Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman by Murakami Haruki (Part 1)

You might not agree, but I'm a pretty smart person. I'm also a really shallow person. I can't really think too deeply about anything, mostly because it gives me a headache. (And yet, I'm going to try to be deeply analytical tonight.)

I am also a fan of Haruki Murakami. His writing style is very simple, and his stories always seem to be about isolation and loneliness. He usually writes about the here and now, but there's a surreal quality to his world that causes the extra-ordinary to occur. And when the places aren't real at all, like in Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, there's a dull normality to it all that makes the surreal ordinary.

However much I love his stories, there have been times when I had been Murakami'ed out. I happened after reading a slew of his novels, particularly Dance Dance Dance, It happened a second time after I tried to tackle his short-story collection Blind Woman, Sleeping Willow almost immediately after reading Kafka on the Shore and After Dark. I ended up reading about three-fourths of the collection before throwing it on my reading pile. I can only take some much surreal stories about making connections with other people.

But, I pulled Blind Woman out of the pile and started re-reading it the other day. Let's see how much Murakami I can take this time around.

- "Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman"

The dream in the center of this story reminds me a lot of fairy tales, particularly the tale of Sleeping Beauty. At first, I thought that perhaps the 'sleeping woman' was in need of rescue, and in a sense, she does. It's not so much a love-driven rescue, however, as it is something else. She's waiting for someone to find her, to take her away from that place, to care for her.

She would already be dead 'in a sense' when the man reaches her. The isolation would have already killed something inside her. (And I think I've just depressed myself).

The protagonist acknowledges that he and his friend did not care enough for the girl that told the dream-story, leaving 'that hill still overgrown with blind willows'. He is without purpose at the time the story takes place, and I wonder if he will find that connection now, that same connection that he hadn't made with the girl. He doesn't want to stay in Kobe with his family, but his cousin probably wouldn't mind the company.

Favorite Line: In a certain sense, you can see a person's whole life in the cancer they get.
Ear Check: The Protagonist looks at his cousin's damaged ear, admires the curves, and then thinks about 'the warm darkness inside (the sleeping woman).

- "Birthday Girl"

We never find out what she wished for, exactly. I think it involves happiness and whatnot, but I'll never be certain of that. She goes silent when the speaker asks her if she regrets her wish, which only makes me wonder more.

(Add required 'be careful what you wish for' comments here.)

Favorite Line: Bumpers are for Denting.
Ear Check: The 'girl' (who's in her thirties now) has 'a beautifully shaped earlobe'.

- "New York Mining Disaster"

Quite a bit of death in this one. The first part involved the death of several people. The second is a conversation with a woman killed a man. The third is tiny blurb about miners, listening intently for the sounds of rescue.

I think there's a theme to seeking meaning in everyday life. On the whole, however, it's a selection of scenes about extra-ordinary experiences. Visiting the zoo in the middle of the night seems almost at par with talking to a smiling murderess during a New Year's Eve party.

The part the impacted me the most was the last few paragraphs on the miners. Maybe it's because it's something I hold my breath and listen for, the 'sound of life'?

Favorite line (out of several): A poet might die at 21, a revolutionary or a rock star at twenty-four. But after that you assume everything's going to be alright. ... whether that's what you want or not.
Ear Check: None... surprisingly.
CATS: The friend mentions seeing a cat on display in a zoo in Hokkaido. (Which totally makes up for the lack of beautiful ears.)

Next time:
"Aeroplane: Or How He Talked to Himself as If Reciting Poetry"
"The Mirror"
"A Folklore for My Generation: A Prehistory of Late-Stage Capitalism"
... and maybe a few more after those. No more than six, certainly.

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