Murakami has a flair for the bizarre. Most of his novels feature quirky, fantastical storylines filled with strange imagery and inexplicable symbolism. Despite this, Murakami is also famous for his quiet simplicity; he’s considered one of Japan’s most accessible writers. His novels have two layers: the first superficial, for those craving intrigue and adventure; and the second deeper, for those versed in surrealism and symbolism. He has something for every reader.
In 1995, Japan was ravaged by two disasters. On January 17, a 7.2 earthquake devastated the Hyōgo Prefecture, killing almost 6.5K people, with 4.6K from Kobe, the city closest to the epicenter. It’s commonly known as the Kobe Earthquake. Then, on March 20, terrorists released sarin gas along three lines of the Tokyo Metro, killing thirteen, injuring fifty, and causing temporary vision loss for about a thousand.
Murakami had been living abroad in 1995, but the tragedies impelled his return and inspired After the Quake, a collection of six short stories featuring characters reeling from these tragedies. A teenager and an old man bond over their love for bonfires, a woman travels to Thailand and confronts her death, three friends reconcile a love triangle, a man searches for his father, and a giant frog battles a monster in the subway.
It’s probably not Murakami’s best, yet by the end of the sixth story, I discovered within myself a shockingly stirring loneliness. The stories contained the same indescribable magic that made Norwegian Wood a worldwide sensation, but not to the same extent. Murakami’s greatest gift is the ability to capture human emotion and make readers feel. Humans are inherently lonely creatures, and Murakami confirms it to the point where I feel crushed and overwhelmed. I was thinking about the stories for days afterward, each time with that same pathetic loneliness that makes you sit up in shock and take solace in funny YouTube videos.
The most delicious story is “Super-Frog Saves Tokyo”: a surrealistic and humorous tale about a frog who recruits Katagiri, a loan collection agent, to help him save Tokyo. Without irony, Frog tells Katagiri, “Tokyo can only be saved by a person like you.” The literary references, from Hemingway to Dostoevsky to Tolstoy, that Frog interjects into conversations add to the humor and the sense of the impossible taking shape. I love his indignation when he imagines someone denying that he is a frog: “Anyone claiming I am not a frog would be a dirty liar. I would smash such a person to bits.”
Murakami crafts elegiac notes on people’s lives. He’s interested in what’s unsaid. An emotional landscape without any emotions. Random people meet to make bonfires on the beach or have sex. All characters are engaged in some sort of sexual activity, even when they are not — lots of pent-up sexual energy, which is just how the author manifests people’s interest in each other.
Reading these stories puts me in mind of the atmosphere after the 9/11 attack here in NYC. The word “surreal” was never more appropriate. Those of us who were not directly affected were still affected. As we watched the towers fall again and again on our televisions, our idea of what could and could not happen was forever changed. When we looked at the Manhattan skyline, a gaping wound looked back at us. We were damaged people. We were as weird and fragile as if written by Murakami.
But life goes on, just as in Murakami’s stories. Though the skyline still looks wrong to me.
Suggestion: To enhance your reading experience, consider a small magic mushroom trip right after you’ve finished the book, preferably combining mushrooms with some cacao and blue lotus. The soft, elegiac effect of the medicine will take you back into Murakami’s world, but deeper and with more understanding and appreciation of the weirdness, sorrow and beauty of life.
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