**spoiler alert** 1Q84 is Haruki Murakami's unexpected take on the mystery thriller. Given the novel's marketing, you might expect strong elements of **spoiler alert** 1Q84 is Haruki Murakami's unexpected take on the mystery thriller. Given the novel's marketing, you might expect strong elements of science fiction or a setting of alternative history; instead, brutality and trauma take center stage in a parallel universe where the author's defining traits of magical realism enforce the unlikely reconnection of should-be lovers.
The multiverse is the logical space of possibilities. If you ask yourself what might have been you construct in your mind a possible world that may differ from the actual world in infinitely many respects. If you realize what could be – for instance, when you wonder what candidate might win an ongoing election – you try to determine what possible scenario will turn out to be the given reality. Regret might present itself as the yearslong desire for a different world.
It's not immediately obvious – in fact, the fact takes roughly 1,200 pages to emerge – but for Aomame and Tengo 1Q84 will turn out to be the alternative they longed for ever since she briefly held his hands after he protected her against the wrath of their fellow students. Back when they were teenagers or younger they never found the courage to openly talk to each other and suddenly she left school. They are now in their 30s, but they never stopped thinking about the brief moment that held the unrealized potential to change everything. Naturally, their ideas of each other cannot accord with with the real person. What matters, though, is trans-world identity – the fact that this person is Tengo/Aomame. The question of what they are like is not yet of importance.
The possible worlds we construe would more appropriately called possible scenarios. Of course, even world-famous writers when writing the most extensive works can only describe (let alone keep in your mind) segments of what would be the entire universe. Still, 1Q84 goes way beyond what Tengo and Aomame anticipated. It is only by much detail of the world's past and by the entanglement of our protagonists in the affairs of a powerful religious organization that they paths would cross again.
Some decades before the main events of the novel, an idealistic professor left the university to form a farming commune that was able to inspire many members and that only after a few years was fully self-sufficient. However, more radical minds within the organization dreamed of revolution. There was a bloody clash with the police and as a reaction the armed forced of the law were equipped with new weapons. Different guns, that is what Aomame coincidentally notices, and she never heard of the violent confrontation – clues that the events never occurred in the 1984 she left when (at the very beginning of the story) she climbed down an escape stairway on the highway.
For the rest of the story, it's not the political Akebono but it's sister organization, Sakigake, that will determine the course of events. For reasons connected with the more fantastical aspects of the narrative, the group embraced religion as its raison d'être. But given the considerable financial means at their disposal, there is reason to believe that their methods aren't as unobjectionable as their public image suggests. More concerning are the rumors of the hideous acts of violence against young girls committed by their Leader.
Aomame and Tengo's connection to Sakigake is established in the early chapters. For me it was highly captivating to learn more and more about the scenario already in place. We discover that Aomame is a righteous assassin that kills abusive men by order of a powerful dowager. Her newest assignment is to take care of Leader. The themes of sexual violence and violence against women are very explicitly addressed and make this a much darker story than what you might expect from Murakami.
Tengo is an eloquent writer with a day job as math tutor at a cram school. A friend of his is an editor who hires him to rewrite an extraordinary novella whose powerful story suffers from subpar writing. More than the content of the novella itself – it's only in the middle of Part II that it's summarized to some extent – it's the originator of the story, the 17-year-old high-school student Eriko Fukada (called Fuka-Eri) that will fascinate the reader. She appears very timid and fragile, yet somehow fully in control of the turn of events. She surely knows things, though it's difficult to fathom the exact nature of her knowledge.
It's primarily through Fuka-Eri that we learn about the more out-there aspects of the parallel universe. In her novel she talks about the little people and of people born within the so-called air chrysalis (the title of her novella). In true Murakami-fashion, the boundaries between the events of the novella in the novel and the story of the novel become more and more blurred.
In a key moment, Leader tells Aomame that by raping his daughter he became an agent of the Little People, and that his daughter, Fuka-Eri, became their opponent. Apparently, her novella put limits to their actions. Perhaps what this means is that the more detail you put to the description of your possible worlds, the smaller the leeway that remains. In any event, the mysteries are never fully resolved.
The sexual dimension is an integral part of the story. Fuka-Eri was the victim of the most reprehensible of crimes and it's clear that she strongly suffers from the emotional and psychological repercussions. As children Tengo and Aomame intensely and lastingly bonded over similiar experiences, but the desire for each in later years appears primarily sexual in nature. In a very uncomfortable scene Tengo sleeps with Fuka-Eri, and I wondered whether it's a coincidence that in their fantasy world he sleeps with a minor when the mental object of his sexual desire in some sense never grew up. Does this represent a Whaf if... scenario in which they shared their first sexual experiences with each other?
The romance completely comes down to the fact that they kept each other firmly in their minds. It's a powerful thought and it was heart-warming when they finally meet again. But by the end you might feel that the finally should be italicized. In fact, especially in the last act there are many detours on the way to the inevitable conclusion. For me that was especially true for the Aomame chapters. After she killed Leader she spends most of her time actively waiting in her hideout. Her individual ark is basically over at this point, but there are still hundreds of pages to go.
However, I would still argue that there were some minor stories that for me were worthwhile reads for their own sake. The subplot where Tengo spends time and reconnects with his dying father is a sideshow for sure, but it made for a relaxing seaside escape with emotional moments that have some emotional impact on his character.
The third part even introduces chapters for a third character that previously made an appearance in the narrative. At first I wasn't particularly invested in Ushikawa's investigations, since the reader already knows whatever he may find out. But he turns out to be an eccentric detective figure, certainly not unlike the famous Hercule Poirot (who is often similarly described as having an egg-shaped head, if I recall correctly). His thorough investigation and inspired hypothesizing throw new light on our two lovebirds and his reflections are captivating and occasionally funny to read.
IQ84 has often been criticized for clumsy writing, and to some extent I share the sentiments. An initially intriguing quote might loose its depth the more often it's repeated (“If you can't understand it without an explanation, you can't understand it with an explanation”). There are times when you read repeated passages the editor surely should have straightened out. For instance, during Tengo's stay at the sanatorium it's said more than once that the nurses grew more fond of him when he returned more often and more than once we read that Tengo is reading to his father from the book he is currently reading himself. It was probably meant to be funny, but eventually I grew annoyed by the countless times we hear about Aomame's flat chest.
But for the most part, IQ84 is a surprisingly well-rounded thriller that is rich in emotional depth and that is capable to surprise the reader for the whole of its extensive lengths.
**spoiler alert** Sputnik Sweetheart is among the darkest novels of the Japanese master of cozy literature. His familiar elements of magical realism a**spoiler alert** Sputnik Sweetheart is among the darkest novels of the Japanese master of cozy literature. His familiar elements of magical realism are used as euphemisms for events that left characters marked and traumatized for life. You won't notice at first, though, and for the most part it's still a joy to immerse yourself in the mystery at the center of the story.
The main subject is Sumire, an aspiring writer who lives from the money her father is paying her as fellowship until she is 28 years of age. Even though her creative output is quite impressive (at least quantitatively), she worries that her writing lacks that certain spark. Her only friend, the novel's narrator and protagonist (only referred to as "K"), suggests that maybe she lacks the experience to lend her stories the necessary authenticity. Her life changes when she meets the 17 years older Miu, a business woman of Korean descent. She is employed by her and together they travel to Europe for what ends up to be a trip of weeks. When the narrator is called by Miu, something must have happened to Sumire.
The plot revolves around love and sexuality. Sumire openly admits to K that she was never physically attracted to anyone. There are strong indications that this changes with Miu. The older woman must have sensed her sentiments, as she confides to her that she wasn't able to feel sexual pleasure ever since something happened to her 14 years ago (she describes it as being only "half" of what she was). After his arrival in Greece, Miu relates to K the course of the night that lead to Sumire's disappearance. The scene is among the novel's most powerful in its emotional intensity and enticing prose.
One night Miu woke up and found Sumire in her room. The girl was drenched in sweat, frozen stiff, and mentally absent. Her teeth are wedged in a towel. It's only very slowly that she becomes conscious of her surroundings again. The tender description of the moments that ensue reveals sensitivity for the qualities of the act that go beyond physical pleasure. It's saddening how Mia is bodily or mentally incapable to respond in the loving ways her conscious will intends. It's this emotional turmoil and crushing disillusionment from which she tries to escape.
Maybe it's part of our Western understanding that we expect Far-Eastern wisdom to be clad in flowery language. Suitably, crucial plot points are symbolized by tangible allegorisms. For one thing, there is the Russian satellite that may illustrate the outcast that travels restlessly and observes the world from afar. K uses an euphemistic metaphor to explain Sumire's artistic shortcomings. According to his exposition, there is the old Chinese belief that spirits inhabit town gates. They carried the bones of fallen soldiers to the gates. However, this wouldn't be enough, something vibrant with life is also necessary. This they found in the blood of dogs they sacrificed. Similarly, the texts that Sumire compiles from her surroundings need a pulse that is still beating. This may be her love for Miu.
Maybe the most meaningful symbolism is found in the Ferris wheel episode at the heart of Miu's past. It stands to reason that it's a circumlocution of a violent sexual encounter with a man that invaded her home during her stay in Switzerland. From what she says it seems as if she was nice to him before he became a stalker. What we know for sure is that whatever happened, it traumatized her deeply. Her hair immediately turned white, she stopped playing the piano, and she wasn't capable of sexual pleasures anymore. Instead, she followed the common career path and absorbed the business of her father. In short, she "abandoned everything", as she put it.
Of course, the theme of following your dreams rather than adhering to conformist society's ideas is one important motif of the story. Miu has her love for music and Sumire has her passion for literature. When Sumire takes on the job at Miu's business, her ways change - she wears nicer clothes, she moves into a new apartment, she stops smoking - and she becomes more what her social environment would consider to be a respectable human being. Although it's a life without passion, Miu too seems to value the security the found. Finally, K is portrayed as living an orderly life after he duly finished his studies and became a teacher. Though it may be argued that all their lives are lacking the certain spark, too.
It's only in chapter 5 that the narrator begins to talk about himself (it's Sumire's story after all). I'm sure many grown-up boys will deeply sympathize with him. Not only is he a prime example of being stuck in the friend-zone for years, he has the idea that he understands Sumire as no one else does. He's interesting for being so different to Murakami's usual protagonists. Rereading the book after over ten years, his more conservative approach resonated with me much more than it used to. As did the melancholic tone with which he narrates the events.
There are some things whose significance I wasn't able to decipher. For instance, one of the two crucial documents that K finds on Sumire's computer retells a dream she had about her mother. Towards the end of the book, there is much talk about there being different worlds and K hypothesizes that this may explain why there is absolutely no trace left of his friend. There is also the part with the son of K's mistress. I have to admit, I don't see how these fit into the bigger scheme of things. But it's precisely this ambiguity and interpretative openness that renders Sputnik Sweetheart so intriguing.
It's because of Murakami's unrivaled talent for character portrayal and because of the genuinely touching themes that Sputnik Sweetheart is another masterwork of modern literature. It shows how surrealism and ambiguity can be deployed for adding a level of emotional significance to an already captivating mystery.
I read about six or seven of Haruki Murakami's books, but this might very well be my favorite. This is a book about coping with trauma, responsibilityI read about six or seven of Haruki Murakami's books, but this might very well be my favorite. This is a book about coping with trauma, responsibility, and how trauma may lead to people to do regrettable things to protect themselves. So it's certainly among Murakami's darker themed books. However, like all of Murakami's books, it's also soothing with a lot of warmth and humor.
You know how often publishers promote their books by claiming that their characters really stay with you? This might be true with this book. The teenage boy who for a long time tried to get stronger to cope with the world when he is finally leaving home at his 15th birth, supported only by his imaginary friend; the "idiot" who had a strange accident in the past and is now a tabula rasa, unable to understand any complex concepts, supported only by "the governor", but who is able to speak with cats and who starts an important journey whose meaning he is unable to grasp; the beautiful woman who lost her husband many decades ago and for whom since then time has lost its meaning; the young man who was abused by his father and supported only by his grandfather, who went astray stealing motorcycles and stuff, got kicked out of the military and who is now driving a truck (and who has a particularly interesting character development); the boy who works as a receptionist of a library, and who biology has left with a conundrum of who he is, unable to fit in the simple patterns of common sense. It's a sad book that brings together characters who all, in their own ways and for their own reasons, feel a certain "emptiness".
The book is also about the worlds we create and preserve in imagination and memory. There is a thick layer of melancholic fantasy and parallels to Greek tragedy - with the Oedipus-curse causing and hovering over Kafka's journey - from which many of its symbols and allegories are drawn and by which the fate of the different characters are entangled. Well, I also felt that it gives the book a peculiarly poetic vibe, while still being very easily accessible. In fact, reading Murakami reminds me of the simple joy you felt when reading age-appropriate books as a young lad.