Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

Murakami is an author I have tried to read before. A few years ago, his Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World was recommended to me. I made a less-than-valiant attempt and quit after a single (brief) sitting.

This time, more properly motivated, and with a proper head of steam, I was well-equipped to plunge into Murakami's 2002 novel, Kafka on the Shore.

I'll neglect my usual cursory plot description for the simple fact that this novel's plot is so labyrinthine that I would hardly know where to begin. Additionally, disclosing any of the plot reveals would be doing any possible future readers a disservice as, at least in the case, coming across the major plot points as they are slowly revealed was one of the great pleasures of the book.

Is it allegory? I rather hope not. I've got no problem with symbolism, and there are symbolic characters, places, objects and events throughout the novel. Enough to fill a graduate student essay several times over. But allegory always struck me as the author taking numerous symbols and turning them into something boring and awful.

I'd prefer it to be magical realism, if it all possible. My brain much prefers dealing with magical realism: I don't feel the need to understand everything so much as I feel the need to experience it. And that's what a lot of the characters in Kafka on the Shore do. Not a huge amount of understanding going on, but quite a lot of experiencing. Looking to see what passes by.

I like the characters. Though three of the most important characters are laconic (Kafka), shallow and unpolished (Hoshino), and developmentally disabled (Nakata), their thoughts come across clearly, even if tracking the deeper meaning of what they have to say and think does take some effort and attention.

I particularly like the boldness of the characters in talking about ideas. Even if they don't have a great amount of experience, they aren't afraid to share what they think and what they feel about concepts that are new to them. And I like how more seasoned characters take seriously the thoughts and opinions of the neophytes. This is a universe where knowledge is prized and shared, and where no one person has a monopoly on such.

I like the elements of Greek tragedy. Interestingly, just about the whole novel could be staged as a Greek tragedy: not until nearly the end (the scenes with the two soldiers) were there any scenes with dialogue in which three characters spoke. Up until that point, all dialogue scenes (to the best of my memory) involved only two characters.

I like that so much was left unanswered. Explanation is so mundane.

I like that, as was talked about within the text of the novel, it was essentially a Bildungsroman, though not for the main character solely. There was plenty of Bildung to go around. Even if they are fictional, I like to see characters improve themselves and expand their horizons.

I like that the novel itself was very literate and musical. Sometimes it feels like including a mention of a book inside other books is a cheating shorthand allowing the author to co-opt themes from other, greater literary sources without having to do of the heavy lifting himself, but that didn't feel like the case here.

To me, one of the signs of a good book is for it to encourage me to change my behavior in some manner. Kafka on the Shore makes me want to find a cabin in the woods where I can sit and read and listen to the forest for days on end.

Next up: back to the Booker Prize. 1974's The Conservationist by Nadine Gordimer.