Review – Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami


Review – Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami (trans. by Jay Rubin)

I read Norwegian Wood for the first time when I was twenty-two, and I enjoyed it then, but the second time around I find myself a little turned off. Similar to Jang Jung-Il’s When Adam Opens His Eyes (see my review of this book here) this book centers on the life of a lonely university student named Toru, and his experimentation with relationships and sex in sixties’ Tokyo. Both books are concerned with reflection of the past and the valuable insight that comes with age, and while I thought this was a believable premise in When Adam Opens His Eyes, Norwegian Wood unfortunately still felt like it was written by a teenager.

A big problem I think is the novel’s length, while When Adam Opens His Eyes is short and sweet — only one hundred and twenty-five pages — Norwegian Wood rambles on with fluffy conversations and pointless tangents for almost four hundred pages. On top of this excess, and I don’t know how much of this can be chalked up to bad translating, or cultural differences, but there were moments where I found the writing downright execrable. A sample from the beginning:

The stewardess came to check on me again. This time she sat next to me and asked if I was alright.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I said with a smile. “Just feeling kind of blue.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “It happens to me, too, every once in awhile.”
She stood and gave me a lovely smile. “Well, then, have a nice trip. Auf Wiedershen.”
Auf Wiedershen.” (4)

The chapters often end anticlimactically like this. I actually liked the Proustian motif in the beginning: Toru hears the song “Norwegian Wood” by The Beatles and it brings him back to memories of the sixties. However, why do I need to know that the airline stewardess, who is only in this one scene, gets sad from time to time? It seems like Murakami is trying to show and not tell to build his scenes and characters, but often I found myself having to wade through pages of empty dialogue and imagery in order to find the little pockets of substance. There are other weird moments, like when Naoko, Watanabe’s primary love interest, exposes her naked self to Watanabe in the middle of the night, before going back to bed. I still don’t understand the purpose of this scene. Also, there are instances where Reiko, twice, and Midori, once, jokingly accuse Watanabe of wanting to rape them while they are sleeping. This again comes up not just once, but three different times in the book. You kinda have to wonder what Murakami was thinking about while he was writing.

Thus, the characters didn’t strike me as being realistic. Watanabe, as alienated and apathetic about life as he is, still manages to come across as a smooth, witty ladies-man, with no problems getting girls to sleep with him. I don’t think Murakami intended Watanabe to be an unreliable narrator but at times you get the feeling he’s a bit of a narcissist. Nagasawa is also a little larger than life in my opinion, he comes off as a sociopathic, almost-omnipotent womanizer at times, yet in other scenes he serves as a device to keep the plot moving, either to get Watanabe laid, or to carry out some other miscellaneous favor for Watanabe. In the afterword of the book, translator Jay Rubin mentions that the content in the book was an exaggeration of Murakami’s own college years. I think this definitely rings true, but not in a good, believable way.

I’ve also heard people say before that Murakami’s work is less focused on character development and more with creating a comfortable setting, mood, or tone, which explains all the coffee, records, and Western cultural figures alluded to constantly. The shallow, Woodyallenesque namedropping, for lack of a better word, is a little pretentious, and it feels as if Murakami is trying to prove something as a Japanese author, or trying to make up for a lack of authenticity. People like this though, it is accessible to Western readers, while not being too heady, and I think this where Murakami gets a lot of his appeal. Although the book seemed to me like a bunch of raw, unrelated ideas, haphazardly arranged together for the sake of “edginess,” admittedly the effect is surprisingly able to work. For what the book is, it is readable. However, the book still feels unpolished to me, and I really wish Murakami would have taken more time to perfect his ideas. They are definitely original, but not executed as maximally as I think they could be.

I’m still not sure how I feel about Bob Dylan winning the Nobel, but based on this book, I feel that it is also questionable whether or not Murakami, who is a yearly contender for the award, deserves it too. If you are looking for serious literature, skip this book. 

Murakami, Haruki. Norwegian Wood. Vintage, 2011. Print.

Review – The Nix by Nathan Hill


Review – The Nix by Nathan Hill

I first heard about this book in The Washington Post, the reviewer starts with a comparison between minor character Governor Packer and Donald Trump. Another review in The New York Times claims this book was inspired by Thomas Pynchon and David Foster Wallace. Not only am I a fan of both writers, but I thought this book was going to contain social commentary about this year’s election cycle. Also, I’m always happy to check out what is proclaimed as the next big thing in literature, so I whipped out my credit card and bought the Kindle edition. After reading the book however, I did find both of these observations to be a little off base. Governor Packer, whose role in the book is not very significant, actually reminded me less of Trump and more like an evangelical, Rick Santorum, Rick Perry type figure. The book is also much too light to be anything like a Pynchon or Wallace novel (though it might match in length), and in my opinion it is more similar to Zadie Smith’s White Teeth: both books are character-driven, multi-generational family sagas, narrated by a comic voice and offering of an ambitious range of themes.

What I liked most about this book is that it is devotedly focused on its characters and the empathy that is shed for them, Author Nathan Hill paints both sides of the story and creates a lot of humor while doing so. The book starts out with Samuel Andresen-Anderson, a jaded English professor who uses an online MMORPG as a coping mechanism for life, when his mother, Faye, who abandoned him in his adolescence, suddenly gets into trouble and needs her son’s help. Though Samuel initially declines, the rest of the book shows how Samuel comes to understand why his mother did what she did, that things are not always as they seem, and reconciliation between mother and son takes place. Hill also shows his range by following other characters that come in and out of this narrative, my favorites including Pwnage, a malnourished man with a heart of gold that is horribly addicted to gaming, and Laura Pottsdam, an entitled, almost sociopathic college student who will say or do anything to get Samuel to accept her plagiarized essay on Hamlet.

The theme of protest also plays a large part in the book, as parallels are made between the 1968 Democratic National Convention protests in Chicago and the 2011 Occupy Wall St. protests in New York, yet the message isn’t political as much as it is suggestive of the timeless, cyclical nature of things, that regardless of one’s generation there will always be something to be unhappy and protest about. Hill’s prose is clean and hypnotic, and the book is something of a page-turner. I was so distracted at times while walking in the Singapore metro. Though I usually enjoy a book that has more weight, the substance in this book is definitely there, and the effort by no means was a lazy one. Though my expectations of this book were not met, I was still pleasantly surprised and very much enjoyed The Nix.

Hill, Nathan. The Nix. Alfred A. Knopf, 2016. Kindle.

The Washington Post review    The New York Times review

Review – When Adam Opens His Eyes by Jang Jung-Il


Review – When Adam Opens His Eyes by Jang Jung-Il (trans. Hwang Sun-Ae and Horace Jeffrey Hodges)

In a small Singapore bookstore (BooksActually, lovely place) I was intrigued to come across this novel, as I spent some time teaching in South Korea in 2013 and have always wanted to acquaint myself with the literary tradition. This book is also part of a more expansive Library of Korean Literature series, so I hope to read more of these titles in the future as I generate income.

Reading this book brought back memories, in particular one strong memory that I found a little troubling at the time, but definitely in line with some of the themes that I thought were present in this book, and seemingly still relevant now, considering that this book was published in 1990. I was in class teaching students in their last year of elementary school, and the subject of the lesson was about showing appreciation for the acquaintances one encounters in daily life, e.g. the clerk at the convenience store or the doorman in one’s apartment building. The warmer of the lesson involved a question: “If you had to get a gift for one of these people, what gift would you give them?” Most of the students had typical answers like flowers, cards, or candy, but one student in the back, who was somewhat of a class clown, said that it would be best to give this person death. Most students laughed and thought this was funny, and when I asked the student to elaborate on his answer a little more, he stated something along the lines that death would make everything in that person’s life much easier. Whether purely a joke or a reflection of the student’s state of mind, I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t push the tangent further. Nonetheless I did find the answer to be a little disturbing, especially coming from a sixth grader. 

Suicide has been a hot topic in Korea and anyone familiar with the Korean education system knows that middle school and high school are both trying and stressful times for Korean youth, as college entrance exams have a lot of weight in Korean society. It is common belief that one’s result of said exams determines the outlook of one’s future. My hagwon (which translates into English as cram school, or academy) opened right after students finished their classes in public school, and it was common for students to study until nine or ten in the evening, or split their afternoons between different hagwons. To give you an idea of how prevalent this is, there was an avenue in the city where I lived called Hagwon-ga, or “Hagwon Street,” that consisted of many different kinds of hagwons — math, English, even basketball hagwons. It is important to remember how young these kids are, and it’s very easy to see how this pressure to get ahead of the competition, at the price of one’s childhood, can negatively impact mental health.

This wistful, lonely novel gives us the story of a young Korean man — we never know his name but we get the biblical nickname ‘Adam’ — and a portrait of his life as a nineteen-year old transitioning from boy to man in Daegu, a major city in the southern part of the country. Adam enters a cram school with the goal of entering a top university, acquiescing to the desires of his mother, who works in an underground subway mall to pay for Adam’s tuition. Disillusioned with his prospects and feeling lonesome and stuck, Adam helplessly and apathetically searches for an exit from convention, using sex, music, reading, and different forms of loitering as ineffective devices. The book also chronicles Adam’s relationships with two girls also in this same transitionary juncture of life, the first being Eun-san, a highly motivated and ambitious poet looking to make a name for herself in her university’s literary scene, and the self-destructive, Walkman-wearing Hyun-Jae, a slightly younger high school girl, who like Adam regularly ditches cram school and is also lost, but to a much worse degree.

The young characters pay much allegiance to the musical figures of American counterculture, evidently rock and roll from the sixties was all the rage among Korean youth in the eighties. Allusions to Western art and literature are also present, but mainly we see the characters looking towards music for their values. In a scene early in the novel, Eun-sun and Adam write a poem together, a kind of manifesto to describe their feelings towards the “names beginning with J:”

I only trust those names beginning with ‘J.’

Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison,

Only those frightful singers.

Dying early,

Or taking drugs,

In this world,

Both are possible. (15)

The American rockstars are romanticized by the youths and this is where a lot of the sadness in the book comes from, the reader becomes aware that the characters are experiencing the same kind of “ennui” and “desire to be different” that everybody experiences in their teens, subjecting them to making dumb, albeit inevitable mistakes. Adam’s struggle isn’t that he suffers, but it is a struggle to suffer in a way that he is able to decide, in a way that his counterparts at the cram schools can’t. Yet this inherently American phenomenon, though attractive to the Korean youth, and symbolic of a changing Korea, does not yet smoothly translate between the two cultures. The idea of “kitsch” in the novel also warrants a closer examination.

The tambourine man, described by Adam as a business man gone crazy, banging a tambourine in a busy street, is a clear allusion to Bob Dylan’s 1965 ballad, and a beautiful metaphor for the message of the novel. The tambourine man suggests that the offerings of both East and West will drive you crazy. Yet we are posed with a question of whether or not crazy is a good thing. The tambourine man is clearly happy, but rejected by society. It again raises the question of mental health and the fact that everyone, no matter what inclination, is dealing with the harsh realities of life. We do see growth from Adam: though his actions take him into some dark places, in the end we do get the sense that he will be all right, as he is able to learn and become stronger from his mistakes. Hyun-Jae, in a very tragic turn, unfortunately does not. Overall I really enjoyed this book, and I recommend this book to anyone who wants a deeper perspective into the South Korean psyche, or just a bittersweet, heartache of a read.

Jang, Jung-Il. When Adam Opens His Eyes. Dalkey Archive Press, 2013. Print.

Review – Party Members by Arthur Meursault


Review – Party Members by Arthur Meursault 

This book had three main strong points: Firstly, I thought that Arthur Meursault, whom I assume is a foreigner, was very ambitious to write an all-Chinese cast. Some will obviously question the authenticity of that but I respect the author’s boldness, and he pulls this off well for satiric purposes. Also, the book was very well written stylistically, unlike many other books about China (looking at you Tom Olden) that are written by foreigners. Lastly, I will not comment on whether or not the China depicted in this book is representative of the “real” China (whatever that means) but I did think that Meursault’s vision, in all of it’s darkness, squalor, and sordidness, was quite unique. Some scenes brought about a very uncomfortable, visceral reaction, and even the most optimistic foreigners wouldn’t be able to deny some of the scary truths within these pages.

However, I did think that Meursault’s attempts to humanize some of the characters made the societal criticisms less effective, mainly because the book is more of an allegory (as satire usually is) and less of a character-study. For example, the first few chapters give an exposition of the protagonist Yang Wei, a sort of Chinese Everyman, and this exposition isn’t much more than a cataloging of everything that is wrong with modern China: the education system, government policies, societal expectations, filial piety, bad manners, terrible hygiene, etc., and how Yang Wei is the average product of these flaws. Yang Wei acquires an insignificant government post, marries a woman with no personality, and spawns a typical “little Emperor” technology-addicted son, he is essentially pre-engineered into a world where one has to aspire to be mediocre. I didn’t think that this was bad, I actually thought it was well done and quite funny, brutally honest in the best way, and the jaded foreigner within me was rooting for Meursault to continue on. The story for the most part afterwards is cast underneath this satiric light. Later on though, we see the characterization and short-lived entrance of little Shanshan, and this snippet is probably the most hopeful, human portrait in the book. Moments of two-sidedness like this one are rare, and thus I found these moments to be a little out of place with the rest of the book, as Meursault is mostly railing on China for a comedic, seemingly black-and-white effect. While both Yang Wei and Shanshan are both portrayed as victims of a system much bigger than the both of them, Shanshan is meant to be sympathized with, whereas Yang Wei, and most of the other characters, are mostly meant to disgust, repulse, and as a result humor the reader. There is a noticeable lack of balance. Considering my overall impression of the book, something wants me to think that if Shanshan’s character was allowed to survive and develop further, she would have become like one of the many prostitutes that Yang Wei indulges in throughout the narrative, or more ambitiously, another government official’s wife with no personality. How is Shanshan any different from the child defecating into the bucket of KFC? I understand that the book is meant to be about the darker effects of power and money, and how these things take people down terrible paths, but when the book is always so focused on the negative, these little attempts at humanization don’t seem genuine.

I do also lurk on r/China from time to time and I am familiar with the whole “Rainy” archetype, which I find hilarious, and while I was really excited to see Meursault’s take on this phenomenon, I didn’t think the potential humor of this idea was fully capitalized on. Mainly this is because I think the whole idea of a Rainy must exist within a “foreigner male – Chinese female” dynamic, to put it roughly. Basically, I think that if Meursault wanted to have a Rainy in the book, he should have written a foreign character. The materialistic, iPhone-toting side of the Rainy was captured well enough, but the bad English, poor social skills, stalking, culture clashes with whatever English teacher unlucky enough to get involved with Rainy, etc., these vital elements of “Rainyness” were just not present. Another thing that I thought was a little inconsistent, if all of the characters are Chinese, and it is evident from the text that the characters are speaking Chinese together, then why on earth would Yang Wei or any other character in the book refer to her as Rainy? Maybe a little pedantic of a complaint, but nonetheless I did question the logic of this. Maybe I am trying to say that only a foreigner can see the “Rainy” in a Chinese girl.  I think that the character Bella in Quincy Carroll’s Up to the Mountains and Down to the Countryside was a more accurate caricature.

Though I did find this novel to be a tad mean-spirited in some parts, it is still a very fun and insightful read, while not being too heavy. It does play up to “ultra-unreal” tendencies seen these days in modern Chinese literature. Unfortunately the sexually explicit content, shock, violence, and descriptions of Yang Wei’s penis (that are borderline homoerotic at times) will probably prevent the book from being taken seriously in more “highbrow” circles. Overall though I did enjoy this book, and I do recommend it, especially if one currently lives or has spent time in China. Meursault does indeed have a valid and valuable perspective.

Meursault, Arthur. Party Members. Camphor Press, 2016. Kindle.