The Music of Words, Part One

(This brief review of Jay Rubin's Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words is the first in a planned four-part series about Murakami on the occasion of his new novel appearing in the U.S.  The series will/should culminate in a short review of said novel, Kafka on the Shore, which RP has been beating to death for months.)

The Publisher Sez: "If literature is dead, someone forgot to invite Haruki Murakami to the funeral." --Jay Rubin

As a young man, Haruki Murakami played records and mixed drinks at his Tokyo jazz club, Peter Cat, where he wrote at the kitchen table until the sun came up. He loves music of all kinds and when he writes, his words have a music all their own, much of it learned from jazz. Besides being the distinguished translator of Murakami's work, Professor Jay Rubin is a self-confessed fan. He has written a book for other fans who want to know more about this reclusive writer. He reveals the autobiographical elements in Murakami's fiction; explains how he developed a distinctive new style in Japanese; and how, on his return to Japan from America, he came to regard the Kobe earthquake (in which his parents' house was destroyed) and the Tokyo subway gas attack as twin manifestations of a violence lying just beneath the surface of Japanese life. Since 1993 Rubin has been studying Murakami's writing, interviewing him, and collaborating with him in preparing his works for an English-speaking audience.

***

Your proprietor comes to Jay Rubin’s Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words from a strange place, having read most of Murakami’s novels and short stories in translation, yet not terribly well-informed about the author himself.  Rubin’s book, a combination of light literary analysis and intimate biography, was welcome in my home for just this reason, as it sums up Murakami’s oeuvre from Hear the Wind Sing (HM’s first novel) to his short story collection after the quake while dropping in friendly bits of trivia.  The tone is decidedly unacademic, which might just be another way of saying reader-friendly or reader-centric, depending on your politics.  (I might go so far as to say “cute,” which is a word that Rubin—one of Murakami’s three translators—often uses to describe aspects of Murakami’s work.  If you have an pathological aversion to cute or the whimsical, well, first of all, Murakami’s probably not for you.  Secondly, you might find yourself clutching your head at certain points, wondering in that sarcastic inner voice if you’re going to have to hear about how tall is Murakami, or what is his favorite meal.  For example.  And you’re going to hear just that, my friend, the answers being 5’7”—the same height as John Irving, whom Murakami translates into Japanese—and simple meals heavy on vegetables.  Murakami also runs marathons and has a weakness for single-malt scotch, if you’re curious.)

Certain Amazon.com grumblers have argued that most or all of the “personal” information herein is secondhand or old hat, but it certainly wasn’t to me, which suggests that this is a book best suited for those with just a bit of Murakami under their belt rather than the obsessive, hardcore fanboy or fangirl.   Which is not to say that those new to Murakami should steer clear—Rubin purposefully avoids major spoilers and is rarely, if ever, didactic, so knowledge of Murakami’s work doesn’t seem necessary as a prerequisite.  Consider each section as an amuse-bouche for the book or story it describes, then.  (To continue the metaphor, it seems unimaginable that the uninitiated reader of ...Music of Words wouldn’t hungrily track down and consume a copy of Murakami’s Hard-boiled Wonderland and the End of the World after reading Rubin’s description, but that could be the slavish fan talking.)

It should also be noted that the book helps the average (non-rabid) Murakami reader with description and analysis of HM’s first two novels, Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball, 1973, which aren’t widely available in the United States except as relatively pricey used copies.  These novels were translated into English by Alfred Birnbaum and put out by Kodansha Publishing (Murakami’s Japanese publisher), but first as part of the Kodansha English Library, “translations of popular contemporary novels into English, with grammar notes at the back.”  These editions, meant for Japanese high-school students, weren’t distributed much beyond Japan, so Rubin’s accounts of these works are important for the single fact that some of the elements of the early fiction, though rough, “form the basis of all Murakami’s writing.”  Rubin goes so far as to claim that the first chapter of Hear the Wind Sing provides a thematic mission statement of sorts—the epistemological basis of the early Murakami, if you insist—that HM works with and works through in his next six or seven novels; to this end, Rubin provides the first chapter of Hear the Wind Sing, to which he returns again and again, and a smattering of Pinball, 1973 that is perhaps even more useful to the casual reader, as the “I” (or Boku, as Rubin has it, and about which more later) character and his friend “Rat” re-appear in later novels A Wild Sheep Chase and Dance Dance Dance.

In sum, I’d say Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words is near-essential for the average Murakami reader and recommended for the person wondering what all the fuss is about.  A hardcore HM fan will probably be less served by the insights into the author’s personal life, but might still find Jay Rubin’s examination and explication of the (then) to-date complete Murakami valuable.

Next: Murakami and issues of translation.

Comments

[Dan Wickett]

Thanks Rake - you know I have this book lying around somewhere and this will help spur me towards moving it up the stack.

Enjoy,

[CAAF]

Excellent review, Rake. Well done!

[Jenny D]

Do you think Murakami is really so whimsical? I love his fiction, and I have a passionate loathing for whimsy in all its forms. I would never thought of that adjective to describe his writing.

Interesting review!

[Rake]

Well, moreso in his short fiction. Also, some of his light/occasional writing--as described by Rubin--fits the description, though most of it isn't available in translation, apparently.