David Mitchell.

Number9dream
Chapter 1
PanOpticon

  “We are both busy people, so let’s cut the small talk. You already know my name, or at least
you knew it, once upon a time. Eiji Miyake. Yes, Ms. Kato, that Eiji Miyake. Why am I here in
Tokyo? Think about it. I am here to find out who my father is. And why you, Ms. Kato? You
know his name and you know his address. I never threaten anyone. But I am telling you that you
are going to give me the information I want. Right now.”

  Or something like that. A galaxy of cream unribbons in my coffee cup, and the background
chatter pulls into focus. My very first morning in Tokyo, and already I am getting ahead of
myself. Jupiter Cafe sloshes with lunch-hour laughter, Friday plottings, clinking saucers
(metaphor). Drones bark into cell phones, she-drones hitch up sagging (epithet) voices to sound
more feminine. Steam bears coffee, seafood rolls, detergent. I have a fine across-the-street
(phrase epithet) view of PanOpticon’s main entrance. Quite a sight, (detachment) this zirconium
gothic skyscraper. Its upper floors are hidden by cloud, and so is the real Akiko Kato. City
weather is a mystery. Under its tight lid, (detachment) Tokyo swelters (personification) at 34°C
in 86 percent humidity—a big PANASONIC display says so. Tokyo is too close up to see,
sometimes (detachment). There are no distances and everything is above your head—dentists,
kindergartens, dance studios. Even the roads and walkways are up on murky (epithet) stilts. An
evil-twin Venice (metaphor) with all the water drained away. Reflected airplanes climb over
mirrored buildings. I always thought Kagoshima was huge, but you could lose it down a single
side alley in Shinjuku. I light a cigarette—I am smoking Kools today, the brand chosen by a
biker with hair dyed blackcurrant in the line ahead of me—and watch the traffic and passersby
on the intersection between Omekaido Avenue and Kita Street. City office drones, lip-pierced
(epithet) hairdressers, midday drunks. Nobody is standing still. Rivers, snowstorms, traffic,
bytes, generations, a thousand faces per minute. Back on Yakushima you might get a thousand
minutes per face (hyperbole, chiasmus). Crowds make me thoughtful. All these people have
boxes of memories labeled “Father,” “Dad,” “Pa.” Whatever. Photogenic pix, shots in poor light,
scary figures, tender poses, fuzzy angles, scratched negatives (epithets) — it makes no
difference. Unlike me, they know who it was who ushered them into the world. Crowds make me
too thoughtful. (framing)

  Ms. Kato! Come down to Jupiter Cafe! It would be so much simpler. You drop by for a seafood
roll and a coffee; I recognize you instantly, of course, introduce myself, admit coyly that I was
hoping to bump into you here; we discuss the matter at hand—we are two grown-ups now— and
you will see that natural justice is on my side (asyndeton). I sigh aloud, and sense my neighbor
hide him-or-herself deeper behind his-or-her barrier of newspaper. How do you smuggle
daydreams into reality? (rhetorical question) My careful plan seems far-fetched (epithets). A
building as vast as PanOpticon (comparison) surely has many other exits. It must have its own
restaurants, to spare its employees the hassle of descending to ground level. Who says you even
eat lunch, Ms. Kato? (rhetorical questions) Maybe your slaves bring you a human heart to tide
you over until suppertime. I entomb my Kool in the innards of its ancestors (periphrasis,
metaphor) and resolve to end my stakeout when I finish this coffee. Hear that, Akiko Kato?
(rhetorical question) I am coming in to get you.

  Three waitresses staff Jupiter Cafe this lunchtime. Waitress One— the boss—is a brittle
(epithet) imperial dowager who poisoned her husband. Waitress Two, a corn-on-the-cob (epithet)
face with a braying donkey voice, is Waitress One thirty years ago. Waitress Three is turned
away right now, but her hair is up and I can see she has the most perfect neck on Earth.
(hyperbole) I mean it. A syndicate of love poets could not describe how smooth and curved this
neck is. Soft as a peeled egg. (simile) Dowager is telling Donkey— and half Jupiter Cafe by
default—about her hairdresser’s latest failed marriage. “When his wives don’t measure up to his
fantasies, that’s when he tosses them overboard.” She has an industrial-diamond (epithet) voice.
The waitress with the perfect neck is serving a life sentence at the sink with a scrubber and
sponge in lieu of a ball and chain (periphrasis). The atmosphere is hostile (epithet) in here. Are
Dowager and Donkey cold-shouldering her, or is she cold-shouldering them?

  Hot (epithet) fog is now down to the ninth story of PanOpticon. I decide to calculate the
number of days I have lived. It comes to 7,286. I add four leap years. The clock says 12:51.
Suddenly most of the drones in the cafe get to their feet and flock away. Are they afraid that if
one o’clock finds them anywhere except their fluorescent-lit (epithet) cubicles, their companies
will have an ideal excuse to Restructure (euphemism) them? I watch lots of them enter
PanOpticon, and toy with the idea of coming back tomorrow and stealing an ID tag. No. Simple
is good. I strike PanOpticon today. At the stroke of one o’clock. (detachment) My coffee cup
stands empty in its moat of slops. (metaphor) I admit I am nervous. Nervous is cool.
(anadiplosis) A recruitment officer for the Self-Defense Forces came to my high school—my old
high school, I should say—and said that no worthwhile fighting unit wants members who are
immune to fear. In combat, soldiers who are blind and brave inevitably get their platoon wiped
out. An effective soldier controls his fear, and uses it to sharpen his senses (metaphor). It
sounded so easy. Another coffee, Eiji? No, thanks, Eiji, but I will smoke one final Kool. To
sharpen my senses. (detachment)
Linguo-stylistic analysis of the text

I. Origin.
Title: number9dream
Author: David Mitchell (born 12 January 1969; an English novelist, television writer, and
screenwriter)
Type: a coming-of-age story

II. Subject matter.

The scene is laid in Japan, Tokyo. The plot is centered around 19-year-old Eiji Miyake who is
searching for his father whom he has never met. He is planning on meeting his father’s lawyer,
Akiko Kato, so as to find out who his father is. The chapter alternates between descriptions of
Eiji waiting in the café and his fantasies about his meeting with Akiko Kato. Eiji drifts out of his
waking dreams and, back at the café, he observes the customers and waitresses: he is attracted by
a waitress with a beautiful neck.

III. Plot and development.

In the exposition of the story, the narrator depicts the setting. The action takes place in a crowded
cafe in Tokyo. It is lunchtime, and the place is full of people. The narrator describes sounds
(lunch-hour laughter, clinking saucers, chatter) and smells (coffee, seafood rolls, detergent), as
well as the PanOpticon building (the zirconium gothic skyscraper) and midday Tokyo. The
narrator dwells upon the sweltering heat and busy streets, whimsically calling the city “an evil-
twin Venice with all the water drained away”. Besides, we are introduced to the main character,
the 19-year-old Eiji Miyake. As the plot progresses, we find out that Eiji is about to meet his
father’s lawyer, Akiko Kato. He envisions their conversation while smoking and observing other
visitors. The sequence of events in the extract is chronological, apart from Eiji’s casual memory
of the recruitment officer who told him about the significance of fear.

IV. Composition.
The narration is done in the first person, as we get to witness Eiji’s interior monolog. However,
there are elements of the dramatic monolog as well, since Eiji occasionally addresses Akiko.
(Hear that, Akiko Kato? I am coming in to get you). The scene is presented through Eiji’s
thoughts, and it is relatively static, as the narrator describes his surroundings and ponders his
next move. The description is subjective; the narrator selects some striking details to paint the
picture of the sweltering day in Tokyo. The anticipation of the meeting with Akiko adds
suspense to the scene, as the feeling of uncertainty permeates the abstract.

V. Characters and objects.

The main character is Eiji Miyake, a Japanese 19-year-old young man in search of his father. We
are also introduced to Ms. Akiko Kato, a lawyer. The characterization of Eiji is indirect; Ms.
Kato remains mysterious. Eiji’s personality can be discerned through his inner monolog. He is a
shrewd observer, attentive to detail, thoughtful yet a little smug. Eiji thinks of himself as a
grown-up, and he is ready to speak with Ms. Kato on equal terms: “You drop by for a seafood
roll and a coffee; I recognize you instantly, of course, introduce myself, admit coyly that I was
hoping to bump into you here; we discuss the matter at hand—we are two grown-ups now— and
you will see that natural justice is on my side.” To me, Eiji seems a bit full of himself, which is
typical of boys his age.

The author makes ample use of original epithets, similes, and metaphors to highlight the
idiosyncratic tone of the chapter. The voice of the waitress is described as “industrial-diamond”,
and her neck is “soft as a peeled egg”. Small details are pulled into focus: a “galaxy of cream”
unribbons in Eiji’s coffee cup, which then “stands empty in its moat of slopes”. Even a cigarette
butt receives its imaginative, elevated description, as Eiji “entombs… [his] Kool in the innards
of its ancestors”.

VI. Mood.
The ambiance of the abstract can be described as dreamy and anticipatory. The narrator is deep
in his thoughts, contemplating his meeting with Akiko, mustering his confidence and rehearsing
the phrases in his head. Although he tries to appear unbothered, his anxiety is revealed through
short, abrupt sentences: “An effective soldier controls his fear, and uses it to sharpen his senses.
It sounded so easy. Another coffee, Eiji? No, thanks, Eiji, but I will smoke one final Kool. To
sharpen my senses.” To kill time, he casually speculates about the waitresses in the cafe:
“Waitress One— the boss—is a brittle imperial dowager who poisoned her husband. Waitress
Two, a corn-on-the-cob face with a braying donkey voice, is Waitress One thirty years ago.
Waitress Three is turned away right now, but her hair is up and I can see she has the most perfect
neck on Earth.”

VII. Style of language.

This work belongs to a belles-lettres style, which is reflected in the author’s use of genuine
expressive means and stylistic devices. An individual choice of vocabulary and syntax is also
noticeable. The language of the chapter is quite colloquial yet slightly pretentious and well-
suited to a young man’s manner of speech. Language of everyday life intersperses with
sophisticated literary descriptions of the narrator’s surroundings (e.g. “zirconium gothic
skyscraper”, “serving a life sentence at the sink with a scrubber and sponge in lieu of a ball and
chain”).

VIII. Conclusion.
In my view, the style of the author greatly resembles Haruki Murakami’s work with its
deceptively simple and down-to-earth yet slightly surrealistic tone. It is melancholic and
unsettling, leaving the reader with a sense of anticipation and uneasiness. At first glance, I was a
bit put off by the idiosyncratic manner of narration. On closer reading, however, I was able to
appreciate the style and felt the urge to find out more about the mysterious PanOpticon (why is it
called after an imaginary prison?) and Akiko Kato. So far, much has been left for the reader’s
guesswork.