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