The New Canon focuses on
great works of fiction
published since 1985. These
books represent the finest
literature of the current era,
and are gaining recognition as
the new classics of our time. In
this installment of The New
Canon, Ted Gioia reviews
Kafka on the Shore by Haruki
Murakami.
great works of fiction
published since 1985. These
books represent the finest
literature of the current era,
and are gaining recognition as
the new classics of our time. In
this installment of The New
Canon, Ted Gioia reviews
Kafka on the Shore by Haruki
Murakami.
Kafka on the Shore
by Haruki Murakami
Reviewed by Ted Gioia
Fifty years ago, if you had asked literary critics
to forecast the future course of the novel, they
probably would have predicted a great awakening
of wordplay and experimentation with language.
But they would have been wrong. Many of the
most provocative writers of recent decades
have stuck to conventional sentences and normal
syntax (pace Joyce). Yet they have made daring
explorations of the nature of reality. In short,
their progressive tendencies have proven to be
metaphysical rather than linguistic.
This re-examination of the real is at the heart of the fantastical
landscapes of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the pulp fiction-ish
narratives of Philip K. Dick, the ‘alternative universe’ histories of
Michael Chabon and Philip Roth, and the sci-fi scenarios of Wallace’
s Infinite Jest, McCarthy’s The Road and Atwood’s The Handmaid’s
Tale. Indeed, the pervasive incorporation of sci-fi plots into
serious fiction, from Kazuo Ishiguro to Jonathan Lethem, is a
recurring and unmistakable sign of this pronounced shift in the
literary weather.
Few writers have poked more holes in conventional notions of
reality than the Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami. Other authors
have explored what has come to be known as “magical realism,” but
most of them—such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Alejo Carpentier
and Ben Okri—have set their visionary tales in Third World locales
where myth and folklore loom large over the cultural landscape. In
these environments, magical realism seems a natural extension of an
on-going and tradition-laden literary dialogue.
But Murakami concocts his magical stories in the midst of affluent
modern-day consumer settings. When fish start falling from the sky
or cats talk to humans—both of which happen in the course of his
Kafka on the Shore—it is amid the hustle and bustle of
contemporary Japanese urban life. This ability to capture the
phantasmagorical in the thick of commuter traffic and high-rise
architecture is the distinctive calling card of Murakami. Like
magician David Copperfield making the Statue of Liberty disappear
(or at least seem to disappear), Murakami mesmerizes us by working
his legerdemain in places where reality would seem to be rock solid.
Murakami started off as the J.D. Salinger of Japan, rising to fame
with his very successful Norwegian Wood (1987). This was straight-
forward narrative, without any talking cats, but even here the
novelist showed a pronounced interest in off-kilter characters with
mental problems of various sorts and degrees, thus presaging his
later shift into murkier psychic waters. By the time we get to his
masterful The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994), the reader can no
longer tell the difference between reality and fantasy. The
protagonist can walk through walls and heal people by laying on
hands. Or can he? The closer you look at the story, the more it blurs
around the edges.
With Kafka on the Shore, Murakami combines the coming-of-age
theme of Norwegian Wood with the magical realism of The Wind-
Up Bird Chronicle. The result is a novel that defies the laws of
physics as well as the less easily enforced rules of conventional
narrative fiction. Yet Murakami also relies on elements familiar
from romance and mystery novels. The result is a book without
genre or genealogy, and which delights readers by its very
unpredictability.
The Kafka of the title is not the novelist Franz Kafka, but a troubled
fifteen-year-old named Kafka Tamura, who runs away from a
troubled home and disturbed father in hopes of finding his long
absent mother. Yet police are soon on the youngster's trail, and
hope to interrogate him as a possible suspect in a murder. Is Kafka
guilty? In typical Murakami fashion, the author sets out contrary
clues that seem to defy conventional notions of guilt and innocence.
Several other rich, puzzling stories are woven into Kafka's tale.
Satoru Nakata, a strange old man with paranormal powers he can
scarcely control or understand, is one of the most engaging
characters in Murakami’s oeuvre. He gets mixed up in the same
murder scene that Kafka is fleeing, and he embarks on a strange
vision quest to set things aright, accompanied by an amiable truck
driver. Much of this extraordinary sub-plot seems to take place in
some middle ground between quotidian reality and dream landscape.
Then we have Miss Saeki, manager of the private library where
Kafka takes refuge. She also seems to be running away from
something, and the loose ends of her enigmatic past may hold the
solution to the runaway’s own personal tragedy. Along the way, we
encounter a rogue’s gallery of magical personae drawn from
consumer goods—such as Colonel Sanders and Johnny Walker—
who play some of the strangest cameo roles you will find anywhere
in contemporary fiction.
The end result is a novel of constantly shifting ground. At times,
Kafka on the Shore takes on the overtones of Greek tragedy, but
then a short while later it seems to plunge into the murky world of
Jungian archetypes. It mixes Bildungsroman and fantasy and
conventional urban narratives into a strange combination that
defies the reader’s best attempt to categorize and pigeonhole. In
short, this is Murakami territory, a beguiling landscape that only
exists inside his visionary novels, and which is realized with
particular intensity in Kafka on the Shore.
by Haruki Murakami
Reviewed by Ted Gioia
Fifty years ago, if you had asked literary critics
to forecast the future course of the novel, they
probably would have predicted a great awakening
of wordplay and experimentation with language.
But they would have been wrong. Many of the
most provocative writers of recent decades
have stuck to conventional sentences and normal
syntax (pace Joyce). Yet they have made daring
explorations of the nature of reality. In short,
their progressive tendencies have proven to be
metaphysical rather than linguistic.
This re-examination of the real is at the heart of the fantastical
landscapes of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the pulp fiction-ish
narratives of Philip K. Dick, the ‘alternative universe’ histories of
Michael Chabon and Philip Roth, and the sci-fi scenarios of Wallace’
s Infinite Jest, McCarthy’s The Road and Atwood’s The Handmaid’s
Tale. Indeed, the pervasive incorporation of sci-fi plots into
serious fiction, from Kazuo Ishiguro to Jonathan Lethem, is a
recurring and unmistakable sign of this pronounced shift in the
literary weather.
Few writers have poked more holes in conventional notions of
reality than the Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami. Other authors
have explored what has come to be known as “magical realism,” but
most of them—such as Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Alejo Carpentier
and Ben Okri—have set their visionary tales in Third World locales
where myth and folklore loom large over the cultural landscape. In
these environments, magical realism seems a natural extension of an
on-going and tradition-laden literary dialogue.
But Murakami concocts his magical stories in the midst of affluent
modern-day consumer settings. When fish start falling from the sky
or cats talk to humans—both of which happen in the course of his
Kafka on the Shore—it is amid the hustle and bustle of
contemporary Japanese urban life. This ability to capture the
phantasmagorical in the thick of commuter traffic and high-rise
architecture is the distinctive calling card of Murakami. Like
magician David Copperfield making the Statue of Liberty disappear
(or at least seem to disappear), Murakami mesmerizes us by working
his legerdemain in places where reality would seem to be rock solid.
Murakami started off as the J.D. Salinger of Japan, rising to fame
with his very successful Norwegian Wood (1987). This was straight-
forward narrative, without any talking cats, but even here the
novelist showed a pronounced interest in off-kilter characters with
mental problems of various sorts and degrees, thus presaging his
later shift into murkier psychic waters. By the time we get to his
masterful The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (1994), the reader can no
longer tell the difference between reality and fantasy. The
protagonist can walk through walls and heal people by laying on
hands. Or can he? The closer you look at the story, the more it blurs
around the edges.
With Kafka on the Shore, Murakami combines the coming-of-age
theme of Norwegian Wood with the magical realism of The Wind-
Up Bird Chronicle. The result is a novel that defies the laws of
physics as well as the less easily enforced rules of conventional
narrative fiction. Yet Murakami also relies on elements familiar
from romance and mystery novels. The result is a book without
genre or genealogy, and which delights readers by its very
unpredictability.
The Kafka of the title is not the novelist Franz Kafka, but a troubled
fifteen-year-old named Kafka Tamura, who runs away from a
troubled home and disturbed father in hopes of finding his long
absent mother. Yet police are soon on the youngster's trail, and
hope to interrogate him as a possible suspect in a murder. Is Kafka
guilty? In typical Murakami fashion, the author sets out contrary
clues that seem to defy conventional notions of guilt and innocence.
Several other rich, puzzling stories are woven into Kafka's tale.
Satoru Nakata, a strange old man with paranormal powers he can
scarcely control or understand, is one of the most engaging
characters in Murakami’s oeuvre. He gets mixed up in the same
murder scene that Kafka is fleeing, and he embarks on a strange
vision quest to set things aright, accompanied by an amiable truck
driver. Much of this extraordinary sub-plot seems to take place in
some middle ground between quotidian reality and dream landscape.
Then we have Miss Saeki, manager of the private library where
Kafka takes refuge. She also seems to be running away from
something, and the loose ends of her enigmatic past may hold the
solution to the runaway’s own personal tragedy. Along the way, we
encounter a rogue’s gallery of magical personae drawn from
consumer goods—such as Colonel Sanders and Johnny Walker—
who play some of the strangest cameo roles you will find anywhere
in contemporary fiction.
The end result is a novel of constantly shifting ground. At times,
Kafka on the Shore takes on the overtones of Greek tragedy, but
then a short while later it seems to plunge into the murky world of
Jungian archetypes. It mixes Bildungsroman and fantasy and
conventional urban narratives into a strange combination that
defies the reader’s best attempt to categorize and pigeonhole. In
short, this is Murakami territory, a beguiling landscape that only
exists inside his visionary novels, and which is realized with
particular intensity in Kafka on the Shore.
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Gabriel García Márquez:
Love in the Time of Cholera
David Foster Wallace:
Infinite Jest
Margaret Atwood:
The Handmaid's Tale
Toni Morrison:
Beloved
Jonathan Franzen:
The Corrections
Don DeLillo:
Underworld
Zadie Smith:
White Teeth
Roberto Bolaño:
2666
Mark Z. Danielewski:
House of Leaves
Cormac McCarthy:
Blood Meridian
Philip Roth:
American Pastoral
Jonathan Lethem:
The Fortress of S0litude
Haruki Murakami:
Kafka on the Shore
Edward P. Jones:
The Known World
Ian McEwan:
Atonement
Michael Chabon:
The Amazing Adventures of
Kavalier & Clay
Philip Roth:
The Human Stain
Mario Vargas Llosa:
The Feast of the Goat
Marilynne Robinson:
Gilead
David Mitchell:
Cloud Atlas
José Saramago:
Blindness
W. G. Sebald:
Austerlitz
Donna Tartt:
The Secret History
Michael Ondaatje:
The English Patient
Saul Bellow:
Ravelstein
A.S. Byatt:
Possession
Umberto Eco:
Foucault's Pendulum
Cormac McCarthy:
The Road
J.K. Rowling:
Harry Potter and the
Sorcerer's Stone
Arundhati Roy:
The God of Small Things
Roberto Bolaño:
The Savage Detectives
Paul Auster:
The New York Trilogy
Ann Patchett:
Bel Canto
Ben Okri:
The Famished Road
Joseph O'Neill:
Netherland
Haruki Murakami:
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
Marisha Pessl:
Special Topics in Calamity
Physics
Colm Tóibín:
The Master
Denis Johnson:
Tree of Smoke
Richard Russo:
Empire Falls
Alice Munro:
Runaway
Mark Haddon:
The Curious Incident of the
Dog in the Night-Time
John Banville:
The Sea
Jeffrey Eugenides:
Middlesex
Junot Diaz:
The Brief Wondrous Life of
Oscar Wao
Aravind Adiga:
The White Tiger
Tobias Wolff:
Old School
David Foster Wallace:
Oblivion
More to come
Recommended Links:
Great Books Guide
Conceptual Fiction
Ted Gioia's personal web site
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works under review.