Murakami. Ah Murakami.
I took up this science fiction novel because having read so much mainstream scifi in the last few years, I found myself pining for beautiful prose. Haruki Murakami did not disappoint and HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND AND THE END OF THE WORLD is not only an imaginative story that passes the muster of science fiction, but had me laughing out loud at various points.
This story is rated R for sexual content.
First, the short review.
6 Reasons I recommend HARD-BOILED
- Masterful storytelling, including a full-blown mystery embedded in the structure of the novel
- Beautifully drawn characters who not only feel true, but are likeable in their quirkiness
- An imaginative world where scifi touches magic realism
- Gorgeous prose and great writing in general
2 Reasons to Avoid HARD-BOILED
- If you only read sciency science fiction and could care less about prose…this book might not be for you
- If you need a straight-forward ending, this story does not have that
The Longer Review
Step into the world of Murakami, his imagination and his Japanese way of looking at life. In this novel, he alternates point of view chapter by chapter. He does not explain how the two POV’s are connected until close to the end. Both storylines are told in first person. Both protagonists are male in midlife. His easy prose and everyman protagonist give the fictional world not just shape and beauty, but allow for emotional access. This hero is not someone extraordinary and with super powers. He is any one of us caught in a dilemma. The story meanders through a Tokyo imagined, not exactly futuristic on the surface. People drive cars, listen to Bob Dylan cassette tapes, and drink Miller High Life, but the city is run by two rival factions, the Factory and the System. A third group, the INKlings, folktale creatures that rule an underground society, live beneath the city. One character summarizes this way:
“Is Japan a total monopoly state or what? The System monopolizes everything under the info sun, the Factory monopolizes everything in the shadows. They don’t know the meaning of competition.”
“Inklings? A sharp guy like you don’t know about Inkling? A.k.a. infra-Nocturnal kappa. You thought kappa were folktales? They live underground. They hole up in the subways and sewers, eat the city’s garbage, and drink graywater. They don’t bother with human beings. Except for a few subway workmen who disappear, that is, he he.”
As for Murakami’s prose, an excerpt:
Something has summoned me here. Something intractable. And for this, I have forfeited my shadow and my memory. The River murmurs at my feet. There is the sandbar midstream, and on it the willows sway as they trail their long branches in the current. The water is beautifully clear. I can see fish playing among the rocks. Gazing at the River soothes me. Steps lead down from the bridge to the sandbar. A bend waits under the willows, a few beasts lay nearby. Often have I descended to the sandbar and offered crusts of bread to the beasts. At first they hesitated, but now the old and the very young eat from my hand. As the autumn deepens, the fathomless lakes of their eyes assume an ever more sorrowful hue. The leaves turn color, the grasses wither; the beasts sense the advance of a long hungry season and bowing to their vision, I too know a sadness.
Ah, Murakami and the magic of his prose.