Norwegian Wood Movie

 Here's a free streaming service of Norwegian Wood!

https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x8im0pq

Murakami’s Blend of the Ordinary and the Profound- Preeti Lamba

 "Whether you take the doughnut hole as a blank space or as an entity unto itself is a purely metaphysical question and does not affect the taste of the doughnut one bit" 

(Murakami 10) 

This line is notable for its unique fusion of humor and philosophical meaning. Although it appears to be a simple remark about doughnuts, it quietly criticizes and overanalyzes  the tendency for people to give importance to unimportant details. The statement is both humorous and thought-provoking because of the narrator's informal tone. It shows how Murakami mixes everyday life with deep thoughts, creating something that is both funny and meaningful. This mix is a key part of Murakami’s writing, where everyday things become special, and the absurd becomes meaningful.

Murakami’s writing here is a great example of postmodern style. He takes a simple object, a doughnut to explore big questions about how we see the world and what is real. This quote reflects the novel’s main idea: searching for meaning in a confusing world. 

Murakami constantly uses everyday objects to raise questions throughout the book. For example, the narrator's profession in advertising masks larger issues of identity and purpose. Similarly, his interactions with unusual characters such as the Sheep Man transform the mundane into the surreal. Murakami's distinctive blend of the real and the unreal, the simple and the profound, defines him. His style makes strange things feel normal and everyday things feel mysterious, pulling readers into a world where meaning is always just out of reach—like the hole in a doughnut.

Cam Hoff - Murakami and The Acceptance at Face Value

 Something I've continuously noticed through my readings of Murakami's novels is the similarity among his protagonists who all accept the magical elements around them at face value. The question of why is never as important as accepting the new reality as it is. A prime example of this can be found in A Wild Sheep Chase during Boku and the Rat's long waited meeting. The Rat exclaims that the Sheep is dead. Despite searching for this sheep the entire novel, once the Rat reveals this to Boku, Boku accepts this and proceeds to accept any and all details the Rat decides to provide him. Another example can be found with the introduction of the Ear Girl. The Ear Girl explains to Boku her need for killing/blocking her ears and vague notions of the ears' special power. Boku asks questions and wants to understand her further, but never does he question her credibility or the truth hood of her statements. He simply just accepts that he has just met and become intertwined with a magical Ear Girl. This radical acceptance is present in Boku in other novels as well. In Dance Dance Dance when meeting with the receptionist of the renovated Dolphin Hotel and listening to her story of the pitch black musty 16th floor, he accepts her story and not only fully believes her but proceeds to look for the altered 16th floor himself. But this quality of acceptance is not just found in Boku novels, but is a common thread among all his protagonist. In Kafka on the Shore its present in both protagonist and the characters around them. At the end of the novel when Kafka takes his long journey in the woods, he matter factly accepts the new reality he finds himself in and ready to become fully acclimated, until Miss Saeki snaps him out of this desire. Nagata's character is centric around radical acceptance. He self-admittedly does not wonder why (as Nagata is not very smart) but simply accepts all things around him. In extension, Nagata's helper Hoshino quickly comes to accept to stop wondering why and just accept the weird things that follow Nagata. In 1Q84 Tengo accepts all Fuka-Eri says at face value, taking her world as a near gospel to navigate the altered reality he finds himself in. Aomame also radical accepts many things. She is very quick to accept her "virginal" pregnancy and Tengo's paternity. She also quickly accepts her new reality of 1Q84. And while yes, the Q does stand for question and she actively searches out the reason she switched dimensions, the possibility of the shift is never questioned. Aomame knows she shifted dimensions and she knows that it's her new reality. 

This acceptance of things is one of my favorite things about Murakami novels. As a reader it makes me also quickly accept these magical things as reality. It immediately takes away any issue with suspension of disbelief for me. I think this is why Murakami chooses to make his protagonist this way. It simply makes it an easier read. You don't have to worry about if this is real or not, is this actually happening or is it a delusion, or wondering about the reliability of the narrator. The things happening around the protagonist are real because the protagonist truly believes and knows that it is real. 

Blog Post #1, Hallie Baker

 “As long as I stared at the clock, at least the world remained in motion. Not a very consequential world, but in motion nonetheless. And as long as I knew the world was in motion, I knew I existed. Not a very consequential existence, but an existence nonetheless. It struck me as wanting that someone should confirm his own existence only by the hands of an electric wall clock. There had to be a more cognitive means of confirmation. But try as I might, nothing less facile came to mind.” (Murakami, 73)

“You’re only half-living…The other half is still untapped somewhere….In that sense, you’re not unlike me. I’m sitting on my ears, and you’ve got only half of you that’s really living.’” (47)

I find the connection between time and feeling alive in A Wild Sheep Chase really interesting. A feeling of being stuck, and a feeling of being stuck in time, is associated with not feeling alive. I think it’s interesting that this idea, that Boku does not feel alive, is introduced right from the beginning. On page 8, when Boku is 21, he says “For months I’d been stuck, unable to take one step in any new direction. The world kept moving on; I alone was at a standstill.” (8). I think the story could be read as two moments: this moment, when he is twenty-one and sleeping with “the girl who’d sleep with anyone” and first feels stuck, and the moment 10 years later, when he goes on the wild sheep chase and finally becomes unstuck, and feels alive again. In the first moment, he tells the girl, “You know, I never meant to shut you out […] I don’t understand what gets into me. I’m trying my damnedest to figure it out [...] It takes time.’” The girl asks him how much time it will take, and he responds, “‘Who knows? Maybe a year, maybe ten.’” She responds, “‘Ten years? C’mon, isn’t that like forever?’” (9). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the rest of the story, the start of the wild sheep chase, takes place ten years later. It’s similar to what Boku notes himself, when arriving in Hokkaido: “I’d lost my autumn. There’d been the beginning and the end, but none of the heart of autumn” (266). Right before leaving Tokyo on the wild sheep chase, Boku is talking with his girlfriend and says, “I just can’t get it through my head that here and now is really here and now. Or that I am really me…For the last ten years, it’s been like this.’” His girlfriend says “‘Ten years?’” and he responds, “‘There’s been no end to it. That’s all’” (167). Besides this conversation, there are other parallels between ten years ago and the “now” in the story: his girlfriend with the ears is reminiscent of the girl who’d sleep with anyone, and in Junitaki, nearing the end of his journey, he weighs himself for the first time in a long while. He makes a point to note that he weighs “One hundred thirty-two pounds, same as ten years ago” (264). It’s almost like he’s returning to the state he was in ten years ago. From the start of the sheep chase, he starts to come alive—and comment on his aliveness and the passing of time (82, 83, 162, 167, 202, etc). I also think it’s interesting how the Rat’s story mirrors his own, but goes in the opposite direction. Like Boku, the Rat writes in his letter that “I think I’ve gradually lost my sense of time” (87). He also can’t count. And, whenever something unusual is happening, it gets very very quiet. I’ve heard that sound is actually one of our main strategies for tracking the passage of time, so this quiet could tie into the stopping of time. The Rat doesn’t come alive at the end of the book, instead he commits suicide. In contrast, Boku does come alive. I'm not sure how or if it all ties together in one idea, but I found these patterns and connections really interesting.

Hardboiled Dream

While we speak frequently about the connection between Murakami's stories and dreams, we speak less about how the hardboiled genre serves as the perfect medium to present these situations. When we dream, we find ourselves placed in fantastic situations that we accept without question. We drift through these scenarios without processing them emotionally. And when we wake up, we often forget it all. 

In the same way, we are dropped into Murakami's stories, faced with a an empty room where a man pulls stockings out of a bag or a picture of sheep sends us on a quest up a mountain. The characters face these situations and their mundane lives with the same ambivalence. But despite their apparent detachment, they find ways to process their grief and regrets. In Wild Sheep Chase, Boku loses a romantic partner and can't remember her name, loses his wife and can only picture a clothing item she doesn't own, and sees his past home reduced to rows of concrete building and can do nothing but litter a beer can. It's only once he climbs a mountain and communicates with a dead friend that he can return to society and feel the emotions he's been suppressing. It's as if his whole life was one big mundane dream but he had to go one layer deeper to wake from it. 

As I see it, these stories are only one layer removed from traditional hardboiled fiction as well. Underneath the gritty veneer of the city and slick talking criminals is romanticism. These are not realistic depictions of PIs, but instead what a PI dreams he would be. The hardboiled genre creates a fantasy so real that it takes someone like Murakami converting it to the overtly surreal to see the dream it represents. Ultimately, the characters in hardboiled novels are all like Boku, repeating the motions of their lives until they lose their Terry Lennox and remember what they had. 

- Joe

isthisthewormuniverse?

     I've always appreciated how Murakami is able to write characters that, even when you don't particularly like them, are deeply relatable. I also feel like I had no idea where the novel was going next the entire time reading it. Reading Murakami is like being stuck in a dream, and then by the end of it trying to piece things together that can feel nonsensical. Only to realize that as Murakami suggests, the line between dreams and reality is not distinct:

"There are symbolic dreams, dreams that symbolize some reality. Then there are symbolic realities, realities that symbolize a dream. Symbols are what you might call the honorary town councillors of the worm universe. In the worm universe, there is nothing unusual about a dairy cow seeking a pair of pliers. A cow is bound to get her pliers sometime. It has nothing to do with me."

    This novel prompted me to think a lot about free will, about loneliness, about one's control or lack there of their own excellence or mediocrity, about the extent to which we have any control over our own lives, about how easily identity is lost.

    Boku's as a character begins the novel with no ambition or direction. He doesn't have anything driving forces in his life or aspirations for the future. But his moments of insight suggest he may be 'unmotivated' for good reason. He doesn't succumb to the capitalist ambition he sees as destructive, "the kind of money in the world. It aggravates you to have it, makes you miserable to spend it, and you hate yourself when its gone. And when you hate yourself, you feel like spending money". He has trouble being present, and can't bring himself to enjoy things like he once did, yet has no trouble falling asleep every night. 

    By the end of the novel, Boku has been propelled into a seemingly purposeless chase. But here he is confronted with his isolation, in the abandoned home in Hokkaido that houses the Rat's buried body, where an alternate of Boku is revealed, where a time pendulum can be suspending and restarted at will, where time stops and reality seems suspended, where Boku's ex-wife stands with a white slip in hand. "Cells replace themselves", she says. The end of the novel, with its magical realist elements and confusing plot twists, subverts the readers understanding of the line between dream and reality, and leaves one with a feeling of confusion and loss. Boku's departure into the 'worm universe' may signify a new beginning for him, leaving the relics of his past in this abandoned space, and possibly being given the chance to start anew. 

- Gia

Blog Post 1 - Maya Thiart

 I have really enjoyed my time reading through Haruki Murakami’s works, both that of A Wild Sheep Chase and in the short stories linked in Blackboard. He seems to be quite skilled in his specific style and detailing interesting observations about the world around him. Now having read some of his work, I’ve noticed running themes and motifs — as we discussed in class, mirrors is definitely one of them. Again, this idea of seeing the self but different comes up in “Where I’m Likely To Find It” when the unnamed protagonist finds a mirror in the landing between the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth floors. The little girl he meets comments that the mirror there “reflects the best. It’s not at all like the mirror in our apartment”. When the protagonist moves closer he remarks that the person in the mirror “looked plumper and happier”. In this way, his mirror-self is different from the other stories we’ve read (like “William Wilson” and “The Mirror”), in that there isn’t a sense of rivalry or uneasiness when viewing it. The concept of being in two different worlds still exists but the protagonist seems not particularly interested in this sense of other. Contrasting this scene to the one in A Wild Sheep Chase, in chapter 37, when Boku looks into the mirror in the Rat’s house— “The me through the looking glass went through the same motions. But maybe it was only me copying what the me in the mirror had done. I couldn’t be certain I’d wiped my mouth out of my own free will.” Again, the encounter in the mirror makes the protagonist question his own reality, but in a way that positions him, and his mirror-self, against one another, as if one being real means that the other is fake.

“Stockings” was a rather confusing read. It felt almost like a simulated memory test, showing how tough it can be to answer questions under duress. Many studies show how memory can be unreliable, so testifying for a crime can lead to people misremembering key details — this feels like it was attempting to get the audience to feel similarly, like they were being interrogated but unsure what the “right” answer was. As creative a story as it was, there could be any number of things that the man said, and a lot of the story trails off in uncertain ways.

-Maya Thiart

 Cindy/Jiahan's first blog post on Murakami detective short stories.

"Where I'm Likely to Find It": This short story reads like a blue melody composed of a combination of ostinato (continually repeated musical phrase or rhythm, paralleling the motion of going-up and down the stairs and encountering with specific people at specific time) and rubato (a stretch of a certain musical note, beat, or phrase, paralleling the end of lingering wonders and expected inspirations of the readers' thoughts). It tells a story of a mysterious case of a missing husband, who disappears between two-floors stairs, as if suddenly falls into an Alice's rabbit hole. This reminds me of a Japanese term, "Kamikakushi", or literally, "hidden by the kami", or "spirited away", which is used to describe the mysterious disappearance or death of a person (especially a child), after they had angered or encountered the spirit(s) in Japanese folklore. And on account of "Kamikakushi" is tied with Japanese beliefs in animism, mononoke, and historical Japanese efforts to make sense the unknown, this story thus shows a quite conventional Japanese manifestation, which poses as a little deviation from Murakami's usual style of creating a sense of foreignness or alienation through inclusion of foreign brands, food, terms, or idioms. Mr. Kurumizawa has mysteriously disappeared and is found in Sendai safe and sound after twenty days, as if he has undergone a real Kamikakushi. Thinking about what this Kamikakushi symbolizes, I tend to think it as a desirable, temporary, imaginative/surreal escape from daily responsibilities that are becoming too overwhelming over time, like what our nameless protagonist private eye dubbed as "the three sides of [] beautiful triangular world". What also intrigues me are the conversations between different people and our protagonist detective, through which dynamics Murakami gives us something like the iceberg theory. Through Boku's talking with the old man of the 26th floor, who's overly immersing in philosophical thoughts and muttering deep ideas without seeming to pay any attention to Boku, even without any word hinting at his loneliness, I can tell how lonely he is by reading their dialogic conversations. There is a term called Kodokushi in Japan for when somebody dies alone and their body goes undiscovered for a long time (especially unmarried old people), which comes to my mind as I am reading this). Although the old guy in this story do lives with his son and his daughter-in-law, he's emotionally distant from his family, and the overwhelming loneliness implied by having him coming down the stairs for smoking raises melancholy emotions. Every character in this story appears so weary, lonely, and sort of jaded, like a sad song.

"South Bay Strut": This is a short story both speedy and motion-intensive like an action movie with all the gun shots scene. And it seems to be inspired by The Long Goodbye, especially the interaction between boku and the police, reminding me of the scene in The Long Goodbye between Marlowe, the police, and Menendez. I enjoy reading it. One important thing I notice is that this story's setting is quite unusual, as it happens in a city as South Bay city, which locates in southern California yet in everything (the ocean color, and the inhabitants) different from a real southern Californian scenery, which creates an estrangement to me.

"Stockings": I do not like unfinished stories, but the count down in the end is intimidating, and funny, too.

Cindy/Jiahan Lyu

 

"Death is not the opposite of life; it is a part of life."

    Murakami's works carry a unique loneliness, and death is one important way to shape that feeling. In A Wild Sheep Chase, at the start, when Boku shows numbness toward marriage, he mentions attending a funeral. The girl who died was once his partner. She had her own special view of the world and understood some of his inner loneliness.

"Live until 25," she said, "and then die." In July 1978, she died at 26.

    Murakami presents her death in an absurd way, as if she could not have even died the way she wanted. Maybe at 25 she discovered she wanted to live more, but no matter what, she died in an accident at 26.

"Drinking has nothing to do with the funeral; only the first one or two drinks do." 

    This is how the wine Boku drank after the funeral is explained. It also shows how indifferent he was to death at the start. Yet, when the Rat dies at the end, he cannot drink during their conversation and breaks down in tears like never before.

    I really like one explanation about the "sheep": they represent a collective thought. The flock has its own society, just like people do. At first, Boku was indifferent and did not belong to this society. But when he finally felt sorrow over another's death, it meant that he had become part of society. In a way, the sheep entered Boku.

                                                                                                                            Mingyuan

The Weight of Mediocrity

Throughout Haruki Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase, the concept of mediocrity keeps surfacing in characters’ conversations and the narrator’s internal monologue. There is a recurring question: Is mediocrity an inherent part of who we are, or is it imposed upon us? By incorporating this motif throughout the novel, Murakami makes one consider what it truly means to be “average.”

One of the earliest instances of this theme appears when a character paraphrases a Russian writer, stating, "Character maybe, but mediocrity is a constant." This suggests an inevitability to mediocrity, not a result of laziness or lack of ambition – it is not something one chooses. Attributing this quote to “one Russian writer,” Murakami perhaps alludes to his literary influences, like Dostoyevsky and Chekhov. Both authors were masters at depicting the human struggle with existential burdens, often with life’s mundanity as the backdrop.

Later, the Boss’ secretary – who speaks about mediocrity most frequently – remarks that "people can generally be classified into two groups: the mediocre realists and the mediocre dreamers." Here, the novel acknowledges that, even dreamers, or, in other words, those who dare to envision a life beyond the ordinary, cannot escape it through ambition or imagination. It does not matter whether one conforms to reality or attempts to rebel through dreams, one still remains mediocre. The secretary reiterates this idea:

"Just a while ago, I made reference to your mediocrity... this was by no means a criticism of you. To put it more simply, it is because the world itself is so mediocre that you are mediocre as such."

This statement shifts the definition of mediocrity from being about one’s personal failings to an existential condition – something systemic rather than individual. This plays into the novel’s larger themes of control (or lack thereof), power (which distorts and corrupts), and fate (inescapable yet elusive).

Towards the end of the novel, the secretary declares "Mediocrity walks a long, hard path." This phrase implies that mediocrity is not a simple state of being but is actually an inevitable journey. It is impossible to escape not because of a lack of effort, but because it is something one must endure rather than transcend.

Just before the Epilogue as the narrator boards a nearly empty train and reflects: “No matter how boring or mediocre a world it might be, this was it.” Ultimately, the narrator quietly accepts the world as it is. It is not something to be fought against but rather recognized. The novel does not romanticize the mediocrity of existence, but it also does not propose an alternative mode of being. Perhaps there is no escape to mediocrity but acknowledging it is necessary to make peace with it.

                                                                                                                                                Irina 

Because, Why Not? The Role of Will and Nihilism in Murakami’s “A Wild Sheep Chase”

Throughout Murakami’s “A Wild Sheep Chase”, the star-marked sheep can be seen as a representation of the concept of will. Some characters also seem to embody a Nietzschean or Schopenhauerian view of this will. While the Ainu youth are distraught at the sudden loss of their crops at the hands of a locust swarm, Japanese settlers seem unfazed and just get right back to work. While the Ainu youth/shepherd’s border collies cry beside his corpse, the non-star-marked sheep just stood there grazing in unison, unmoved. When Boku speaks with the Rat for the final time he seems deeply saddened by his friend’s death as he tries to ask him if he could’ve saved him, but the Rat just tells him bluntly that nothing could be done and to just have some beer. The way the two parties handle loss is, obviously, starkly different. The Japanese settlers, sheep, and Rat all embody a kind of Schopenhauerian view, there is no point in grieving a loss, from dust we came and to dust we’ll return, you just shut out the sadness. While the Ainu youth (at first), border collies, and Boku all take up a Nietzschean stance. They do not turn away from their sadness and rather, in the case of Boku by the end of the book, accept it as part of life and live meaningfully because of it. 

This is a main aspect of Boku’s transformation. He begins the book with no aspirations, no hopes, and no dreams. He’s just ambling down whatever path happens before him, in fact he takes up this sheep chase purely because not doing so would disturb the routine he has. This nihilistic, uncaring, and detached mien seems to slowly begin peeling away as he pursues the sheep. But right as he thinks he’s been doing things on his own accord, he finds out that he’s been following a path set by the Boss’ assistant the entire time. Upon this realization he thinks this to himself: "I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, but for what? Long, long before this moment, there had to have been something worth crying about. I went into the kitchen and got the bottle of whiskey. I could think of nothing to do but drink." His fall back into this nihilistic mindset is punctuated by a simple question: “but for what?” But by the end of the book, Boku seems to have moved past this nihilism as we see him break down into tears, showing the emotions and attachment to life flow back into him. This is reflected in the final lines: “I brushed the sand from my trousers and got up, as if I had somewhere to go. The day had all but ended. I could hear the sound of waves as I started to walk.” This idea of moving despite having nowhere to go shows his embodiment of doing things merely for the purpose of doing them. But this is divorced from the cold and uncaring perspective, as he keeps the sound of his paved ocean with him as he walks away.

Nicholas Nebiolo

Brand Names and Hyper-specific Objects Are Symbols of Reality

    in The Wild Sheep Chase. I must have been too stupid to understand it or something, yet the book was a wrestle between reality and the surreal in some sorts. The narrator could never remember anything yet he was able to remember the name of every murderer in Ellery Queen novels. He reads Sherlock Holmes, watches Hitchcock films, and the novel is clearly influenced by Chandler. As a novel that can hardly be labeled detective fiction, Murakami is certainly paying homage to the genre--a genre of detectives who rely on rationality and specificity to solve crime, a genre where one logical cause leads to a logical conclusion, where Ellery Queen can put some order into a chaotic and messy world. There must have been some significance with the whale penis, the dead man's curve, the girlfriend's ear, and the grape juice that I'm not seeing. Who knows. 

The Rat had a passage about his weakness that I really liked:

I guess I felt attached to my weakness. My pain and suffering too. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound of cicadas--if I like these things, why should I apologize. The same with having a beer with you...

What sadness. The weakness of youth that will never return. The friendships never to be found again, the loves that could never be traced back and the names never remembered. The novel is structurally strikingly similar to The Long Goodbye, which I thought was just such a masterpiece because of its refrain and cynicism. Murakami takes that which him and adds a line of the surreal, which I can't be sure worked in his favor. But maybe Marlowe could have used a little bit of The Rat's acceptance, admitting his emotions rather than sequestering them. If Terry Lennox was so important to him that he would withstand jail, why doesn't he just tell him? And he must say something like, "So long, amigo. I won't say goodbye. I said it to you when it meant something. I said it when it was sad and lonely and final."

--Bruce Zhou

Blog 1 - the concept of time in A Wild Sheep Chase

Haruki Murakami's A Wild Sheep Chase explores the concept of time in many ways. From one of his letters, Rat writes "Time keeps on flowing unchanged like a clear river" (94). Time is intangible, no exact form or anything. Therefore, people try to reflect time based on tangible items like the weathering of a building or the concentric rings in trees. Alone in the middle of nowhere in Hokkaido, Rat does not have anyone or anything to reflect time upon. The concept of time becomes even more intangible without anything to test it, if that makes sense. For example, when Boku stays in Rat's house, he understands the reason Rat keeps the house so clean, because "Unless you kept moving up here, you'd lose all sense of time," which is why the house feels unreal, like another world (291). Time seems to be part of reality. In other words, the concept of time keeps us feeling real or vice versa. However, spending time all by oneself may cause a false sense of time. Every day is the same. The lack of contact with other humans or outside world makes Boku lose a sense of time: "I suddenly realized that this was the first time, in what now seemed like years, that I had seen a newspaper, and that I'd been left behind an entire week from the goings-on of the world" (307). It's interesting how Boku describes that he feels abandoned from the world because he has not read the news, or been in communication with society. Maybe we can say through connecting with others or the society, we are consciously aware of the fact that we have spent time, and therefore can feel the time. Murakami explores the concept of time by showing the impact that a lack of interactions with the outside world has on one's sense of time. (Xiaoya)

Murakami Blog Post 1: The Fantastical Mind

In my reading, I have really appreciated the way that Murakami describes the thoughts of Boku in "A Wild Sheep Chase". It is simultaneously ridiculous and easy to conceptualize the thoughts he has. I think his metaphors are kind of on the nose but only if you understand what he is trying to say. My father loves to use metaphors so it almost reminds me of my father's metaphors but in a more fantastical way. The ridiculous picture that Murakami painted that was my absolute favorite was definitely the dream about the cow, where there's no definite answer for what it truly means or why he had the dream. It's just a ridiculous dream that may or may not be connected to his journey. 

I also enjoyed much of the discussion in class about the sheep and what it actually means. I kind of subscribe to the idea that the sheep is "The Will", influencing the characters to carry out its purpose or "will" in exchange for power. I think it's a little contradictory though. It only gives you the power to do its will so are you really gaining anything from it? Or is just power what drives the men? It has only possess men too, I think that's really interesting because of the mentions of various wars within the book, like men seeking power through the sheep similarly to how men seek power through war. It reminds me of a quote from "Fleabag" where they said "women have pain built into their bodies, men have to go outside and seek that pain; Women are the truly powerful gender"-or something along those lines-, so it almost feels like the sheep doesn't go to women because women don't seek power in the same way men do. Just food for thought though.

 

                                                                                                            Kashai

Emma's post

 One of the things I found most thought provoking about The Wild Sheep Chase was the way that Murakami presents time through Boku. Boku seems to always be one step behind, whether this is in a realistic or fantastic sense. While throughout most of the novel the world around Boku seems to be relatively normal, time remains throughout the whole novel to be one aspect which is incongruent with Boku’s life. He describes on various occasions that he always realizes things too late or that he simply missed that something has changed. The way he describes the changing world around him seems to suggest that his mind lags behind in some kind of a daze. These moments are especially pronounced when he is presented with a changed reality, one that is inconsistent with his memory- or his own reality. His anger and distaste for the changes in his hometown reflect this frustration with the inconsistencies between the passage of time and their state in his mind and memory. Change seems to slip by Boku in the same way that one might pass an acquaintance on the street unknowingly; if one pays attention, time would not simply slip by but Boku’s passivity towards life does not allow him to recognize the changes occurring around him. In this way, changes seem to occur abruptly and without notice, making the reader question whether the changes were really so abrupt or if Boku simply allowed the signs to slip by. The presentation of Boku in this way creates, throughout the whole novel, an air of disconnect. This reminded me specifically of the slow-fast effect used in filmmaking where one character moves slowly while the world around them speeds by. While the novel does not present the themes of time inconsistencies more readily until the end, it is clear through Boku and his perceptions that they are present throughout the whole novel.  

Ryan's thoughts on Boku

(following page numbers refer to the Barnes & Noble online edition)
What I found striking from the very beginning of the text was the complex nature of Boku’s emotional expression, and the images through which we as readers may begin to observe and assemble his condition. As is the case with many of his emotions, apart from his immediate sense-perceptions and impressions of external stimuli, and the subsequent
free-associations he pings to in his commentary of them, much is left unsaid. While there exists no question in the text as to what Boku is experiencing physically (that is, within proximity to his body), like his “lost…autumn” (228), his hunger, thirst, and the weirdness of his first stay in Sapporo, the extent to which his faculties for love, rage, fear, and passion, highly subjective, potent, and personal emotionalities, are triggered, and for what reason, is far more vague. These elements of his psyche, too, rarely manifest externally as typical and therefore predictable behaviors, like shouting (Boku is hardly, if at all, seen raising his voice) or strings of lamentations in conversation. Rather, the behavior that is observable is either an action devoid of explicit emotionality, such as tidying himself up or drinking, or an intellectualization of, and therefore an attempted distancing from (from both himself and the reader, either consciously or unconsciously), his emotions. The “vacant chair” left in the wake of his wife’s divorce does not necessarily elicit a sentimental reflection, but instead catalyzes Boku’s mental movement into an intellectual association: an “American novel” (32) and its depiction of male loneliness after failed romance. His loneliness is elucidated in his desire for parts of her to be left behind, his discomfort placed onto the newly emptied house and disruption of the status quo, rather than a desire to reunite with his ex-wife at an intimate level. His routine, his previously established normalcy, has been upended by something he rationalizes beyond his control, “her choice” (33) (the distant way in which he processes both her actions and his reactions), and what we are told of his state is not a moving wave of sentiment, but an admission to a more spatial sort of loneliness: he is left a “tiny child in a De Cherico painting” (32), bereft not of a sexual/ intimate partner, but a secure, constant (and therefore almost implied to be parental) presence.
Ryan Trostle 

Murakami Blog #1

    As someone who was very unfamiliar with Murakami's works, I've found it so interesting to see the motifs that he continually uses throughout his writing. In A Wild Sheep Chase I loved his descriptions of otherworldliness and the way he subtly blurs the feeling of reality. His use of body sensations and perception of the environment from the character's perspective is quite immersive and the shifts in reality as the plot develops is fascinating. The use of mirrors and strange changes in time, and the feelings those things invoke is beautiful. After finishing the novel and then reading his short story, Where I'm Likely to Find It, it is clear that the reading of the mirror has so much breadth within his body of work. I can imagine that for someone who has read a number of his books, the symbolism and subtext of the mirror has layers of referred meaning. I talk about the mirror specifically because of its relevance in the novel, and a few of the short stories, but the same can be said for many other symbols and motifs in his works. 

    Another thing I enjoyed from Where I'm Likely to Find It was the way he takes detective story tropes to a different place by mixing in his surrealist elements. It's never explicitly described who the protagonist is, what his other job is, or why he is after something seemingly very out of reach. He follows the methodology of a detective, interviewing potential witnesses and taking notes, looking for clues, but beyond that never progresses his search beyond waiting in the staircase. The protagonist maybe has some sort of sixth sense that is leading him in his search for something that might look like a door or an umbrella. Something about this vague magical realism is charming and lends itself to a possibility of deeper readings. As with South Bay Strut, these short stories do a great job of creating a world and mystery outside the self-contained story we read. Mentions of "the Jameson case" (3), and this thing the protagonist has been looking for since before the little girl was born (288) speak to larger ideas at play. However, I'm honestly not quite sure what to think of Stockings. The story feels kind of nonsensical to me, even though the man is acting assuredly and methodically. Even the first and last sentences addressing the reader directly are disorienting. I'm looking forward to see what other people make of it.

Kaito Aoki-Goldsmith

The Winds' Own Private Thoroughfare

“Most of the afternoons I would pass looking out at the pasture. I soon began seeing things. A figure emerging from the birch woods and running straight in my direction. Usually it was the Sheep Man, but sometimes it was the Rat, sometimes my girlfriend. Other times it was the sheep with the star on its back.

In the end, though, nobody ever materialized. Only the winds blowing across the pasture. It was as if the pasture were the winds' own private thoroughfare. The winds raced across the pasture, never looking back, on missions of utmost urgency.” - Haruki Murakami

Every once in a while during a nice reading session, I stumble upon a passage, description, or just a sequence of words that stun and inspire me. I end up just sitting there, allowing the words to soak in, and then I wish I had written what I read. These moments provoke my thoughts and emotions, which I find to be the mark of a great author’s exquisite craftsmanship.

Specifically, paragraphs five and six of “The Winds’ Own Private Thoroughfare” in A Wild Sheep Chase, set the theme and atmosphere of loneliness that persists for the rest of the story,, reinforced the fantastical setting, and revealed Boku’s emotional state while reinforcing his existentialism – all in 97 words. While isolated from society for days, Boku’s hallucinations that come from staring at the empty pasture manifest in two forms: what he is looking for and what he has lost. Both types of hallucinations serve to increase Boku’s sense of isolation as he is stuck near the end of his mystery but unable to make meaningful progress. Additionally, we know that this sheep ranch is an otherworldly setting, which could be an explanation other than loneliness for these hallucinations. Finally, Boku’s description of the pasture being “the winds’ own private thoroughfare” and the winds being “on missions of utmost urgency” stuck out to me as being a very unique train of thought. The phrasing and word choice seems perfect for someone that has had nothing to do but sit and think for days.

The best way to learn is through your own experiences, mistakes, and ruminations. The second best way to learn is by other’s experiences, mistakes, and ruminations. These two paragraphs show how to tie multiple aspects of a story together in a concise manner and are an exemplary example of the principle of “show, don't tell.” Connor Friedman

Blog 1: Murakami Detective Stories

Something I’ve enjoyed while reading these detective novels and Murakami’s short stories is how they place the reader in a similar position as the protagonist. Perhaps Marlowe in The Long Goodbye isn’t as relatable as Murakami's characters, but in each narrative the reader is required to examine each observation, event, and/or clue at almost the same instance as the narrator. This allows us to construct their world at the same pace and manner as the narrator. For example, in “Where I’m Likely to Find It,” from the very start, both Boku and the reader are given the brief by the client (wife). The dialogue between Boku and the wife is interrupted by Boku's note taking, offering both Boku and the reader space to digest each piece of information concurrently. Marlowe’s character is a bit different as I felt there was still much information unknown about him to the reader. When Marlowe is with Mrs. Wade and Mr. Spencer, I didn’t expect for Marlowe to question her with untruthful facts like the wire fence by the reservoir (312). Murakami’s characters feel more transparent and approachable to the reader, often exhibiting ordinary or relateable characteristics that the reader may more likely see in themselves. They also tend to have methodological approaches, like having routines of checking the stairwell in “Where I’m Likely to Find It” and running laps and cooking/cleaning in A Wild Sheep Chase. These behaviors establish a sense of security and trust in the reader, making them feel like they are right alongside them participating in these routines. Given how short both “Stockings” and “South Bay Strut” were, I did not really form a relationship with the protagonists as they behaved in more unpredictable ways.

Shi Shi

Murakami's Detective Short Stories

A pattern Murakami exhibits in his short stories South Bay Strut and Where I’m Likely to Find It, and perhaps A Wild Sheep Chase, is the inversion of the goal by result of the detective’s introspection. In their failure to fulfill their detective mission, the protagonists in both stories appear to themselves be the subject of their search. In South Bay Strut, the detective shudders at the thought of his eventual death, repeating, admittedly “all the time”: “I don’t want to die” and “it’s too soon for me to die” (2). His occupation as a detective, exposed to what is depicted as a deadly South Bay and “machine gun bullets,” fundamentally contradicts his fear. His ulterior goal to protect his own life, as a result, hinders his duties as a detective for he falls right into the lawyer’s trap. Thus, he himself becomes the victim. The focus strays from the duplicitous lawyer and instead toward what caused the detective to find himself in such circumstances. A similar inversion appears in Murakami’s Where I’m Likely to Find It where a nervous and neurotic protagonist volunteers to search for a missing husband. His supposed dedication, however, quickly becomes clouded by his curiosity for the other inhabitants of the building. When asked what he is searching for, he has “‘no idea’” (288). His assignment is ultimately not the driving factor for, once the husband is found, the detective declares his “search will continue,” for what he remains unsure (290). Both characters appear to be motivated by an internal goal, which is revealed through their unrelated detective obligations. 

Agnes Jonsson