Book Review: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, by Haruki Murakami (2013, English translation 2014)

Haruki Murakami’s novel Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage was first published in 2013, and in an English translation by Philip Gabriel in 2014. The novel tells the story of Tsukuru Tazaki, who has four close friends during high school, two male and two female. His friends all have names that include colors, but Tsukuru does not, leaving him “colorless.” Tsukuru is the only one of the five who leaves their city for college, and eventually during college the four friends break off all contact with Tsukuru, for reasons that Tsukuru does not understand.  

In the present time of the novel, Tsukuru is in his late 30’s and is prodded by his new girlfriend to seek some closure about why his friends cut him off. I’ll leave the plot summary there, especially since the plot is not always the main point in Murakami’s novels.  

Unlike some of Murakami’s fiction that I’ve read, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki is set quite firmly in the real world, and the surreal elements that often appear in his fiction are nowhere to be found in this novel.  

Music, often so important in Murakami’s work, is a key motif in the novel. A suite of piano pieces by Franz Liszt, “Years of Pilgrimage” is frequently referenced in the novel, in particular the eighth piece “Le mal du pays.” Murakami references the late 1970’s recording of “Years of Pilgrimage” by the Russian pianist Lazar Berman. Fortunately, thanks to Spotify and other streaming services, it’s easy to find Berman’s recording and you can listen along as you read the novel. And, true to Murakami’s universe, where bossa nova always seems to appear, at a Lexus dealership “in the background an Antonio Carlos Jobim tune played.” (p.133)  

Tsukuru is a curious character, as he has gone through his life without attaching himself to very many people. He has no close friends, and he has had very few romantic relationships. As he says about himself, “But I don’t have any confidence...Because I have no sense of self. I have no personality, no brilliant color. I have nothing to offer. That’s always been my problem. I feel like an empty vessel.” (p.273) The plight of Tsukuru Tazaki is a stirring reminder of how hard it can be to make and sustain connections in this world.  

If you’re a fan of Murakami, you’ll enjoy the journey he takes you on in Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage.  

Book Review: Novelist as a Vocation, by Haruki Murakami (2015, English translation 2022)

The Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami has had a long and successful career since publishing his first novel in 1979. Murakami seldom makes public pronouncements, but in 2015 he published a book about his life as a writer. Titled Novelist as a Vocation, the book was translated into English in 2022 by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen.  

Novelist as a Vocation is an interesting book, as Murakami keeps saying that he doesn’t really have anything to teach us about being a writer. But yet he’s written a whole book about being a novelist. There were a number of times while reading the book when I thought “Huh, you know what? This Murakami guy is really a unicorn. A unique novelist, if I may be allowed to say so.” He says he’s never had writer’s block. (p.34-5) He doesn’t carry around a notebook, “It’s a real pain to carry a pad around.” (p.77) And he doesn’t write novels just for money, “My own personal policy for many years has been not to write novels because I’ve been contracted to or requested to, but I might be a rare case.” (p.113) All of these things led me to the conclusion that Murakami is a very rare case indeed. Murakami also tells us that he’s never appeared on TV or the radio to promote his books. (p.179) That’s all well and good for Murakami, but I hope he knows that many writers would love to have the opportunity for the media exposure that TV and radio would bring them.  

I enjoyed reading Novelist as a Vocation, as I’m always interested in writer’s processes. Murakami is a creature of habit, and he has obviously paid attention to French novelist Gustave Flaubert’s advice: “Be regular and ordinary in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” This could be almost a mantra for Murakami, who follows much the same routine while he’s writing and produces about 1,600 words a day. (p.95) I understand that the daily accumulation of words is what is most important about writing a novel, but sometimes I wish a novelist would say “Yeah, I usually write 1,500 words a day, but sometimes I’m really cooking and push it to 2,000 or 2,500!” I’ve never heard any writer say this. They always say variations on what Murakami says, “So I punch in, write my ten pages, and then punch out, as if I’m working on a time card.” (p.95) There is a contrast I can think of: Thomas Wolfe supposedly marched around New York City chanting “I wrote ten thousand words today! I wrote ten thousand words today!” That’s an extreme example, of course. But I’d love to hear more novelists acknowledge that sometimes chance and inspiration play more of a role in their daily routines and word counts.  

As a baseball fan, I appreciate Murakami recounting the moment when he decided to write a novel: it happened at a baseball game in 1978, as Dave Hilton belted a double. And I agree with Murakami: “To fully appreciate a baseball game, you really have to be there in person!” (p.26)  

I loved this quote from the book: “It is my belief that a rich, spontaneous joy lies at the root of all creative expression.” (p.67) Murakami has a democratic, egalitarian view of the artistic process, and that strongly appeals to me. I won’t make the claim that all of us can become novelists who are as successful as Murakami has been, with healthy sales and a high critical reputation, but there’s always the possibility. And that should give every aspiring artist hope.  

Book Review: After Dark, by Haruki Murakami (2004, English translation 2007)

My paperback copy of After Dark, by Haruki Murakami, 2004, English translation 2007. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Night. It can be scary, romantic, sexy, all sorts of things. Darkness can reveal strong emotions and passions, and novelist Haruki Murakami knows this well. Murakami’s 2004 novel After Dark takes place between midnight and dawn on a single evening.  

The main character of After Dark is 19-year-old Mari Asai, who is reading a book at a Denny’s when the novel begins. This Denny’s plays a lot of 1960’s easy listening music, which I found unlikely, but hey, it’s Murakami’s Denny’s, so they can play whatever he wants them to. Mari is eventually approached by Tetsuya Takahashi, an awkward college student a little older than Mari who plays jazz trombone. Tetsuya tells Mari that he knows her older sister, Eri. From my limited knowledge of Murakami, Tetsuya seems to fit the pattern of other male Murakami protagonists: nice, awkward, a little goofy, with lots of pop culture knowledge.  

To reveal more about the plot seems, as usual with Murakami, superfluous. It’s less about the specifics of what is revealed and more about the journey Mari goes on over the course of this evening. There were things I didn’t quite understand in After Dark, but that’s sort of par for the course with Murakami, isn’t it?  

I like art that compresses the time frame, as it generally heightens tension and moves the plot along. After Dark is a bit of an exception to this rule, as the time frame is very compressed, but for me there wasn’t much tension in the plot. That’s not really meant as a criticism, as I don’t think After Dark is trying to be a page-turning thriller. I read After Dark very quickly, but I wasn’t breathlessly wondering what came next. I know, that sounds like a contradiction, doesn’t it? Hopefully Murakami would appreciate the contradiction.  

There are some great quotes throughout After Dark. One of my favorites is from a bartender who tells Mari, “Time moves in its own special way in the middle of the night.” (p.78) That’s so true, as time can speed up or slow down at will after night falls. One of my other favorite quotes was this: “In this world, there are things you can only do alone, and things you can only do with somebody else. It’s important to combine the two in just the right amount.” (p.204)  

If you’re a night owl like me, go ahead and add After Dark to your nighttime reading list.  

Book Review: Hear the Wing Sing/Pinball, 1973 by Haruki Murakami (Originally published in 1979 and 1980)

The odd "one book is always upside down" design of the 2016 edition of Hear the Wind Sing/Pinball, 1973, by Haruki Murakami.

Japanese author Haruki Murakami.

Japanese author Haruki Murakami has fashioned a career as one of the most critically acclaimed novelists of the past 45 years. Murakami’s career began with two short novellas, Hear the Wind Sing (1979) and Pinball, 1973 (1980). The two novellas were collected in one volume published by Vintage International in 2016. I had heard of Murakami’s work for a long time, but what really sparked my interest was a presentation on Murakami by one of my students when I was teaching 10th grade World History. The student relayed Murakami’s story about the moment he decided he should write a novel: when he saw American baseball player Dave Hilton hit a double. I thought, “Okay, that was the moment he decided to become a novelist? I need to read some of his work.” Murakami writes about that moment in the introduction, concluding that “All I can say is that my life was drastically and permanently altered in that instant—when Dave Hilton belted that beautiful, ringing double at Jingu Stadium.” (p.xi)  

Throughout Hear the Wind Sing, Murakami refers back to fictional American author Derek Hartfield, who committed suicide by jumping off the Empire State Building in 1938. Hartfield is not presented as a great author, but a mediocre stylist who nevertheless emerges with an interesting piece of advice for authors: “What would be the point of writing a novel about things everyone already knows?” (p.79)  

Murakami references my favorite author F. Scott Fitzgerald in Hear the Wind Sing when he quotes these famous lines from Fitzgerald’s essay “The Crack-Up": “The test of a first-rate intelligence is its ability to function while holding two opposite ideas at the same time.” Neither the unnamed narrator nor the character known as the Rat can remember who said that brilliant quote, unfortunately. 

Hear the Wind Sing is an unconventional novel, as there’s very little plot or character development. It’s a mood piece, creating a feeling of ennui and stasis. I enjoyed reading Hear the Wind Sing and settling into the mood of the book.  

Pinball, 1973 I found less successful. Hear the Wind Sing more convincingly breaks the conventions of literature. There is no real plot to speak of. Whereas in Pinball, 1973, there was just enough plot for me to be annoyed that it doesn’t go anywhere or do anything. Once again, there’s an unnamed narrator, and the Rat is again a character. It’s not entirely clear if the narrator of Pinball, 1973 is the same narrator as the one in Hear the Wind Sing, and it ultimately doesn’t seem to matter.  

The narrator of Pinball, 1973 lives with two gorgeous twins, who are literally indistinguishable from each other. It’s clear that the narrator is having sex with both of the twins, and the storyline is so ridiculous that it just comes off as a puerile masturbatory fantasy, like something that Norman Mailer or Philip Roth would have come up with and then discarded as too unbelievable. I thought it would have been funnier if the narrator wasn’t sleeping with either of the twins, but that’s just me. Because the twins are indistinguishable from each other, they offer no character development, and their defining character trait is their devotion to the narrator.  

The plot of Pinball, 1973 revolves around the narrator’s attempt to track down an old pinball machine that he was obsessed with playing. Spoiler alert: he tracks it down, but then doesn’t even play it! He just has an imaginary conversation with the machine. Of course, the pinball machine’s voice is feminine.  

The book design of Hear the Wind Sing/Pinball, 1973 is too clever by half, as you have to flip the book upside down to read the second novella. It’s a gimmick that doesn’t serve any true purpose. 

Quibbles aside, I’d recommend Hear the Wind Sing/Pinball, 1973 to fans of Murakami’s who are interested in reading his first novellas. The book definitely sparked my interest in reading more of Murakami’s work.