Abandoning the Library: Murakami's Parental Figures & Grief

I quite loved The Strange Library—it might even be my favorite thing we've read so far in class—and from the first mention of her, I found myself very intrigued by the main character's mother as a source of wisdom and of stability. I've been thinking a lot about manifestations of grief and loss in Murakami—the wife's slip (or lack thereof) in A Wild Sheep Chase, the clothes and records in "Tony Takitani," and now the leather shoes in The Strange Library—and most of all, what kept coming back to me was "Abandoning a Cat." (I don't want to speculate extensively about his grief over his actual father or about his experience, so I'll use "Abandoning a Cat" as evidence but avoid making any broader assumptions than what is provided in the nonfiction piece.)

Murakami's relationship with his father is something I thought about a lot after because the image of the two of them as mirror images that could never quite fully reconcile ("We were two of a kind. For better or for worse.") was present in "Tony Takitani" as well. In this novella, however, I was struck by this line in particular that the old man says to the boy after he says he can't stay to read because he has to make it home for dinner: "'When I was your age I felt fortunate just to have the chance to read. And here you are whining about the time and being late for dinner. What nerve!'" This immediately brought to mind the rift between Murakami and his own father, "I’m the type who eagerly pursues things I’m interested in but can’t be bothered with anything else...This disappointed my father, who I’m sure compared me to himself at the same age. You were born in this peaceful time, he must have thought. You can study as much as you like, with nothing to get in the way. So why can’t you make more of an effort? I think he wanted me to follow the path he hadn’t been able to take because of the war."

I found this similarity interesting, paired with the mother's death in The Strange Library and the description in "Abandoning a Cat" of their constantly strained relationship about which he says that, "If at a certain point I’d attempted to rebuild our relationship, things might have gone in another direction, but I was too focussed on what I wanted to do to make the effort." I believe that the experience of the young boy in The Strange Library might be 1) a nightmare (similar to the dreams he has in "Abandoning a Cat,"I still have nightmares in which I have to take a test at school and can’t answer a single question. Time ticks away as I do nothing, though I’m well aware that failing the test will have major consequences—that sort of dream. I usually wake up in a cold sweat.") and 1) a manifestation of his (possible) regret over not having mended the relationship sooner. 

I think the library works very well as a sort of obscured, liminal place (especially in relation to dreams after reading The City and Its Uncertain Walls) as well as a metaphorical space. My theory here is that this represents a world in which he does try to mend the relationship by following orders (since the boy's nature is inherently submissive and Murakami makes it clear that in real life he was "too focused" doing what he wanted to obey his father's wishes). The old man is an augmented manifestation of the expectations his father has for him (NOT the father himself, since I don't think Murakami thinks his father will eat his brain, but rather that his guilt over the expectation might swallow him whole), and the labyrinth of the library could be . I find the constant presence of the mother's worry and the lessons she has passed down very similar to Murakami's father, though the former is taken seriously and the latter was discarded. The mother figure would then represent the truth of what occurred (the state of consciousness after the dream): he, only briefly, was able to achieve reconciliation with his father before he passes when he "barely recognizes him," just like the boy in the novella when his mother seems to be shrouded in shadows. 

This novella still ends vaguely the way "Abandoning a Cat" does and outlines to me the crushing inevitability of grief and guilt even as the feelings are deferred and postponed: "My carelessness had ruined everything—even my pet starling had been sacrificed. I had lost my good shoes, and I would never see my mother again." Overall, I think this is a wonderful rich story and there's much more to say about it such as with the sheep man and what the "girl-who-was-a-starling" represents, and I'm very excited to talk about it in class!

—Alana