On Book Design and "The Strange Library"

I find the book design for the Knopf edition of Haruki Murakami’s The Strange Library surprising yet perplexing. Chip Kidd, a celebrity in the world of book design, has designed numerous hardcover editions of Murakami novels. He toys with material in order to subvert the physicality of the book form. The Strange Library is packaged in a paperback slipcase. The experience of opening the book evokes that of removing a book from library stacks. Its cover flips open vertically rather than horizontally to reveal the first page in large, monospace type.

A book’s formal qualities can challenge conventional modes of reading. We’ve seen this in other Murakami novels where illustrations—often crudely drawn—are inserted unexpectedly. That said, the premier goal of book’s design should be to make content accessible and legible. Typography is meant to inform, not distract. In her 1932 essay "The Crystal Goblet," designer Beatrice Ward metaphorically relates the function of typography to that of a clear goblet. As a crystal wine glass reveals the full color tones of the liquid, type choice in publication design should be an open window into the text. I think that the interior pages of The Strange Library demonstrate why there are certain conventions of typesetting. The font size is larger than usual and as a result, there are less words per line and more words are hyphenated. For me personally, this makes the reading experience less immersive.

I enjoyed the vivid images that accompany certain spreads. Enlarged, abstracted content doesn’t distract from the text itself. Taken from Chip Kidd’s own collection of Japanese print ephemera, they have a collage-like quality to them. I also liked how a sharp decrease in font size is used to communicate a change in tone as the narrator shares news of his mothers death. This perfectly illustrates how typography can enhance meaning or understanding.

Politics in Murakami

 There are a number of Murakami's works that feel incredibly detached from any sort of politics. This sort of detachment from politics can help his works fit into the genre of magical realism more, as the story is less grounded in a reality that we all know and have opinions on. However, there are a number of Murakami works that heavily feature politics (like Norwegian Wood). Murakami is also not a particularly apolitical person, as he hasn't hesitated to publicly state his political opinions in the past. Not only has he spoken out against Russia's invasion of Ukraine, but he has criticized the Japanese prime minister for his handling of the COVID-19 pandemic and condemned Japan for its role in World War II and imperialism. He's even won the Jerusalem Prize, which is awarded for themes of human rights and freedom in literature. 

However, when reading his works, all of it feels apolitical. Even if you're used to reading critically to discern potential biases from the author, the reader through the narrating protagonist feels separate from the politics. Things like the protagonist not participating in the 9-5 office job culture are inherently political, but they don't feel that way when you read them. It's tempting to call the works as a whole apolitical at first. Even when characters like Watanabe interact with real-world politics and technically do have opinions on current events, but since the narrators are not emotionally invested so much in what's happening, it feels distant from the reader. Even when Watanabe's university lectures are interrupted by protesters and his classes are eventually shut down, he simply shrugs in a very shouganai attitude. 

Juliana

Murakami and "The System"

 I came across a speech Murakami gave in 2009 when he accepted the Jerusalem Prize in Israel: https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/culture/1.5076881. This was after the world witnessed Israel attacking Gaza, and he addresses it in his speech by indirectly giving his political stance. He says, “Each of us is, more or less, an egg. Each of us is a unique, irreplaceable soul enclosed in a fragile shell. This is true of me, and it is true of each of you. And each of us, to a greater or lesser degree, is confronting a high, solid wall. The wall has a name: it is “The System.” The System is supposed to protect us, but sometimes it takes on a life of its own, and then it begins to kill us and cause us to kill others-coldly, efficiently, systematically…We must not allow the System to exploit us. We must now allow the System to take on a life of its own. The System did not make us: we made the System”

I found this to be very illuminating to understand his own personal philosophy that influences his work. He says that he is "always on the side of the egg", or the individual, against "The System". It explains his focus on the individual, on which he later says, "I have only one reason to write novels, and that is to bring the dignity of the individual soul to the surface and shine a light upon it. The purpose of a story is to sound an alarm, to keep a light trained on The System in order to prevent it from tangling our souls in its web and demeaning them." From this perspective, Murakami could have included symbols of "The System" in all his stories. 

In particular, I was struck by the sheep's parasitic nature in A Wild Sheep Chase, which Strecher also mentioned. I had previously thought that the sheep might represent the Japanese state or society, but I now think it extends past that: the sheep is "The System", the universal manifestation of the interconnected governance, institutions, norms, beliefs, etc. from society that are imposed on the individual. The sheep dominates the host's mind, eliminating individuality while driving the host to societal success. It is portrayed to inhabit the host in order to maneuver the entire structure of society for its secured control of it, and therefore of the people. 

In the short story "Sleep", we see the fight more close-up between the individual and "The System" when the woman rejects her life as the perfect housewife, where "each day [was] pretty much a repetition of the day before[...] a life that had swallowed me up so completely" (81). Murakami repeats the idea that individuality can be consumed by society's desires and expectations, and living becomes meaningless because it is not you truly living it. 

The bakery attacks Murakami writes about also could be interpreted through this lens. The protagonist and companions feel an unbearable emptiness within themselves from trying to conform to society, and can only alleviate it by doing something as bizarre as attack a bakery to break out of their routines. 

Alessandra Leone

Murakami's Approach

 Murakami is both a scientist and an artist. Throughout his works, Murakami weaves magic and logic to create the systems of magical realism present in many of his novels and short stories. In Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Murakami describes a world full of Calcutecs, Semiotics, and the corporatist government. While many of these elements seem fantastical, there is a logic to them, a logic that has passed the test of time and technological advancement. Calcutecs act as computers who encrypt and process data. They are “black boxes” that are impenetrable, immutable, and only output is viewable. The Calcutecs, like computers, are not able to adjust their own “code” nor do they have access to or an awareness of these processes. It is entirely automated and highly efficient. Like computers, these Calcutecs are also able to process information that is harmful to them, unbeknownst to them as the narrator does, driving the plot of (half of) this novel. Semiotecs act as programmers, yet a moral judgment is passed on them for their actions. Usually, this is allowed when done to computers, yet the ways in which Calcutecs resemble computers, especially the protagonist, creates an unsettling effect, coercing the reader to morally condemn Semiotecs. 

Murakami takes this one step past logic in The End of the World. In this world, it seems as if the usual rules in the “Other World” do not apply, or are so distorted that they are beyond comprehension. However, the relationship between these two worlds, one being in the mind of the protagonist explains the eerie dreamlike and protagonist-centered logic present in that world.

Murakami was not only able to create this mechanical system in humans, but fully replicate the logic, nuances, and shortcomings of contemporary computing. He then totally defies expectations of the genre and his own readers by linking the two stories together, showing that this fantastical world is fully supported by the logic of the “more realistic” half. Murakami artistically and logically weaves these two worlds together, but his approach to common sense and something resembling the scientific method.

Timothy Obiso

Samsa in Kafka and Murakami

Published in 1915, Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis portrays an excellent criticism of capitalist culture.  The protagonist, a man by the name of Gregor Samsa, is an overworked salesman who is forced to turn his career his entire life in order to maintain his family economically afloat. After inexplicably transforming into a giant beetle, Samsa sees all of his hard work and earnings disappear in the span of months. His family, which he had once supported in every way possible, begins to despise him and starts seeing him as a burden. Even his little sister, who Kafka carefully described as an extremely kind and considerate person, is eventually corrupted by her hatred for her transformed brother.

The message interpreted from the short story seems to be relatively direct. Samsa was not appreciated because of the person he was. Rather, the protagonist was defined by the asset he represented to the company he worked for and the family he supported. Thus, Samsa spends the rest of his life secluded in a room with little to no attention from what are supposed to be his loved ones. As a beatle, Samsa is not only ignored but actively attacked and treated as a threat. 

Being constantly subjected to such harsh conditions definitely leaves Samsa in a peculiar state, as he is deprived of both attention and affection. Within Kafka's narrative, the protagonist is lead down a path that ultimately leads to his demise. However, what if Samsa had had a shot at redemption? What if someone offered him the affection he had been so desperately craving ever since his transformation into a beetle?

Luckily, Murakami answers those questions perfectly. Considering that the Japanese author did not want to offer a sequel to an already complete story, Murakami chose to begin from an alternate timeline. Possibly, Murakami's story begins little after the family discovers Samsa's new identity. Proof of this can be found by the fact that the lock to Samsa's room is already broken and by the dining table being fully set. Although it is left to the reader's interpretation, it could be that Samsa's beetle repelled the family so much that it fled the house immediately. Considering the amount of time that it takes Samsa to readjust to his human body, it can also be assumed that Murakami's protagonist had been a beetle for a long while.

In Murakami's world, Samsa is aroused even by minimal conversations with the female locksmith. Both in mind, as he attently observes the locksmith's every move while wishing for her to stay as long as possible, and in body, with numerous paragraphs dedicated to Samsa's curiosity towards his own penis. 

In this new world, Samsa should be able to enjoy his life more than the previous one. For instance, the ongoing conflict mentioned by the locksmith suggests that modern society has crumbled alongside the capitalist system that distinguished it. Therefore, Samsa is free from his obligations to the company that previously employed him. Lastly, the lack of family members within the house mean that Samsa no longer has to tend to anyone but himself. Overall, the new setting brought forth by Murakami presents a world in which Samsa is free of responsibilities, one in which he can enjoy simply being human. 

- Daniele Piperno

“Sleep” as a reflection on Women’s role in Japanese Society

For reference I will be paraphrasing points from three articles “Change and diversity in the Japanese family” by Merry White, “Being Happy as a Woman: The promise of happiness for middle-class housewives in Japan” by Ofra Goldstein-Gidoni, and “Producing Mothers” by Anne Allison. In these three articles there is much discussion about how Japanese society forces women into the role of wife and mother. I feel that many of the points made in these articles are reflected in Murakami’s story “Sleep”. Murakami is known for creating characters who are “outsiders”, and rebel against the rigid social roles of Japanese society, and I think he uses the narrator of “Sleep” to explore the female perspective of this “outsider”, and how women interact with their role in Japanese society. 

One of the main points of these articles was a how the Japanese education system pushes women into these roles. Firstly, education and academic merit are not valued in women in Japan. These articles state how women who are high achieving in academics and attend top universities are not seen as suitable candidates for marriage, because they will be too focused on their careers to care for children. In Japan there is also the concept of “good wife, wise mother” that reflects the idea that women’s intelligence and value is seen as their role of being a good and nurturing mother. This can be seen in “Sleep” as the narrator was high achieving in university, and was even encouraged to attend graduate school, but chose instead to get married and have a child than pursue this education. 

The article “Being Happy as a Woman” also discussed how Japanese media, specifically women’s magazines, promoted this idea of the “happy housewife” as the epitome of happiness for women in Japan. It created this ideal life for women that centered their lives around housework and raising children, but what happens when this life doesn’t make women happy? I think the narrator of “Sleep” is an example of a woman who feels disconnected from the standard social role the society has forced upon her. We can see throughout the story that the narrator has been living a monotonous life as a housewife and mother, until she rediscovers her love of literature. After discovering what actually makes her happy, she no longer has the need to sleep, and slowly grows more and more resentment towards her husband and son.

I think that this story is a reflection upon many women’s discontent with the traditional role of women as wife and mother, and indicates many changing ideals about women’s roles in Japan. “Change and diversity in the Japanese family” discusses how many more Japanese are moving to urban areas, more “pink collar” jobs are opening for women, and women are staying single for longer and focusing more on their careers. I think many of these trends can be seen in Murakami’s novels, as we see characters traveling from more rural parts of Japan to Tokyo, and many of his female characters are employed. Overall I think Murakami’s reflection on, and disdain for, women’s traditional role in society in “Sleep” is what makes one of his only female narratives so realistic and compelling to women, like Mikeko Kawakami, which we saw in her interview with Murakami.

Ken 

Womanhood and What Murakami Does Best

 Recent class discussions have focused the underlying connection to Murakami himself present in the characters he chooses to write. Especially in his writing of women, Murakami seems to present an understanding of women that doesn’t match with reality. I strongly suspect that Murakami himself does not have a full picture of women, and while he may at times admit to this failing, his responses when confronted with that flaw do not present as the most self-aware.

For example, when Mieko Kawakami asked him about a particular unrealistic portrayal of a woman (who was fixated on her own small breasts), Murakami had only the very telling response, “I just imagine there are girls out there who feel this way” (“A Feminist Critique of Murakami Novels,” Lit Hub). To me, what this says is that Murakami writes the world how he sees the world, and he does not see women with the same clear sightedness that he sees other pieces of humanity.

This blind spot is somewhat surprising, since I find a lot of his books capture feelings and human nature quite well. Thinking about it, though, many of his books cover a certain similar range of themes: deep, intrinsic loneliness, alienation from society, death, and how to continue living. From the little Murakami shares about his personal life, it seems like these topics are deeply personal to him. Maybe he simply writes best what he knows best. “Sleep,” which to me contains his best female character, centers on a category of women (housewives) who often feel alienated from their own personhood, and deeply, intrinsically lonely. Maybe sleep is a more authentic portrayal of a woman because Murakami does not treat the character as female, but instead as a lonely person who happened to be female.

Overall, Murakami’s treatment of his female characters is not a dealbreaker for me as a reader. The topic does, however, make me laugh a bit. Recently I suggested Norwegian Wood to a friend of mine who had read nothing by Murakami previously, and we discussed it periodically while she read through the novel. I asked her what she thought of the female characters – she chuckled, and said, “I’m not sure this man has ever met a woman . . . it’s like he thought of how he himself would react and just called it good enough.”

I would like to be clear; I’m not advocating for particular biological or psychological differences between women and men. The fact remains, though, that the social and societal pressures placed on those socialized as women are vastly different than the messages, queues, and teachings given to those socialized as men. Treating both groups as the exact same in writing feels inauthentic; excessively othering one group feels insincere. I’ll give it to Murakami that he does not know what it feels like to grow up as a woman, and so it must be a hard balance to strike. But then, I’m sure he doesn’t know what it feels like to grow up as a sheep man, either, and he seems to have figured that one out – so I think he’s talented enough to write a believable woman, if he puts his mind to it a bit more.

-Amanda