Murakami and His Women

I have often contemplated the way in which Murakami writes about his women. There are often some interesting descriptions of women that are typically  related to sexuality, that can be off-putting and sometimes strange. However, I never detected any misogyny in his work. I think there are some gratuitous passages for but truly nothing overtly degrading. This may be a very divisive take, but I feel like in some ways, Murakami writes women with more agency, grace, and respect than most other writers. He affords his female characters the privilege that most male characters are afforded. His male characters, usually, are quite bland before the introduction of a female counterpart, counterparts who are used for the transformation of the male leads; I look to to the arguments conveyed by Meiko Kawakami (a brilliant author I might add!) in her interview with Murakami: “A Feminist Critique of Murakami Novels, With Murakami himself”. 

For me though, what I find refreshing about lots of Murakami women, is the agency, specifically sexual agency they are granted. In the short story: “Drive My Car”, the wife of the protagonist has  an extra-marital relationship, and never does the text admonish or criticize her. She is never the subject of shame by her husband, her lover, or the text as a whole. It hurts the protagonist, and yet, she is not the subject of vitriol. It feels perfectly natural that his wife could have taken a lover – it is upsetting but not villainized. In A Wild Sheep Chase, Boku’s girlfriend is a sex worker, and yet, he nor the plot ever comments or criticizes this work, which felt extremely new. Boku engages in a real relationship with her, accepts her work, and even suggests she show her ears to enjoy herself more (a suggestion that she does not like).

Stories from Men Without Women also come to mind, primarily “Kino” and “Scheherazade”. So many instances of flawed women that are never admonished for their sexualities and choices. They simply exist as ambiguous characters that feel both real and vivid. “Tony Takitani”, is another story that feels as though women can exist unchained from societal expectations, where Tony’s wife is not criticized for her excessive shopping, but rather, encouraged to return the clothes out of genuine concern for her wellbeing. “A Perfect Day for Kangaroos” offers a similar, sympathetic portrayal of women, where his girlfriend is not ridiculed for her somewhat surprising and seemingly incomprehensible attitude towards the growing baby kangaroo. We as the audience are expected to understand there is more to her than we are able to deduce, and so in the short duration of the story, once again, female characters are afforded grace despite not knowing why. 

There are other novels that come to mind when I think of great female characters, Aomame of IQ84 being one of my favorites. It is interesting to analyze female characters specifically, and recently, the short stories we have been reading really made me think about women and their roles in Murakami stories. In the past I definitely had the strong inclination to deem Murakami’s work as a misunderstanding of women. More recently, however, I feel like my perspective has shifted a bit, even while reading the somewhat strange descriptions and scenes in Norwegian Wood regarding Naoko. Most of the time, I feel as though these descriptions don’t feel useless or baseless. While I find them to be uncomfortable, I  feel they are quite compelling. Midori, in all of her odd requests and quirks, I cannot help but love. I love the odd and eccentric women he writes about. I find them to be bold and intrusive in the best ways. I would love to hear everyone’s thoughts on this as I know it can be a very complex topic. Thanks.

- Isabella

Diving Into Murakami's Projection Into Toru and The Theme of Confronting Death

 Norwegian Wood is a bit of a different read from other Murakami novels in the sense that it is a slice of life love story. There are no magical dark forces or surreal events happening, and I think this can be credited for the success of the novel. Many young readers will read Norwegian Wood and feel understood.

Now, I think it is undeniable that Murakami projects himself into the personality of Toru. The story sometimes take place in locations where Murakami lived in Tokyo, and the way Murakami and Toru talk is even similar (just from looking at Murakami interviews). I am also interested in the drastic difference between Naoko and Midori. Naoko seems sentimental and emotional, while Midori is the opposite; she is vibrant and bubbly. If Naoko is someone who lives in the past, understandably so following Kizuki’s sudden death, then Midori is the symbol of living in the present. I think it is really interesting how Murakami incorporated Midori into the story as a total contrast to the heroine.

A theme of this novel that I think is underexplored is confronting death. Toru and Naoko both witnessed someone close to them die, and it changed them and shaped the narrative. Toru said, "The night Kizuki died, however, I lost the ability to see death (and life) in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being; it had always been here, and no struggle would permit me to forget that. When it took the 17-year-old Kizuki that night in May, death took me as well." This isn’t something someone as young as Toru would usually say. Fundamentally, after realizing the closeness of death, he is changed along with Naoko. I wonder if something similar had happened to HM when he was young.

-Allen

Murakami + Parallel Worlds - Sloane

 Hi everyone,

As I've been getting through Norwegian Wood, certain aspects of the story have made me contemplate a lot about how Murakami tends to incorporate aspects of parallel worlds into his writing. Or maybe parallel existences is a better term?

I first got started thinking about this when I read about how Naoko and Toru spontaneously meet at the train station and go on their walk around Tokyo. Toru emphasizes that Naoko walks ahead and he trails behind in her wake. After they stop into the noodle shop, we really begin to feel a disconnect between the two of them. On page 21, the back-and-forth goes something like this:

N: "Does this make any sense to you?"

T: "Everybody feels like that to some extent. They're trying to express themselves and it bothers them when they can't get it right."

Naoko looked disappointed with my answer.

N: No, that's not it either.

Toru and Naoko are inhabiting the same space after having spent the whole afternoon together, but even after talking it seems they are not much closer than before. This is why I call their existences parallel: they are side by side without truly interacting on a level at which they can understand one another. Even when they sleep together (and are as physically "close" as you can possibly get), immediately afterward, Toru asks her why she never slept with Kizuki. This is the completely wrong thing to say, and Naoko begins to cry. Even after all the time they spent together, Toru doesn't understand Naoko's fears and thoughts. After this, we see Naoko go off to Ami Hostel, a physical manifestation of the diverging paths inside of them.

We've seen this pattern outside Norwegian Wood as well. In "Tony Takitani," Tony and his father consider themselves too different from one another to spend much time together, though their paths do still cross from time to time in Tony's childhood and after Tony's marriage. "Drive My Car's" Kafuku enjoys a happy marriage with his wife but realizes there are aspects of her life she won't share with him (her affairs). Even Murakami's own memoir about his father shares this theme -- Murakami details how he had many memories of his father, but they were mostly neutral. Over time they drifted apart as Murakami didn't prioritize studying as much as his father wanted him to, but in the end they came to an understanding of sorts, even if it was awkward. I wonder if the feeling associated with that memory of disconnect is what inspires this repeating theme in his work, if at least on a subconscious level.

To end on, I'm wondering if the well Naoko mentions at the beginning of the story could have something to do with this. She specifically warns against falling down the well, leading Toru to imagine his plight if he did -- slowly starving to death in the dark as he looked up at the brightness of the well opening, knowing nobody would come to rescue him. In this way, could getting trapped in the well be seen as something of a parallel existence itself? At the bottom, you can see a glimpse of the world above you, but can only access it if someone comes to help you back up into it. Yet nobody wants to stray off the beaten path for fear of falling in themselves. Maybe the well is a metaphor for the world of our private inner turmoil, which others oftentimes don't want to pry into too much for fear of getting in too deep (AKA falling into the well).

Toru and Naoko’s Loss: Who am “I” without you?

 In Precarious Life, Judith Butler argues that when we lose someone, we lose more than that person—in addition to losing the other, we lose the part of ourself reflected in the other, and the relational bond between oneself and the other. The bond that is lost is a bond constitutive of oneself, so when you lose another, you lose part of yourself, too. When Toru and Naoko’s relationships with Kizuki each end, Toru and Naoko both lose the part of themselves that existed only in relation to Kizuki—no longer are they the same people. Reflecting on the past, Toru describes this sentiment: “The night Kizuki died, however, I lost the ability to see death (and life) in such simple terms. Death was not the opposite of life. It was already here, within my being…” (25). Part of Kizuki is dead, but he must go on living. He does not know who he is, without Kizuki; he does not know if there is an “I” that exists within him without the other who made him who he was. Explaining her relationship with Kizuki to Toru, Naoko says, “Our boy-girl relationship was really unusual, too. It was as if we were physically joined somewhere” (127). Naoko and Kizuki seem like they were even more tightly bound together than Toru and Kizuki; they were inseparable, unintelligible to themselves without the other. But something remains for both Toru and Naoko—the image of the Kizuki which still exists in their minds. Kizuki was always the link that connected Naoko and Toru together—and years after his death, their relationship still seems to rest on that foundational link. I think that Naoko and Toru are so drawn to each other because being with each other enables them to keep getting to know Kizuki. Naoko gets to learn the part of Kizuki which existed only in relation to Toru, and Toru gets to know the Kizuki that existed only in relation to Naoko. Those parts of Naoko and Toru reflected in Kizuki remain dead, but through their relationship with one another, Naoko and Toru can build a new image of Kizuki which reveals parts of his past self that they hadn’t known. They can regain a relationship, though different, with Kizuki by developing their relationship with each other. I think that’s the reason why they say they can only possibly get better together—because together is the only way they can get a part of Kizuki back. 

Juliet 

Murakami’s Literary Universe

Upon reading several of Murakami's works, we can see his tendency to incorporate in each work a regular set of elements: mirrors, loneliness, investigation, numbers, surrealism, interest in western media, cigarette brands, and so much more. Some of them are simply mentioned in passing. Based on some interviews, it wouldn’t be a bad guess that Murakami has said that these don’t specifically symbolize anything, even if they probably do. Often when I read his books or stories, the text to me feels like Murakami's writing. Maybe it is his unique style as well, but the cameos of various objects or personalities always seem to appear, as if the stories all take place in the same universe. This sort of “universal symbolism” is just like the blending of the American culture into the Japanese language, which without the mentions of Japanese cities, wouldn't immediately imply the story took place in Japan. There is a constant element in Murakami's writing that despite its various forms, is ever present. His book The Strange Library is what I think is a play on his writing with these characters as his cast. It combines the surrealism all together into a story that gives me excitement every time something familiar appears.

-River

Naoko's Connection to Mancini & Brahms

 As talked about in my last post, Murakami draws a lot of inspiration from music in his works, which can again be seen throughout Norwegian Wood. As a warning, this post will contain spoilers for Norwegian Wood as well. I would like to focus on Naoko in this post, as she is a complex character struggling with many mental health problems, and the connections to her favorite pieces of music. To start, we are told early on that Toru buys Naoko a record of her favorite song, "Dear Heart" by Henry Mancini. Below I have listed the main lyrics that are repeated throughout it:

Dear heart wish you were here to warm this night

My dear heart, seems like a year since you've been out of my sight

A single room, a table for one

It's a lonesome town all right

But soon I'll kiss you hello at our front door

And dear heart I want you to know

I'll leave your arms never more

"Dear Heart" is unmistakenly a piece about loneliness, with an intense yearning for a lover that is constantly evading our grasp. This theme is very prominent when we look at Naoko. She lost her best friend and lover Kizuki to suicide, and cannot stop reverting into herself. Toru and Reiko both attempt to help Naoko along this journey, and yet to no avail. Although this song isn't explicitly about self harm, the last 3 lines can be painted that ends with Naoko's suicide at the end of the book. The front door can refer to the gates of the afterlife, and the dear heart of this song can be in reference to Kizuki, as we know from Chapter 1 that Naoko never loved Toru. And in death, the two will remain inseparable. 

Murakami also tells us that one of Naoko's favorite pieces is Brahms' Symphony No. 4 in E minor. While Toru was able to get 2 tickets for free for him and her to go, he unfortunately had to take care of Storm Trooper, causing Naoko to again end up alone. It is standard for romantic era symphonies to end in the major key, and yet Brahms chooses to end his final work in E minor, which doesn't bring us the happy ending we usually see with this form of music. All we get is this deep, dark emotional punch into our gut, alluding to Naoko's suffering and fate. While Brahms was writing his 4th Symphony, he was in the midst of reading Sophocles, one of the three main Greek tragedy authors. It is said that he was influenced by the themes and motifs of Greek tragedy, which can potentially be linked to the extensive talk on Euripides we see in Toru and Midori's class. Greek tragedy explores human suffering, their choices, and their fate. This again can be linked to Naoko, with her suffering from her mental health, and her ultimate fate to commit suicide. This could all just be by coincidence, as it is unknown if Murakami thought of these connections when writing Norwegian Wood. Although, it is interesting to think about once you see the connections between her character and the main themes of her two favorite songs.

Angus Black

Abandonment by Women in Murakami

I've noticed across our readings that Murakami's narrators frequently find themselves facing abandonment, infidelity, or unexplained disappearance by women important to the narrators. From Tony Takitani, A Wild Sheep Chase, Norwegian Wood, South Bay Strut, and Drive My Car, the elements mentioned above can all be found in the female figures. This is not meant to antagonize Murakami or meant as a moral judgment, but I wonder if he has some psychosexual problems that he unwittingly lets spill out on the page. In A Wild Sheep Chase, the unnamed girlfriend abruptly leaves, leaving the narrator heartbroken. In Tony Takitani, the girlfriend dies, again leaving the narrator bereft. In Norwegian Wood (although I have not read to the end), the girl suddenly vanishes to go to a sanatorium and only contacts the narrator many months after he is ghosted. In South Bay Strut, the woman who posed as the lawyer's assistant betrays the main character in a setup. Finally, in Drive My Car, not only does the wife cheat on her loving husband, but she even manages to die tragically afterwards. 

This thematic throughline interests me because Murakami often portrays women as these enigmatic muses who give meaning and light to the narrator's life and then vanish. The disappearance of these women also plays a large part in the narrator's character development, and in stories like Norwegian Wood or Drive My Car, the story would not even exist without the female characters' disappearance. It's almost as if the vanishing is necessary to Murakami's storytelling in a way, because many of his stories focus on loneliness, and his male narrators often do not have many close friends besides their romantic companions, so it is only through the loss of these women that the main character's emotional grief or loneliness can reach a heightened state. Reading these stories of abandonment leaves me feeling cynical and disillusioned... as if Murakami is trying to show that there is no such thing as everlasting love, no matter what feelings came before. Death, cheating, and disappearance is portrayed oftentimes as inexplicable, unexplained, and one of the prime mysteries that his stories are so famous for. Consequently, this gives the female love interests a slightly unreal, uncanny, ghostlike aura. These stories can be read as sexist as a result, but I feel that, strangely enough, in many of these instances, the readers are meant to sympathize with the women to some extent. They are portrayed as having some urgent, pressing need to act in various ways, in a way unfathomable to the main character and therefore to the audience, but nonetheless highly important to them in some way. If I knew more about psychoanalysis, I could probably read more into it, but I'll just leave my analysis there for now.

- Katherine