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Noted Japanese author Haruki Murakami looks back over 40 years of literary
endeavors
As I had never done an oil painting, I wrote the novel by reading about painting in
books. A few painters later told me when I asked that there were no mistakes in the
novel. Paintings and stories both have the same basic principle of creating something
from zero.
One cannot help noticing in our daily lives, some indications of violence that lurk in
the deepest, darkest recesses of our minds. Sometimes I fear that something from the
past is resurrecting.
Gatsby lives in a place where he can see Daisy’s house, whom he loves.
Like him, Menshiki lives in a mansion in the mountains in Odawara’s
outskirts where he can see the house where Mariye, presumably his
daughter, lives.
Gatsby worked his way up from poverty to a life of glitz that attracts attention
because that’s his goal. In contrast, Mr. Menshiki lives an ordinary, calm life. Their
personalities and characters differ. I only borrowed a setting from Gatsby.
Menshiki comes to ask the protagonist to paint his portrait. He says that
having his portrait painted is “an exchange.” An exchange of parts with
each other. The protagonist makes an exchange with his dead younger
sister Komichi, and Mariye feels similarly about such interactions. The
word “exchange” made an impression.
Since there are a limited number of characters, the story wouldn’t stick unless they
give each other something. The person who actually made the pit in the property
appear is Mr. Menshiki. Without him, there would be no story in the first place.
That’s right. Because Menshiki is the one who called the workers to have
it dug.
In that sense, communication has a very important meaning in this story. There was
not that much communication among the characters in some of my novels in the
past. They were accumulations of relationships between two people. The characters
were pretty much isolated and many of them did not even have names. But as I
continued to write, I was gradually able to write about multiple interactions.
“Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” is a novel where multiple
people interact with each other.
Your earlier works, which are written in the first person, are impressive.
But “After the Quake,” a collection of stories with the 1995 Great
Hanshin Earthquake as the backdrop, is told in the third-person
narrative.
“1Q84” is a long novel told in the third person. And once I finished writing it, I
wondered again what I could create with a first-person narrator.
Is there something that can be done in the first person that is difficult in
the third-person narrative?
A monologue is easier to narrate in the first person. A first-person point of view can
be written simply and unaffectedly, and readers can identify with the “I” easily. If
readers can do that, it makes me happy as an author.
I see.
“The Great Gatsby” is also a first-person narrative. So is Raymond Chandler’s “The
Long Goodbye,” which I like, and J.D. Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye.” They are all
books that I have translated. I wonder why.
At the beginning of “Killing Commendatore,” it says that the protagonist
and his wife have both signed and sealed their divorce papers but that
they “ended up making a go of marriage one more time.”
The main point of the novel is that the protagonist, after going around in the dark,
comes back to where he was to start over, just like a Japanese religious experience
called tainai meguri. I wanted to indicate that at the outset, both to the readers and
to myself.
This is the first novel that you write a conclusion at the beginning, isn’t
it?
Yes. Until now, in many of my stories, if you lost something, you did so forever. But I
decided from the start that this would be about restoration. So it was important to
me to add that announcement at the beginning of the book.
And you write at the end, “I will not become like Menshiki” and “That is
because I am endowed with the capacity to believe.”
Mr. Menshiki does not know whether the young girl Mariye is his daughter or not.
There is a scene where the protagonist enters the deepest abyss of his
mind after killing the Commendatore. Of all such abysses that you’ve
written about, this seems the darkest.
I believe that there is no restoration without going through the most profound
darkness. Accepting someone who has returned is forgiveness. Forgiveness is an
emotion that emerges for the first time only after one goes through a very dark place
and comes out on the other side.
My writings are not written in the so-called literary fashion but are plain and free. To
put it another way, it should be handy and useful as a good tool. That characteristic
probably doesn’t get lost even when my books are translated.
If you learn the tricks, you can use them to freely cut out meanings from things in
your surroundings or emotions. Recently I feel that foreign readers are perhaps
seeking that universal sense of freedom. Of course, this is only an opinion based on
my intuition.
The Japan Times is reprinting this interview as provided by Kyodo News. The
interviewers were critic Yutaka Yukawa and Kyodo News senior feature writer
Tetsuro Koyama.