s feet to symbolize humility and cleansing before Jesus’s death. This custom was done to represent cleansing one’s sins and to be renewed. I was reminded of this when the man in the protagonist’s dream pours water over her feet. I thought that was pretty similar. In addition, the protagonist mentions swimming being in her past life. I thought that maybe her past was cleansed from her, similar to baptism by immersion, when she swims underwater, allowing for her new self to be revealed.

-Cassandra Berrette

Blog Post 4

 Hi all, 

I wanted to use this weeks blog post to further elaborate upon an idea brought up in class today: the faceless man. In the context of today's class, we spoke about Watashi being unable to remember the structure of her husband's face, rendering him faceless in a sense. In some additional Murakami stories I have read over the course of the semester, there also appears a faceless man. This faceless man is not explained, however, but he often appears in the other world. After today's class, I am convinced that the "faceless man" represents the constraints of Japanese society. In both The Wind Up-Bird Chronicle and After Dark, the faceless man appears in the other world as an object of fear and apprehension. In both of these contexts, a character is transported unwillingly to the other world and is seemingly kept hostage there by the faceless man, or by his will.

This brings me to Sleep, in which I believe Watashi being unable to recall her husband's face becomes a trope that Murakami later expands in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and After Dark. Chronologically, Sleep comes before either of the novels, and it therefore makes sense that he would expand upon the faceless idea afterwards. I believe that Murakami uses the often suit-clad, faceless man as a representation of the typical salary man, an individual that often times represents elements of Japanese society that Murakami finds particular issue with. A great example of this is the inherently misogynistic culture that seems to confine women to the role of housekeeper. This idea is supported by the fact that in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, the roles are reversed, and the main character ends up as a "stay-at home husband," and it is him that must encounter the faceless man. The same could be said about After Dark, in which a character named Eri Asai is confined to the other world by a faceless man after having fallen into an unending sleep that seems to have been brought upon her by the pressures of her family, her role, and her identity as a woman. I believe that Murakami chooses to leave his other worldly antagonists faceless to convey the idea that this antagonist could be anyone and is everywhere in Japan. 

- Sam Soares

Blog 4 Yennie

 Over the past few weeks, we have read a number of excerpts from various novels. I am a big fan of short stories as a form of media; when I was writing my college essays, I remember struggling to fit my story within the word count, and how I had to narrow down what I wanted to write about to just a few points — the most important points. I’ve enjoyed being able to read many different short stories and excerpts because it reminds me that sometimes we don’t need a long, dragged out explanation for things (although, I do love regular books!) and we can gain an understanding of the author from just a few pages. 

I think in Murakami’s novels, we see into the inner workings of his brain and how he plays with the line between fantasy and reality. Analysis of his literary choices and how he chooses to unveil his storyline can allow readers to delve into what it means to write as Murakami. 

However, in his shorter stories, we can see a more expedited version of Murakami, the SparkNotes version if you will. The flowery descriptions seem more important and relevant, the wacky and peculiar mannerisms and habits of the characters seem all the more amplified. 

For example, we see in Samsa in Love Murakami’s juxtaposition between his wholesome and pure descriptions of love between two people and his use of blunt and disturbing imagery to describe things that others might shy away from. I particularly enjoy how “light” the story feels. One might choose to dive deeper into the intentions behind each word, but others might choose to take it at face value. Those who know Murakami’s work and life might choose to seek out parallels between this story and his other works. Murakami is truly a “find-your-own-adventure” type of artist. 

The Big Sleep

Rereading "Barn Burning," I've realized how much my first impressions of Murakami have changed. My freshman year writing class professor described the story as a "keyhole," once you interpret the barn=girl and burning=murder, and you get the "ah ha" moment, the story makes sense. A couple of years later I found a paper copy of The Elephant Vanishes at a used book store, only 12 bucks. I reread "Barn Burning," and thought about the keyhole theory. I chose one of the short stories at random and started reading with the goal of finding "the key." I couldn't figure anything out. No keys found but I really enjoyed them anyway. Finally, after joining this class I'm beginning to realize, there is no single "key." Or lock. Or door for that matter. The mundane aspects of reality, making spaghetti, cleaning ears, putting on a record, might mean magnitudes of reality more in a Murakami novel. And I stress the might. Just as easily, a mysterious sheep with a red star on its back could be a key to the Boss or colonialism or whatever else people can argue, or maybe it's just a sheep in the mountains. Some mysteries are not meant to be solved so easily (or at all). After taking this class, it's clear that there are a multitude of influences, framing, characters, and themes that Murakami has referenced or just came up with himself.  

I was looking through the Hard-Boiled Glossary and saw "Big sleep, The: Death (coined by Chandler)." I wonder if Murakami knew this and became inspired, consciously or unconsciously, and wrote "Sleep." The protag, similar to Chopin's Mrs. Pontellier, has grown sick of her mundane family life and longs for independence. They teeter on the edge of sleep and wakefulness as the tension grows until by the end they're...dead? Well, not explicitly but this is how I interpret the endings. Technically, after a long wakeful night, Mrs. Pontellier goes for a swim until the brink of exhaustion, far from shore, as she longs for her lover whom she cannot be with. The End. Her story is over and she's not dead but how can she not be? In "Sleep" the protag even contemplates what happens after death and admits there is no way to know. She suspects that because she no longer sleeps she's using up her life force in a way. Perhaps the ending represents her early death, or, her big sleep. 

--Viv Johnson

Blog Post #3 & 4 - Audree

Realized I didn't upload my third blog post about the Norwegian Wood movie, so here it is!:

Overall, I enjoyed the film. I thought that the atmosphere was fitting for the novel. There was definitely a mood of melancholy to it, a slowness and that made everything feel like a memory. And although the "frame" narrative aspect of the book was lost in the film, the fact that it has this mood does somewhat help. Some of the scenes, especially the one where Naoko and Watanabe sleep together, were so much more uncomfortable to watch than to read. I also felt like that scene happened much earlier in the film than the book, but I understand that it has to do with timing and needing to fit key sequences into a 2 hour movie. Kizuki's suicide was also quite difficult to watch. The dinner between Watanabe, Hatsumi and Nagasawa was really tense and translated very well onto screen. 

It was a shame that Stormtrooper had such little relevance in the movie, as it would have definitely added some much needed comedic relief. I also didn't like Midori as much in this movie as I did when reading the book. In the book she seemed much more alive, she was funnier and more jovial. In the film she seemed a bit aloof and it really felt like the romance between her and Watanabe was more forced and explicit than in the book when it seemed like a much more normal relationship with certain romantic suggestions and undertones. 

I don't know if it's possible to fully include all the detail from a Murakami book into film, and while I did enjoy the movie, having read the book I have to say that a lot is lost, and it's a shame. However, I do feel like the dynamics between the characters are well portrayed, and even if I hadn't read the book I think I would still be able to understand the importance of each character to the narrative. Emotionally speaking, the movie hit a similar note for me as the book did. 

Blog #4: The self in Murakami 

After reading Yoshio Iwamoto's "A Voice from Postmodern Japan: Haruki Murakami," many aspects of Murakami's writing that we have been talking about in class were crystalized to me, specifically the way that he approaches the self. Indeed, we have been talking all semester about this duality that exists in Murakami. How there are always two worlds, often one real and one imaginary one, that seem to parallel one another. Since A Wild Sheep Chase we have spoken about how characters always either imagine alternate versions of themselves, have alternate versions of themselves or contemplate their past selves as different people, and in the readings we have done in the past couple of weeks I couldn't help but identify this theme. In Sleep, the narrator thinks about her past self, about how she used to read so many books and how she used to be so consumed by them, and almost seems divorced from that past version of herself. When she starts not sleeping she seems to be able to separate her mind from her body. The person who does chores is different from the mind who reads Anna Karenina and goes on drives in the middle of the night. In The Second Bakery Attack, the main character has this past version of himself that his wife is unaware of, and the wife herself seems to have an unknown past as well. In the excerpt from Sputnik Sweetheart the main character literally sees a different version of herself in her own apartment, and in The 1963/1982 Girl from Ipanema, the narrator contemplates a different version of himself that exists in "a far off world." The theme seems very prevalent to me, perhaps because we speak about it in class and it is a theme that is very intriguing to me personally. I wonder, however, whether Murakami wrote these stories knowing that this is a theme he wanted to broach, or if it just ended up naturally recurring in his writing. 

Blog post #4

I really enjoyed Sensei’s Testament in Kokoro, so I went ahead and read the rest of the novel. I remember it being suggested in class that K might parallel Naoko with Toru as Sensei, becoming isolated from society over grief at the other’s suicide, but I wonder if Sensei might be more like Naoko with K as Kizuki and the narrator/addressee of the letter as Toru. K and Kizuki’s suicides isolate Sensei and Naoko from society, leave them with a sense of guilt that overshadows their romantic relationships (Sensei's sense of responsibility for K's death and Naoko's breakdown when she has sex with Watanabe), and ultimately contribute to them committing suicide themselves. Both characters are blocked from progressing into the future: Watanabe talks about the idea of Naoko going back and forth between 18 and 19 forever, while Sensei is shaken by the end of the Meiji era and decides to die alongside it. Toru and the narrator of Kokoro struggle with an obsession over someone with whom they can never fully connect or understand and can do nothing to save. 

Additionally, the relationship between the narrator of Kokoro and Sensei reminded me of some of the relationships in Murakami in which the Boku character is both attractive to others yet somehow isolated from society. I was moved by what I saw as Kokoro’s narrator’s frustration that someone has to be perceived as conventionally useful to society to deserve respect, and I thought that the reason he eventually earns Sensei’s trust is because he has no desire to “use” him for anything. While I don’t see their particular dynamic totally reflected in any of the other stories we've read, I wonder if this kind of spontaneous, inexplicable fixation could be found in Murakami’s works. 

-Kate Waldron

The World Against Women in "Sleep"

 I quite liked "Sleep", initially because it was told from the perspective of a woman, and then because of the philosophical and dark turns it takes throughout the story. From the beginning, she tells the reader that she has gone without sleep for 17 days, and then relates the story of the first time she went without sleep, seemingly diverging from the main story. But at the end, she tells the reader about a boyfriend she had around the same time, who she refused, but can't seem to remember the rest of the story, underscoring the memory with implications of sexual assault that may have led to her initial insomnia. Then also, as the story goes on, her unhappiness in her marriage becomes clearer. Her husband pays little attention to her, not giving her what she needs in life, and she realizes that one day her son will do the same, continuing a cycle of patriarchy that she found herself stuck in the past few years. I think her thoughts on death, that it could either be eternal rest of eternal wakefulness were interesting, relate to this cycle, as she comes to realize that even if she is at rest (ignorant of her own unhappiness and her family's treatment) or awake (aware of it), she cannot escape. Even if she finds reprieve in doing her own thing while everyone is sleeping, she must return to the monotony of her normal life. When she finds herself stuck in the car, it feels like she really realizes how helpless and stuck she is, that even if she tries to assume power and independence as a woman by reading and eating chocolate, she can't get out of the "little box". Interestingly, the policeman tells her that three young men killed a man and raped a woman, and when she sets out at night, she tries to look like a man ("I look like a boy. Good"), trying to assume the fate of the man rather than the woman, as though rape were a worse fate than death. From someone who seems to have experienced sexual assault before, her actions seem especially resonant, as she would rather die than be left to deal with the pain of her life. Also after reading The Awakening, which involves Mrs. Pontellier realizing a same sense of isolation and misery within her marriage which leads to her suicide, these works seem to hold heavy critiques of the effects of misogyny and violence on women. The events themselves are not obvious, such as her husband not defending her against her mother or Mr. Pontellier's sexist remarks at the dinner table, but they take a toll on the women experiencing them, as they realize there is not a place in the world where they can escape the oppression that permeates their daily lives. 

- Alice Liao

Blog Post 4 - the Case of Gregor Samsa + Some Comments on Bakery Attack

    Our last class regarding the comparison of Metamorphosis and Samsa in Love really hit me and made me realize how wide of an audience Murakami reaches. For any normal person in want of a quick, wonderful but witty story, Murakami is perfect. This was me when I first read Samsa in Love. I could laugh at the silliness of it all, be sucked in by the well written descriptions of the eating of the food or the awkwardness of his body, and finally find something beautiful in the description of the odd, innocent love between two odd people. It is also enjoyable for fans of Murakami specifically through the familiar Murakamisms. For example, one being the pit of hunger and engorgement similar to the bakery attacks. Another -ism was an emphasis on fingers and specific unique physical features like the hunchback on the girl. Finally, people in love with the classics can enjoy Murakami from the connections he makes and information he draws from older writers. I mean, Samsa in Love itself is a sequel to metamorphosis with clear repetition to the short story. And this does not even include the other stories or books we have read where we could draw a connection. 

    The simplicity of a Murakami book in my opinion, is what allows it to shine. By paralleling the ordinary, every person can put their own spin on it. That is why we were able to get short films like the two bakery attacks, which I thought were great! The first one was definitely more enjoyable and I felt resembled Murakami's energy greatly. The second however, no matter how cringey it was at times, was still a decent representation in my opinion. Truly the only negative thing which we discussed in class was how focused the woman was on their relationship and how awkward Boku seemed. Yes, I know Boku is supposed to be awkward or aloof but he's not silly and foolish like he is portrayed in the movie which did irritate me. Still, they  kept to the script wonderfully and had some great scenes.

-Anna Marinescu

Blog Post 4 - Alex DeRosa

 I really enjoyed some of the stories we've read over the past couple of weeks. Specifically, I liked the Bakery Attack series, along with Barn Burning and Cathedral. It was cool to see two very different film adaptations of the Bakery Attack stories. They took vastly different approaches to the material, and I think the first one was more effective than the second. The second felt a little clunkier and cornier, versus the first which was strange, surreal, and artistic. Barn Burning and Cathedral were cool to read as a pair. The parallels between the two were clear as day, and I wasn't sure which I liked more. Overall, it's been nice to see such a range of stories in the content we're reading. There's stylistic similarities between a lot of them, but the content itself covers a real range of topics. 

Blog Post #4

 I think reading short stories over the past couple of days has given me a greater appreciation for Murakami's short stories. I used to think that Murakami should've stuck to writing longer novels such that they would have more substance, but I'm starting to think that he has great skill in creating scenarios or short segments. In the "First Bakery Attack," while not the most riveting or action packed story, the emotions and tension was clearly defined. In "Barn Burning," the mystery and confusion were not convoluted and were actually quite easy to understand. For "Samsa in Love," it is clear that the inspiration of the story is from Kafka's "Metamorphosis" but it puts an interesting spin on the relationship between the changed characters (bug vs man).

In reading some of Murakami's longer stories but in short chapters, I got a similar sense of for his writing. "Sputnik Sweetheart," the excerpts from "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," and the previous stories we've read in the semester, all of these kept me super captivated during the readings, so well to the point after the semester is over and I plan on commuting to work, I'll have my mini reading list to read the stories in full. I'm thinking that I'll try to read Murakami's works in order as I had not know that there was a right way to read the novels.

Alexander Wen