December 27, 2008

Typical Japanese Drinks

Despite the invasion of American sodas, there are still quite a lot of native non-alcoholic beverages - some of them very healthy - doing the rounds in Japan, for example:

We start with a purely nostalgic product. The carbonated soft drink Ramune (from "Lemonade") was first brought market in Kobe by Alexander Cameron Sim (1840-1900), a Scottish pharmacist. Although Ramune rather tastes like an ordinary soda, it is the "Victorian" glass bottle that makes it interesting. Called a Codd-neck bottle after its inventor Hiram Codd, when you buy it the bottle is sealed with a glass marble. The marble pushes against a plastic (in the past rubber) gasket/washer at the top of the neck and is held in place by the pressure of the carbon in the drink. You have to open it by pushing the marble inward with a plastic pin which sits in the cap of the bottle. The marble falls into the neck of the bottle which has been formed into a special shape so that the marble remains there and nicely rattles round when you are pouring. Ramune therefore was popular with children in Japan and reminds people here nostalgically of summer festivals and childhood. It is a symbol of summer.

Ramune is a rarity, but Calpis can be found in every street corner convenience store and supermarket in Japan. For obvious reasons called "Calpico" in English speaking countries, Calpis combines the "cal" from calcium with "pis" from the Sanskrit "sarpis" (butter flavor). It has a somewhat milky and slightly acidic flavor, thanks to the fact that it includes nonfat dry milk and lactic acid, and is produced by lactic acid fermentation. It was first brought to market in 1919 and quickly became popular. The idea for Calpis was born when the founder of the Calpis company, Mishima Kaiun, traveled in Inner Mongolia and came across a traditional cultured milk product called "airag," which also contained natural lactic acid. Nowadays there are various variants of the drink, including a Calpis Soda and Calpis with different fruit tastes.

Although not a soft drink but a health drink (reason why it is marketed in mini portions), Yakult should not be left out as this Japanese product is not only available everywhere in Japan, but has also conquered worldwide markets. It is a probiotic dairy product made by fermenting a mixture of skimmed milk with a special strain of the bacterium Lactobacillus casei Shirota. The Yakult drink was created in 1935 by scientist Shirota Minoru. The name "yakult" was derived from "jahurto," which is Esperanto for "yogurt" (although Yakult in fact is not a yogurt).

Like Calpis, another not very happily named popular drink is the non-carbonated
sports drink Pocari Sweat, which was brought to market in 1980 by Otsuka Pharmaceutical. It was so named when it was developed (originally for the Japanese market alone) as it has the function of supplying water and ions (electrolytes) which are lost during transpiration, for example during sports or otherwise in the hot and humid Japanese summer. It is also good after a hot bath, or first thing in the morning. As it approximates the electrolyte concentration in the human body, it is quickly absorbed.

Another well-known drink sold by Otsuka Pharmaceutical is the health drink Oronamin C. This carbonated health drink is sold in characteristic small glass bottles and contains isoleucine and other essential amino acids as well as vitamins such as vitamin B2, vitamin B6 and vitamin C. 

October 24, 2008

The language of Kyoto (Kyo-kotoba)

The language spoken by the inhabitants of Kyoto.... Don't make the mistake of calling it a "dialect" - the language of Kyoto has for centuries been the norm in Japan and Kyotoites are proud of their heritage!

Its roots are in the language of the court and the aristocracy, as well as the townspeople - the traders and craftspeople (including the Nishijin weavers) who catered to the upper classes, and copied their language, plus the elegant geisha towns. Kyoto language is soft and elegant, consonants are long drawn out and the speed is slow. Often circumlocutions are used. It is a somewhat feminine language.

 
[The river Kamogawa in Kyoto]

Roji becomes "rooji," itta "yuutta" and takaku "takoo." "Hon wo motte kite kudasai" (please bring the book) becomes "hon wo motte kite moraehen yaro ka?"

The language is also very polite, and therefore quite vague. It is full of subtle nuances and often you do not know whether something positive or negative has been said. People can criticize by praising.

Here are some typical Kyoto expressions:

standard-Japanese irassharu (polite verb "to be") becomes "iharu" in the language of Kyoto

inai (normal and negative form of "to be") becomes "iihin" or even better "iyarahen"

irasshaimase (welcome) becomes "oideyasu" or, even more polite (only in case of people one knows well), "okoshiyasu"

shitsurei shimasu (pardon me) becomes "gomenyasu"

kutabirete iru (to be very tired) becomes "shindoi"

tamago (egg) becomes "ninuki"

ocha (tea) becomes "bubu" (both of these I have never heard from my Kyoto family, certainly not "bubu" for ocha)

hotto suru (to be relieved) becomes "hokkori"

nenaide itsu mademo okite iru (not getting sleepy, although it is late) becomes "me ga katai" lit. "the eyes are stiff"

October 1, 2008

The Day of Sake and the Sake Year

Today, October 1, is the "Day of Sake." On this day, the new sake year starts for breweries. Japan's premium sake makers, who follow tradition by only brewing in winter, wake up from their long summer slumber. The low temperatures in winter make that there are less harmful microbes around (after all, the fermentation tanks are open!) and they also make it possible to control the brewing process better. Brewing is all about temperature control.

In October the seasonal workers, including the top man, the toji or master brewer, return to the brewery and start cleaning the vats and all the implements. The new sake rice has by now been harvested and rice polishing can begin.

Every brewery has a Shinto altar dedicated to Matsuo-sama, the patron-deity of sake brewing, from the large Matsuo Taisha Shrine in western Kyoto. Here a prayer is said for safety and success in brewing before any real work starts.

[Koji spores being sprinkled on steamed rice at the Daishichi Sake Brewery]

The first job is to steam some rice, make a small batch of koji and then fill the yeast starter (shubo) with that koji, with more steamed rice, water and lactic acid (to create a suitably sour environment in which the yeast can grow without interference from other microbes). When two weeks later a very strong and pure yeast has been cultivated, the first fermentation tank is filled with the yeast starter, more steamed rice, koji and water. This is added in three stages in order not to smother the yeast starter in the large tank.

Usually first some non-premium sake, or the simpler honjozo, is brewed. The most difficult processes, for the ginjo sakes, usually have to wait until the coldest time of the sake year, January and February.

The first sake brewed in December, is ready in January. When that sake is pressed, many breweries hang up a sakabayashi, a ball made from cedar twigs. Traditionally, these balls are provided by the Miwa Shrine in Nara, another Shinto establishment deeply involved in sake matters. The balls used to come from the sacred woods of the shrine, but I doubt that still is the case.

For New Year, breweries sell specially bottled New Year sake, sometimes with a few gold flakes added to the brew. Nigori-sake, "cloudy" sake or sake that has not been finely sieved and therefore still contains some particles of rice, is also popular at this time.

[Yamaoroshi process for making the Kimoto yeast starter at the Daishichi Sake Brewery]

Many months of hard work continue (sake brewing also goes on during the New Year holidays) and then, finally, in March the last rice for the last batch of sake is steamed. This is celebrated in a short ceremony, koshiki-taoshi, where the steaming vat, the koshiki, is turned on its side to be cleaned. All brewery workers are releaved their hard task is almost over and a party is held. The next month, the last brewed sake is pasteurized and with the rest of the sake from this winter, stored as genshu in the storage tanks of the brewery to mature during the summer. This is the time the master brewer and the other seasonal workers leave the brewery.

Not all sake is pasteurized and today it is common to sell part of the genshu in spring as unpasteurized, un-matured sake. This sake is called "hatsushibori" (first pressing); you also come across the term "shinshu" (new sake"). This type of sake has a young brashness and freshness that makes up for the slight rawness of the taste. Unpasteurized, it is of course drunk cold and has to be handled with care.

During the next months, as spring turns into summer, more unpasteurized sake is sold as  "namazake", which means that it is indeed a bit "raw". Drunk cold, this is a popular and refreshing  summer drink.

July is the time for "hatsunomikiri," a day when the toji returns to taste the maturing sake and check on its progress. "Hatsu" means "first" and "nomikiri" means "opening the tap" at the bottom of each tank to do the tasting. Now such tastings are complimented by monthly chemical analysis of the contents of the tank, to check in detail on the state of the precious genshu.

Then autumn comes along and the properly matured sake is now once again pasteurized, bottled and finally sold. Again a small amount of the sake is not pasteurized for this second time, but sold directly from the maturing tanks as "hiya-oroshi," the sake sold when the weather gets colder so that a second pasteurization is not asolutely necessary. At least, that was the case in the Edo-period. The hiya-oroshi season is still in full swing when the sake year ends and a new year comes along. Compared to the Shiboritate sake mentioned above, Hiya-oroshi is milder and rounder, thanks to the maturing process, but still keeps a greater freshness because of skipping the second pasteurization. Kampai!

August 22, 2008

Waiting on the Weather by Nogami Teruyo (about Kurosawa Akira)

Nogami Teruyo was the script supervisor and faithful assistant of Kurosawa Akira (1910-1998). This extraordinary woman was at his side from the making of Rashomon to the very end. After Kurosawa's death, she wrote down some of her personal memories for the Japanese magazine Cinema Club - she could not have done this while Kurosawa was still alive, because he would have told her, "You got it all wrong!

That was in the mid-nineties, and the Japanese pieces were published in book form in 2000. Thanks to the initiative of the late Donald Richie (who also wrote an introduction), this English translation by Juliet Winters Carpenter has been published by Stone Bridge Press. It is a beautiful book, with illustrations by the author.


[Kurosawa in 1953]

To be sure, this is not a biography or a complete analysis of Kurosawa's films. It is an intimate human record in which we get glimpses of the genius of the director and the way he worked. After a first chapter on Itami Mansaku, a director Nogami Teruyo never met but corresponded with as a schoolgirl and who inspired her love of film (later Mrs. Nogami would take care of one of the sons, Itami Juzo, when he was a young boy), and a chapter on the Daiei Kyoto studios where she started working just after the war, the story of Kurosawa begins with Rashomon (1951).

We see the then 40-year-old director working energetically with his crew. He was already the perfectionist he would always be. The most interesting episode is how they carried around mirrors to reflect the sun while filming in the woods - indeed, the contrasts between black and white in Rashomon are perfect. Also fascinating is the episode about the sudden fire at the Daiei studios, where quick action miraculously saved the negatives of Rashomon.

What we get from this book is how different filmmaking was before the invention of CGI. It was "waiting for the weather" - not just waiting hours for sunshine, but waiting for a particular cloud to move into just the right spot over the roof of a building. When filming the village in The Seven Samurai in the setting sun, with the seven samurai in profile in the foreground, the cameraman waited just a few seconds too long, and they had to do it all over again the next day. The ants marching in formation across the floor in Rhapsody in August were real ants, and a lot of "ant study" went into that scene. The same goes for the crows flying at the end of the Van Gogh episode in Dreams. The film crew had to catch real crows, put them in small cages, and open the cages at just the right moment. No wonder Kurosawa took months and even years to make his movies, while Miike Takashi could finish a movie a week...

 Kurosawa ruled his crew like an "emperor" and could have terrible fits of rage. He and the people around him had a particularly hard time shooting Dersu Urzala under the most primitive conditions in Siberia. In the course of filming, Kurosawa went from drinking one bottle of vodka a day to two. Kurosawa worked well with people who had smaller egos, such as Mifune Toshiro, who despite his macho roles was a rather shy man - a pity that Kurosawa dropped him after filming Red Beard, simply because he had had enough of his acting style.

Katsu Shintaro was originally supposed to be the leading actor in Kagemusha, but the swaggering, rough and ready actor immediately clashed with the precise and perfectionist Kurosawa - their relationship lasted only one day, the second morning Katsu left in a huff and was replaced by Nakadai Tatsuya. This episode reads like slapstick, but the disputes with Takemitsu Toru were more serious. Takemitsu, who wrote the music for Ran, was Japan's most important composer of the twentieth century and naturally had a great sense of artistic integrity. He did not allow Kurosawa (who, as "Emperor", wanted to have his say in every little detail!) to interfere with his music. Takemitsu got his way, but with great difficulty, and never worked with Kurosawa again. On the contrary, he made a pointed remark about the group around Kurosawa, who acted only as yes-men and never dared to disagree (including Nogami Teruyo): "It's all the fault of the people around Kurosawa!"

But Nogami is certainly no flatterer, she shows us the great director in his many moods, including the nasty ones. Her book is a treasure trove of stories, and in the end we only wish for more.

Kurosawa left behind a large number of perfect films. The result of reading this book is that I want to see those movies again... maybe I will start with Rashomon!

Japanese Film

August 16, 2008

Kaleidoscope, selected tanka of Shuji Terayama

Terayama Shuji (1935-1983) was Japan's infant-terrible of the sixties of the last century. Genius, avant-gardist, iconoclast, photographer, director, playwright, novelist, filmmaker, cultural critic and poet. In his time, his work incited scandal and outrage. Today, he is a cult hero. In his all-too short life, he wrote 200 literary works and made 20 short and long experimental films (the most famous is Denen ni shinisu or "Pastoral: To die in the country"). Terayama was obsessed with the borders between fiction and reality.


Although best known as a playwright (see for some translations and an analysis Unspeakable Acts listed below), Terayama was also an excellent poet. He started writing tanka in his teens and even won an award for emerging tanka poets. His tanka are unique in that they are not based on his own experience, but should be seen as fiction, as scenes from a play or a film. He did have complex emotions, however, as he was an only child whose father had not returned from the war, and whose mother - he claimed - had abandoned him. He grew up with family in Aomori and as his uncle owned a movie theater, he saw countless films until he moved to Tokyo in 1954.

Terayama's first tanka collection was published in 1958, when he was 22. After his third collection, published in 1964, he switched definitively to the theater - in 1967 he set up his own experimental theater company. His films and theater productions went on to win several international prizes.

The Hokuseido Press has published a beautiful book with 201 translations of Terayama's tanka poems. They have been expertly translated by Kozue Uzawa and Amelia Fielden and both Japanese and English versions are included in the book. It is a lavishly illustrated publication. (The Hokuseido Press is a publisher of language text books. In the past, they have also published the haiku books by R.H. Blyth, a series I would like to see in print again!).

To give an impression of Terayama's haiku, here are a few characteristic ones from Kaleidoscope:
I come to believe after all
I look like
my dead father,
shaving my face
on the day swallows appear

[naki chichi ni | kakute nite-yuku | ware naran ka | tsubame kuru hi mo | hige sorinagara]

let's sever
my stinky blood relationship
the winter axe is placed
upside down
in a sunny spot

[namagusaki | ketsuen tatan | hiatari ni | sakasa ni tatete aru | fuyu no ono]

on my wall I stick
the corpse of a winter butterfly -
this should be
the family crest
of a deserted child

[waga hei ni | fuyu-choo no kabane wo | haritsukete | sutego-kakei no | mon to suru beshi]

Kaleidoscope was published to commemorate the 25th anniversary of Terayama's death. These forceful tanka are warmly recommended to all poetry lovers.
Kaleidoscope, Selected Tanka of Shuji Terayama, selected by Kozue Uzawa, translated by Kozue Uzawa and Amelia Fielden (The Hokuseido Press, 3-32-4 Honkomagome, Bunkyo-ku, Tokyo, 2008). Unfortunately, the book is not listed on Amazon, so I give full contact details for the publisher. I found  my copy in the foreign books section of Junkudo in Temmabashi, Osaka.

Unspeakable Acts: The Avant-garde Theatre of Terayama Shuji And Postwar Japan by Carol Fisher Sorgenfrei (Hawaii University Press, 2005)


August 2, 2008

The Roof Tile of Tempyo by Inoue Yasushi

When I studied at Nanjing University in 1979-80, at one time the university organized a trip to a nearby city, Yangzhou. I think it was in the early spring of 1980. Especially the Japanese students (three "Mitsubishi boys", young salarymen from the large trading company studying Chinese for a posting to China) were told to join as this was supposed to be a special China-Japan friendship event. Interested foreign students were herded into a white minibus and off we were, transported to Yangzhou over an only partially finished highway. We stopped at the Damingsi Temple and joined the huge crowd of Chinese streaming inside. Finally, we reached a Memorial Hall, and inside we found a small but very fine statue of a blind monk, Jianzhen... and then we were pushed outside again by the surging crowd. The statue was on loan from a  temple in Japan.

[Toshodaiji temple in Nara]

It was only a few years later, after coming to Japan and visiting Toshodaiji in Nara, the temple of the statue, that I realized the importance of this event. Jianzhen (688-763), called Ganjin in Japan, was a Chinese priest who after many hardships had managed to journey to Japan to establish an orthodox Buddhist lineage in that country and introduce the correct monastic rules. Toshodaiji was the temple the Japanese government built for him, and the statue I saw in China was a life-like image, made just after his death (in Toshodaiji, it is not normally on view). One can also visit Jianzhen's grave in Toshodaiji. Since then, I have repeatedly visited Toshodaiji, which is one of the most beautiful temples of Nara. The original 8th c. Golden Hall still exists, as does the wonderful set of wooden statues carved by the Chinese artisans who followed Ganjin to Japan.

It was again a year or five later that I first read The Roof Tile of Tempyo by Inoue Yasushi. This historical novel, written in 1958, is a faithful account of Ganjin's tribulations, based on the The Record of the Eastward Journey of the Great Monk of Tang by one of Ganjin's disciples. There is little plot and no drama in this understated novel, but it is imbued with a sense of Buddhist serenity and resignation. Although emotions are kept in check, there is a strong sense of determination in the hearts of the protagonists, both the young monks from Japan who come to China for study and the venerable master Ganjin, who does not give up his endeavor to reach Japan and spread orthodoxy.

The “Tempyo” in the title is the name for an era (729-749) when Japan was engaged in her first attempt to acquire the culture of a more advanced civilization, the Tang empire of China. The young monks who make the dangerous journey to China with one of the Japanese embassies sent in that period, experience this first hand. Some “go native,” others long so much for Japan that they are of no use anymore, but most of them, especially Fusho and Yoei, try to do something that will benefit their country – in this case, bringing back a Vinaya master like Ganjin. Another one, Gogyo, devotes his life to copying a whole library of books still unknown in Japan. The only pathos in the novel is that these scrolls are eventually lost at sea, showing the futility of individual human endeavors.

Why was it important to bring “Vinaya-master” Ganjin to Japan? Because the orthodox transmission of the Law in Buddhism is from master to disciple. That disciple, after passing his tests, is then officially ordinated on an ordination platform, where a certain number of officially ordinated elder priests (three masters and seven attestors) has to be present. By bringing Ganjin with a number of his already ordained followers to Japan, the “orthodox transmission” of Buddhism was finally established on Japanese soil.

[Ganjin's grave in Toshodaiji]

The determination Ganjin shows is most impressive. In the eleven years from 743 to 754, Ganjin attempted some six times to travel to Japan. Five times, he is thwarted by unfavorable weather conditions and government intervention (the Chinese at first did not want this important monk to leave). In 748, during the fifth attempt, the ship is blown so far off course that Ganjin lands in Hainan. This journey alone, including the long trek back to Yangzhou, takes a full three years and costs Ganjin his eyesight due to an infection.

In 753 at long last an official Japanese embassy again visits China, and Ganjin now can travel with this group. They land in Kyushu and in 754 arrive in the Japanese capital of Nara, where they are welcomed by the Emperor. A large ordination platform is built at Todaiji and thus, finally, takes place the orthodox transmission of Buddhism to Japan.

Through skillful linking Inoue brings many of the renowned figures of the age on the stage. These are, for example, Abe no Nakamaro, the Japanese poet and scholar who lived most of his life at the court of the Chinese emperor, and Yang Guifei, the most celebrated beauty in Chinese history, who met a tragic fate.

By the way, the "roof tile" of the title is a shibi, an end tile in the form of a mythical sea monster. This tile is sent from China to Fusho after his return - he does not even know by whom. He has the tile installed on Toshodaiji and so it becomes a symbol of the spread of Buddhism from China to Japan.

Inoue Yasushi (1907-1991) was a prolific writer active in many genres: short stories, novels both modern and historical, essays, travel writing and poetry. He wrote more historical fiction about China, such as Confucius and Dunhuang. The Blue Wolf is about Kublai Khan. Fine are also short stories as Loulan. He started his career by winning the Akutagawa prize in 1950 with The Bull Fight.

I feel close to this story because I am interested in both China and Japan, so I like to see cultural bridges built as this novel by Inoue Yasushi has done. And I was once a student too in China, although only for one year and under very different circumstances, but it is easy for me to imagine the wonder with which Fusho and the other Japanese beheld this vast and wonderful country...


P.S. By the way, the first account by a Japanese about China was The Record of a Pilgrimage to China in Search of the Law by Ennin, a Japanese priest from Enryakuji on Mt Hiei who traveled through China from 838 to 847. His travel diary has been translated by Edwin O. Reischauer under the title Ennin's Diary: The Record of a Pilgrimage to China in Search of the Law (Ronald Press, New York: 1955). Ennin did not write about his personal impressions, but rather gives a factual account of religious matters and Chinese life under the later Tang Dynasty. His diary has been called a good source on the practice of popular Buddhism in China.
The Roof Tile of Tempyo by Yasushi Inoue, translated by James T. Araki (University of Tokyo Press, 1981)


July 31, 2008

Ten ways to beat natsubate, summer fatigue

When you have noticed my slow speed of posting these days, you may also have guessed what is the matter: I am fighting Natsubate, "summer fatigue"... My body feels like a piece of lead, and my head is troubled by a persistent cloud of sleepiness...

[Mugicha]

I am therefore employing several shrewd tricks from the Japanese summer fatigue trick book, and below I would like to share a few that are actually quite effective:

  1. Avoid large temperature changes. Stepping out of a coldly air conditioned room or car into the sweltering summer heat, hits you like a hammer. Such sudden temperature changes are very tiring, as your body needs all energy to adjust. Put the aircon a few degrees lower (in Japan, 28 degrees is now quite common), so that the temperature difference ideally is not more than five degrees...
  2. Sleep cool. The heat makes it difficult to enjoy a good, refreshing sleep. Turn on the aircon before you go to bed to chill your room, and use the timer to stop it after an hour or so.
    Why? Sleeping with a strong aircon on can give you a severe cold - I got one during my first airconditioned summer in Japan, and it took me three weeks to recover.
  3. Drink cool (and frequently). The traditional Japanese summer drink is cold roasted barley tea (mugi-cha), and it is one of my favorites. But there many other types of cold teas as well: cold green tea, cold oolong... the most economical (and tasty) way is to make them yourself in a glass or plastic container in your refrigerator. Another refreshing summer drink is cold sake, especially of the type called nama genshu (undilutued, unblended, rather raw sake which explodes in your mouth like a fireworks). You can also try sake ice!
  4. Eat cool and light. Cold noodles are always excellent in Japanese summers (somen, zaru-soba or reimen), or try the age-old fatigue-killer, the mighty eel (unagi).
    Eel is expensive nowadays, but you don't have to make a full meal of it, a small piece of unagi is a delicious side-dish with cold noodles.
    That being said, king of summer vegetables is the Okinawan bitter gourd goya, full of vitamin C, usually eaten as goya champuru, a stir-fry consisting of slices of the bitter gourd with tofu, egg, pork, and other ingredients.
  5. Enjoy cool fruit. The king of summer fruit in japan is the the juicy suika, water melon. When asked what they like best about summer, many Japanese will mention this fresh fruit. It is also healthy thanks to the minerals it contains. Some special types of melons fetch unbelievable prices, but the normal supermarket variety is exquisitely affordable. My personal fruity favorites, by the way, are the small and sweet Japanese grapes, which in summer become available for a reasonable price.
  6. Dress cool. Do as the Japanese: keep your suit and tie in the office and commute in your shirt. When I give a lecture or training, I must wear a suit, but I carry the jacket and tie in a special bag and only put them on after I arrive.
    At home and in your neighborhood, try a yukata or "retro-chic" Buddhist samue work clothes - they also come with short pants. And don't forget to carry a fan!
  7. Listen to coolness. The sound of coolness is the furin, the windbell made of either metal or glass. Hang it in a window or on your balcony and enjoy its tinkling sound when struck by the slightest breeze.
    Of course, you have to open the window and stop the aircon - which also enables you to enjoy another Japanese summer phenomenon, the semi or cicadas and their all-penetrating, shrieking sound... For me, cicadas are symbolic for summer in Japan. 
  8. Smell coolness. The Japanese burn spiral-shaped incense coils (katori-senko) in summer to chase away the mosquitoes. It is a very nostalgic smell. Buy a nice stand for your green coil and put it in a corner of your room or on the veranda (it is quite strong, so take care not to inhale too much - you can also extinguish it now and then). By the way, I prefer temple incense for a nice fragrance in my room.
  9. Get the shivers. Traditionally, August is the month to see a ghostly Kabuki play, or watch horror movies. Select a real good shocker that gives you literally the shivers - this is more effective than the strongest aircon! Kwaidan is a good one, as is Yotsuya kaidan - see my post about the Best Japanese Horror Films!
  10. Take it easy. The speed in Japan can sometimes be frenetic, but in summer everyone changes to a lower gear. Is that why I sometimes even like Japanese summers?

July 26, 2008

Climbing Skull Mountain (A Fragment by Lafcadio Hearn)

Recently, I came across this short story Lafcadio Hearn which he calls "A Fragment" (from In Ghostly Japan). As a Buddhist look at life, it is worth quoting in full:
And it was at the hour of sunset that they came to the foot of the mountain. There was in that place no sign of life,--neither token of water, nor trace of plant, nor shadow of flying bird,-- nothing but desolation rising to desolation. And the summit was lost in heaven.

Then the Bodhisattva said to his young companion:--"What you have asked to see will be shown to you. But the place of the Vision is far; and the way is rude. Follow after me, and do not fear: strength will be given you."

Twilight gloomed about them as they climbed. There was no beaten path, nor any mark of former human visitation; and the way was over an endless heaping of tumbled fragments that rolled or turned beneath the foot. Sometimes a mass dislodged would clatter down with hollow echoings; --sometimes the substance trodden would burst like an empty shell.... Stars pointed and thrilled; and the darkness deepened.

"Do not fear, my son," said the Bodhisattva, guiding: "danger there is none, though the way be grim."

Under the stars they climbed,--fast, fast,--mounting by help of power superhuman. High zones of mist they passed; and they saw below them, ever widening as they climbed, a soundless flood of cloud, like the tide of a milky sea.

Hour after hour they climbed;--and forms invisible yielded to their tread with dull soft crashings;--and faint cold fires lighted and died at every breaking.

And once the pilgrim-youth laid hand on a something smooth that was not stone,--and lifted it,--and dimly saw the cheekless gibe of death.

"Linger not thus, my son!" urged the voice of the teacher;--"the summit that we must gain is very far away!"

On through the dark they climbed,--and felt continually beneath them the soft strange reakings,--and saw the icy fires worm and die,--till the rim of the night turned grey, and the stars began to fail, and the east began to bloom.

Yet still they climbed,--fast, fast,--mounting by help of power superhuman. About them now was frigidness of death,--and silence tremendous....A gold flame kindled in the east.

Then first to the pilgrim's gaze the steeps revealed their nakedness;--and a trembling seized him,--and a ghastly fear. For there was not any ground,--neither beneath him nor about him nor above him,--but a heaping only, monstrous and measureless, of skulls and fragments of skulls and dust of bone,--with a shimmer of shed teeth strown through the drift of it, like the shimmer of scrags of shell in the wrack of a tide.

"Do not fear, my son!" cried the voice of the Bodhisattva;--"only the strong of heart can win to the place of the Vision!"

Behind them the world had vanished. Nothing remained but the clouds beneath, and the sky above, and the heaping of skulls between,--up-slanting out of sight.

Then the sun climbed with the climbers; and there was no warmth in the light of him, but coldness sharp as a sword. And the horror of stupendous height, and the nightmare of stupendous depth, and the terror of silence, ever grew and grew, and weighed upon the pilgrim, and held his feet,--so that suddenly all power departed from him, and he moaned like a sleeper in dreams.

"Hasten, hasten, my son!" cried the Bodhisattva: "the day is brief, and the summit is very far away."

But the pilgrim shrieked,--"I fear! I fear unspeakably!--and the power has departed from me!"

"The power will return, my son," made answer the Bodhisattva.... "Look now below you and above you and about you, and tell me what you see."

"I cannot," cried the pilgrim, trembling and clinging; "I dare not look beneath! Before me and about me there is nothing but skulls of men."

"And yet, my son," said the Bodhisattva, laughing softly,--"and yet you do not know of what this mountain is made."

The other, shuddering, repeated:--"I fear!--unutterably I fear!...there is nothing but skulls of men!"

"A mountain of skulls it is," responded the Bodhisattva. "But know, my son, that all of them ARE YOUR OWN! Each has at some time been the nest of your dreams and delusions and desires. Not even one of them is the skull of any other being. All,--all without exception,--have been yours, in the billions of your former lives."


July 6, 2008

The Inland Sea by Donald Richie

My copy of The Inland Sea, the great travel book by Donald Richie, is dated 1978 (the book was originally published in 1971), a big, sturdy paperback by Weatherhill, a small and excellent publishing firm that unfortunately went under - it was taken over by Shambala in 2004. So I must have bought the book when I was studying in Kyoto in the early eighties. I first read it after my return to Holland a few years later and it filled me with an immense desire to go back to Japan again. I wanted to make the same trip as Richie, like him, I wanted to live and work in Japan.

Happily, I managed to return to Japan very soon after that, and I did indeed visit many of the places on the beautiful Inland Sea Richie describes so masterfully, although I never had the time to make the whole tour.

[Onomichi]

Richie toured "The Inland Sea" already way back in 1962, as he tells in an informative afterword (unfortunately not included in the latest edition by Stone Bridge Press). Rather than a step-by-step account of a real trip, the book is an amalgam of elements from various trips, some also not Inland Sea related (although it is not possible to tell which these are). Besides that, Richie reflects on Japanese culture, in which he sees himself as an perennial outsider, and on his own life (a marriage on the verge of breaking up).
“Wherever one turns there is a wide and restful view, one island behind the other, each soft shape melting into the next until the last dim outline is lost in the distance.”
Richie therefore speaks about "travel fiction," but are not all great travel books like that? A day to day account would only be boring - a great story is a summary of various experiences, a writer has the license to change small details in the pursuit of a greater truth.

[Ferry between Takamatsu and Naoshima]

What strikes is that even at this early time (seen from my perspective) Richie already laments the loss of the beauty of the Japanese landscape due to modernization. And that, while I always felt jealous of people like Richie who could live in Japan in 1950 or 1960 instead of the 1980s!
"New Japan does not like trees. Its totem is the bulldozer."
On the other hand, isn't this nostalgia for a pristine Japan, both landscape and man unsullied by modernity, typical of us, Westerners? Is it because even unconsciously we have an image of an exotic East on our retina? Or is it that Japan, like a great mirror (as Richie concludes), forces us to question our own culture and ourselves in this way?

Richie travels from Himeji to Hiroshima, crisscrossing the Inland sea and landing at Uno, Onomichi and Kure on Honshu, and Takamatsu, Sakaide and Imabari/Matsuyama on Shikoku. The islands he visits include Iejima, Shodoshima, Naoshima, Omishima, and many smaller ones. His means of transport is the ferryboat, slowly weaving its way between the islands and the port cities.
"I hear they are building a bridge
To the island of Tsu.
Alas...
To what now
Shall I compare myself?"
(old Japanese poem, cited at the start of The Inland Sea)
[Tomonoura]

No, modernity certainly has not passed the Inland Sea by. There are today three bridges linking Shikoku with Honshu via the Inland Sea (happily the ferries also still exist, as they are much cheaper than the toll bridges). Shikoku is no longer far away, Sakaide and Takamatsu, and also Matsuyama are now only a short train or bus trip from Kobe, Okayama or Hiroshima. The islands have been domesticated. And alas, more than in Richie's time, the shores of the sea have been plastered with heavy industry. The area now also shares in the general problem of Japan's countryside: the graying of the population, and the exodus of what remains of young people to the big cities.

And despite all that, the Inland Sea remains one of the most beautiful parts of Japan! Some of these places have become my firm favorites. Onomichi for example, of which Richie only describes the seamy and the touristy aspects. In fact, there is a beautiful temple town, stretching from "National Treasure" temple Jodoji to Senkoji. Onomichi with its many staircases and narrow alleys has a real old-time fascination. I also love Naoshima, where Richie met a beautiful local girl, fantasizing about what the future will have in store for her. Well, perhaps she is now working for the Benesse Group, which has asked Ando Tadao to build two avant-garde art museums on the island. The old village, too, as been transformed - old houses have become art house projects - things can also change for the better in Japan!
"A journey is always something of a flight."
[Onomichi (Mukojima)]

Takamatsu is another favorite, with its spacious parks, broad shopping arcades and the sight of beautiful, green Yashima from over the port. Or Tomonoura, which probably still looks as quaint as when Richie visited it. Or Omishima, with its shrine museum, the largest dump of classical arms and armor in Japan, where old suits of armor sit in bleak light, like so many ghostly apparitions...

Richie is the ideal observer, the favorite guide: knowledgeable about Japan (he has already lived there for a long time when he makes the trip), but still curious. He is detached, but also romantically involved, sometimes irritated and lonely, but always honest about himself. When he visits a leper colony on one of the islands he writes with compassion about a girl who has been cured but can never return to cruel Japanese society, because of the stigma that will always cling to her, ruining prospects for her brother's career and marriage, making her an outcast from her own family. And the next moment he will be off on long ruminations about such esoteric subjects as the art of belt buckles or the particular beauty of Japanese skin.
"The mist rose like a curtain, obscured the mountain, revealed the beach, the pier, the three girls. They looked like small children, small on the black pier, the black mountains behind them. The sun lifted itself above the mountains, flying. The rising mist turned gold. The entire island floated large on the sea like a mirror. The girls were gone, swallowed into the morning."
[View from Yashima, Takamatsu]

Richie's travels do confirm his love for Japan - the landscape, the people. That last facet can even be taken literally, for Richie writes openly about his erotic adventures in this travelogue - such as with a prostitute in Onomichi who keeps reciting Elizabeth Barrett Browning. In this port town he also visits a strip show, but - despite being a historian of Japanese film - writes no word on Ozu, whose Tokyo Story starts and ends here, with beautiful nostalgic shots.

By the way, my edition of the book carries equally nostalgic shots in the form of the black-and-white photography of Midorikawa Yoichi. These pictures somehow reminded me of the film Naked Island by Kaneto Shindo...
"I don't care if I never go home." (Donald Richie, The Inland Sea)
Richie has written many other books on Japan: his Hundred Years of Japanese Film; The Films of Akira Kurosawa; Ozu, His Life and Films; Japanese Portraits; The Image Factory; his collected reviews of Japanese literature; and his Japan Journals... but The Inland Sea stands out as his sublime masterwork, a pinnacle of travel fiction, a book readers who love Japan will always be coming back to.

June 30, 2008

Kyoto: A Contemplative Guide by Gouverneur Mosher

It seems to be out of print now, but perhaps it will bounce back as it has done so many times since it was first published in 1964: Gouverneur Mosher's Kyoto: A Contemplative Guide. This was my first guide to Kyoto when I arrived there as foreign exchange student of Kyoto University in 1982. There were very few guidebooks at that time (no Lonely Planet, no Rough Guide, no Gateway to Japan!) and Mosher's book stood out because of its high quality. I devoured the book and enthusiastically visited all the places he describes, even little Shinsen-en, the pond that is a small remnant of the original Heian palace gardens. I fell in love with Kyoto.
"I first came to Sakamoto on a quiet, mid-winter morning whose low sun was badly weakened by the haze over Lake Biwa." (Mosher on Enryakuji)


Since then, I have read the book several times from cover to cover, for it is more than a guide: the first half of the book is a short history of Kyoto, told imaginatively around the temples Mosher wants to introduce (and although there are now other popular histories of Kyoto that reflect recent scholarship, as John Dougill's excellent Kyoto, A Cultural History, I remain fond of Mosher's Kyoto). The second part contains detailed descriptions of these temples, with loving attention to art works; and the (shortest) third part is a travel guide, the only part of the book now outdated as Kyoto has changed much and tourism also. One nice point here is Mosher's advocacy of Kyoto's streetcar system, an elegant traffic solution much better than the stinking cars and buses that now clog the streets of the Old Capital.
"Here, in the depths of the mountaintop, is Saicho's tomb, standing alone with graceful dignity in a quiet, hidden hollow." (Mosher on Enryakuji)
Mosher delves into Kyoto's rich history, not only with contemplation, but also a sense of sadness at the list of cruelties and follies that human history inevitably is. He writes about the mighty monastery that Enryakuji on Mt Hiei once was, before Nobunaga crushed the power of the monks, and also about the rise of Amida Buddhism in Sanzenin in Ohara. The great Fujiwara clan is treated in the chapter on Byodoin, the Phoenix Hall in Uji.
"Truly, this is a building with wings, lighter than the air in which it floats [...] He (the Buddha Amida) is there inside this magical, floating building, looking in upon himself." (Mosher on Byodoin)
In Jakkoin, also in Ohara, he meditates on the fall of the Taira family. Chapter Seven, Anrakuji and Honenin, tells about the early persecution of Pure Land Buddhism. The Zen sect is treated in the chapter in Daitokuji. Ginkakuji serves to highlight the (mis-)rule of the Ashikaga clan, in Ryoanji he meditates upon the terrible Onin war and the destruction of virtually the whole of Kyoto. In Daigoji and Sanboin Mosher tells about Toyotomi Hideyoshi, Nijo Castle serves as a stage for the story of the Tokugawa.
"It is said that Nijo's garden was originally laid out without trees so that the shogun would not be saddened by the sight of the passing seasons." (Mosher on Nijo Castle)
Nice is also the inclusion of Nijo Jinya, an inn with anti-ninja trappings for feudal lords, south of Nijo castle. He rounds off with Kiyomizudera, as the "All-Time Temple", although historically it should have come at the beginning of the book, for it preceded the founding of Kyoto.
"A deep ravine that works in through densely overgrown hills crowding close on all sides. On the slope... sits the little Tendai nunnery called Jakko-in." (Mosher on Jakko-in)
As Mosher admits in his preface, he had to leave out many great temples for reasons of space: Nishi-Honganji, Chionin, Nanzenin, Tenryuji... He also leaves out the Shinto shrines, something he justifies by saying that Kyoto was a city dominated by Buddhism. That may be true, but Shinto (either allied with Buddhism in joint facilities like Gion/Yasaka or not) still played an important role - read the Genji Monogatari and you realize the popularity of the Shimogamo and Kamigamo Shrines and their festival. The Matsuo shrine played an important role in sake brewing, the Inari shrine predated the founding of the city.
"The old housekeeper at Anrakuji welcomes the rare visitor to her temple enthusiastically, for she has a fine story to tell, and the opportunity to tell it comes seldom indeed." (Mosher on Anrakuji)
The better the book, the more you miss temples that have not been included. I miss my favorite Shisendo, which Mosher calls "too special", but it could have been used to write about the life of Sinified intellectuals in the 17th century. Rakushisha in Sagano could have served as the pillar for an essay about haiku culture in Kyoto. Rokuharamitsuji would have made a great chapter about Taira Kiyomori (whose statue stands in the temple museum)... Kyoto's history is rich indeed; I very much would have liked to read what Mosher has to say about these and other interesting places. He should have written a second volume...

P.S. My edition carries a reproduction of a beautiful woodblock print by the late Clifton Karhu on the cover.

Kyoto: A Contemplative Guide by Gouverneur Mosher, 14th printing, Charles E. Tuttle, 1992 (1st printing 1964, I have the 5th printing of 1982)

June 21, 2008

The Elephant Vanishes by Murakami Haruki

Murakami Haruki. I have been reading his books since the early eighties, from the first novels Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball 73. I bought the Japanese pocketbook-size Kodansha translations by Alfred Birnbaum (for Japanese learners of English), and at the same time read both novels in Japanese as well. That was not too difficult, as Murakami especially in his early work does not use too many literary expressions or esoteric vocabulary. Next I went on to the early stories, several of which have been included in The Elephant Vanishes, and the novel A Wild Sheep Chase.


This "early Murakami" is still my favorite Murakami. There is a naturalness and spontaneity that (in my view) has been lost in the later novels. I don't mind the loose ends and open endings of these early works, on the contrary, that is what makes them so interesting. Plus of course the humor! Murakami has a very particular style, which is impossible to translate literally. All three translators (Alfred Birnbaum, Jay Rubin and Philip Gabriel) have their own way of rendering Murakami in English, but nothing is better than the real stuff in Japanese. When you are studying Japanese, I suggest that you have a try - these early works form an excellent start.

Murakami’s first collection of stories in Japanese was Slow Boat to China (中国行きのスロウ・ボート, 1983).
This is Haruki Murakami's first collection of short stories. It contains seven stories, including the title story. The stories were published between April 1980 and December 1982, a period of roughly two and a half years. According to Murakami's own notes, the first four stories were written after "Pinball," and the remaining three after "A Sheep's Lamb."
As one reads, there is a clear divide between the first four stories and the remaining three (especially "The Last Lawn of the Afternoon" and "Her Little Dog in the Soil"). While the first four are somewhat immature, stiff, challenging, and experimental, the next two clearly demonstrate a novelistic maturity, possessing sufficient evocative power as narratives in themselves. Perhaps, after writing "A Sheep's Lamb," Murakami began to see a clear outline of the "stories to be told."
In short stories, the constant challenge is how directly one can reach the core, the essence of the story, within a limited number of pages, and grasp it directly. In that respect, "The Lawn" and "The Dog" already possess the most important elements of a short story, and their directness was the kind that would later culminate in the full-length novels.

- A slow Boat to China (中国行きのスロウ・ボート, 1980). (A) A Tokyo man recounts his contacts with Chinese people. In 1959 or 1960 when the man was still in secondary school, he goes to a "Chinese elementary school" to take a standardize aptitude test. He remembers having to traverse up a hill to the classroom. When the proctor arrives he gives clear test-taking directions before announcing that he is Chinese and teaches at the school. He then asks the forty test-takers to respect the desks by not vandalizing them. Everyone but the narrator responds "yes" and the proctor tells them to be proud. (B) As a nineteen-year-old college student in Tokyo, he meets a similar-aged Chinese woman during a part-time job at a publisher's warehouse; being born in Japan, she has little ties to her ethnic background. After their final day on the job, they agree to have dinner together and go to the discotheque. After their night of leisure, he mistakenly directs her onto the wrong train. Noticing his mistake, he takes the next train to the last station to reunite with her. After admitting his mistake and the woman confessing her insecurities, he says that he will call her tomorrow before she takes the next train back home. The following morning, he realizes that he threw away the matchbook on which her phone number was written. Despite that gaffe, he tries multiple alternatives to obtaining her number but is unsuccessful; he never sees her again. (C) As a 28-year-old businessman, the man runs into a Chinese classmate from high school in Aoyama. Although they talk for a while in a coffee shop, the man is unable to recall who his colleague is until the line "a lot of water has gone under the bridge" is uttered, a memorable line from their English textbook from high school. The colleague then tells him about how he sells encyclopedias to Chinese families in Tokyo. Wanting for information about the infobooks, he gives his business card to the colleague before they go their separate ways. The story ends with the narrator reminiscing on his idiosyncratic relationship with Chinese people. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- A "Poor Aunt" Story (貧乏な叔母さんの話, 1980). In a frame story, a man tells about his "poor aunt," an unremarkable and burdensome thing (usually a person, but it can also be an animal or a various object) that figuratively sticks to a certain person's back. His example is of an actual aunt at a wedding; at that wedding companions tell of their own various "poor aunts." Further, "poor aunts" will cease to exist when there is perfection, but this will not occur until the year 11,980. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- New York Mining Disaster (ニューヨーク炭鉱の悲劇, 1981). A twenty-eight-year-old man has to go to five of his friends' funerals in one year. Because he does not own a black suit, he always borrows his friend's suit; this friend has a peculiar habit of going to zoo at odd times, include when natural disasters like typhoons are coming and only has a girlfriend for about six months before finding a new companion. At the end of the year, the man returns the suit to his friend and they talk about superstitions and T.V.s over beer and champagne. At a New Year's Eve party at a bar in Roppongi, the man is introduced to a mysterious woman who claims she "killed" someone that looks like the man five years ago. They discuss this "killing" before they go their own way. In the final section, a press release-style passage tells of miners trapped underground as the outside world tries to save them. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- The Kangaroo Communiqué (カンガルー通信, 1981). A weird story about a young man in the claims department of a department store, who received a letter from a woman who wrote to complain that she had mistakenly bought Mahler instead of Brahms. The man is captivated by the woman's letter of complaint and so decides to make personal contact with her after seeing Kangaroos at a zoo; he decides to call this letter to her "The Kangaroo Communiqué." Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Last Lawn of the Afternoon (午後の最後の芝生, 1982) Proud of his work, a man decides to give up his job mowing lawns as having split up from his girlfriend he no longer needs the money. He tells of his last assignment near Yomiuri Land. When mowing his last lawn at the end of the vacation, he meets a mysterious woman who shows him the empty room of her daughter. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

Not translated:
- 土の中の彼女の小さな犬 Her Little Dog in the Ground
The story follows a writer, trapped alone in the rain at an out-of-season resort hotel, who encounters a woman with time on her hands and ends up listening to her strange confession. The theme is clear: the highlight of the work is when she is forced to dig up, years later, the bankbook she buried with her beloved dog when it died. The concept is brilliant, and the tension in the scene where she recounts this episode is incredibly high. In terms of the driving force before and after this point, it can be said that this work already fully demonstrates Murakami's potential. However, the plot and setting leading up to this point are a little too long-winded. The fateful scent that has permeated our hands—which is of course none other than the scent of death—is clearly shown, making this a significant work.

- シドニーのグリーン・ストリート  Green Street, Sydney
The story follows a private detective, "I," and a pizza shop girl, "Charlie," as they solve the theft of the Sheep Man's ears. It appears to have been written as a short story for children. It is revealed that Dr. Sheep stole the Sheep Man's ears, and that Dr. Sheep actually hated the Sheep Man because he wanted to become a Sheep Man himself. The Sheep Man's ears are safely recovered... and so, it's a kind of fairy tale. Apparently, there are about 3,000 Sheep Men around the world.

*****

The second Japanese collection was A Perfect Day for Kangaroos (カンガルー日和, 1983). This is the second collection of short stories, consisting of 18 short stories ranging from 8 to 14 pages each (except for "The Library Mystery," the last story included, which is only 6 installments). These were all serialized in the magazine "Trefle" from 1981 to 1983. According to the afterword, this magazine is "not the kind that is sold in general bookstores." Chronologically, they were written around the time of "A Wild Sheep Chase," and can be considered roughly the same work as "Slow Boat to China."
Perhaps due to the circumstances of their publication, the content is mostly relaxed, sketch-like, and experimental, if not outright experimental, and not a collection aiming for literary heights. However, in that sense, it can be read as a direct reflection of Haruki Murakami's tastes and qualities as a writer, and this may be a moment that underlies Murakami's works to this day.
 
- A Perfect Day for Kangaroos (カンガルー日和, 1981).  A man and a woman go to see a kangaroo family at the zoo a month after seeing it advertised in the newspaper. When they arrive, they notice that there is no longer a baby kangaroo and are disappointed. The man goes to buy the woman ice cream and when he returns, the woman points out that there is a baby in the mother's pouch. After they realize that the baby is asleep, they agree to grab a beer somewhere together. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning (4月のある晴れた朝に100パーセントの女の子に出会うことについて, 1981). A perfect small fantasy about what you will (not?) do when you happen to meet the perfect girl... A Tokyo man tells of passing the "100% perfect girl" for him in a Harajuku neighborhood. He imagines a scenario where an eighteen-year-old boy and a sixteen-year-old girl meet and agree that they are 100% perfect for each other. To prove their hypothesis, they agree to go their separate ways and let fate bring them back together. Years go by and one winter, they both get terrible influenza which causes them to forget much of their respective young adult years. They run into each other in Harajuku when he is thirty-two and she is thirty, but they do not stop for each other. The man says that this is what he should have said to the "100% perfect girl." Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Mirror (鏡, 1983). A man tells the story of how he worked as a night watchman at a school in a small town in Niigata Prefecture shortly after graduating from high school. His job was simple: patrol the premise at nine P.M. and three A.M. During a windy night in October, while he is patrolling the campus, he sees himself in a mirror by the entrance. At first, he is surprised but after a few minutes he becomes horrified: the person in the mirror is not him. In a panic, he drops his cigarette, smashes the mirror, and rushes back to his quarters. In the morning he learns that there are no signs of a mirror from the previous night. Because of this incident, the man states that he does not have any mirrors in his house. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- A Window (バート・バカラックはお好き?, 1982). A graduate spends a year working at "The Pen Society" where he is employed to reply to letters from members, grading and making constructive comments on their prose. When he leaves he makes personal contact with one of his correspondents, a childless, married woman. They spend an evening at her place eating dinner and discussing their interests, particularly regarding arts and letters, but they realize they cannot connect and end up only listening to Burt Bacharach. When he passes by her neighborhood ten years later, he thinks fondly of that afternoon he spent with her. Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.
 
- The Rise and Fall of Sharpie Cakes (とんがり焼の盛衰, 1983). A man sees a newspaper advertisement for a "Sharpie Cakes" seminar and decides to go to it; there he meets over a thousand other people. They learn that the company who makes Sharpie Cakes wants a new recipe and will award over two million yen for the winning recipe. The man makes his own Sharpie Cakes and gives two batches to the company. He is called into the office and is told that his Sharpie Cakes are popular among the younger employees of the company but must pass one final test to be considered Sharpie Cakes. The man is escorted to a secure room with giant crows who only eat Sharpie Cakes. His recipe is presented to the birds and it causes a frenzy among them, causing his recipe to be dismissed from the competition. After exiting the company building, he decides that he will only make and eat food he wants to eat and not think about whether "crows" like it. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- The Year of Spaghetti (スパゲティーの年に, 1981). A man only cooks and eats spaghetti in 1971. He sometimes imagines that people are knocking at his door, including dates, William Holden, or complete strangers. He receives a phone call in December of that year from an ex-girlfriend of his friend; she wants to know where to find him so she can get the money he owes her. The man does not tell her where he is despite knowing because he does not want to start more trouble and makes an excuse saying that he cannot talk because he is cooking spaghetti; he hangs up and never hears from her again. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Dabchick (かいつぶり, 1981). A man running down an underground corridor to get to a job interview has to decide whether to go right or left at a T-shaped intersection; he flips a coin and decide to go right. A secretary for the "boss" emerges from a bath and tells the man he has to give a password to meet the "boss." He asks for clues and concludes that it must be "dabchick" and is adamant; when the secretary tells him it is not the correct password, he insists that the secretary tell the "boss" anyway. When the secretary tells the "boss" over the intercom, it is revealed that the "boss" is a palm-sized dabchick and he comments to the secretary that the man is late. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- The Strange Library (図書館奇譚, 1982-2014). A boy visits his local library on the way home from school. When he asks to borrow a book, he is directed to Room 107 in the basement where a stern old man confronts him. Fearful, the boy says he is interested in tax collection in the Ottoman Empire and the man goes to fetch three large volumes. The old man then leads him into a subterranean maze towards the reading room where he will be permitted to read the books. There the boy meets a sheep man, who was ordered by the old man to imprison him in a cell. He is told that he has one month to memorize all three volumes, after which the old man intends to eat his brains once they have become ‘nice and creamy’ with knowledge. With the help of sheep man and a mysterious voiceless girl, the boy makes a bid for freedom through the maze, but as they enter the library once more, they are confronted by the old man and a large black dog. The boy and sheep man manage to escape to the local park and as the boy rests sheep man disappears. Back home, he finds his mother waiting for him with a hot breakfast. He decides never to visit the library again. Translated by Ted Goossen (separate publication).

Not translated:
- 眠い Sleepy 
This is another work characterized by the conversation between "I" and "her." The story revolves around the protagonist becoming uncontrollably sleepy during a wedding he attends out of obligation. Murakami's talent as a writer is evident in how he captures the feeling of "sleepiness" as if it were a concrete object, describing it so vividly that the reader can almost feel it.
- タクシーに乗った吸血鬼  The Vampire in the Taxi
This story is about a taxi driver who happens to be a vampire. It's reminiscent of the driver of the "teacher" in "A Wild Sheep Chase." The conversation between "I" and the driver is quite clever, and the way the driver's character is clearly presented with so few words demonstrates Murakami's extraordinary talent.
- 彼女の町と、彼女の緬羊 Her Town and Her Sheep
This story follows "I," a writer living in Tokyo, who, after meeting an old friend in Sapporo, watches a girl from a town's public relations department promoting the town on the hotel room television. As the title suggests, it could be considered a side story or a preliminary work for "A Wild Sheep Chase."
- あしか祭り The Sea Lion Festival
This story is about someone who, after carelessly handing their business card to a sea lion sitting next to them at a bar, was later visited by the sea lion, forced to listen to a long speech, and compelled to make a donation. The sticker received in exchange for the donation had "Sea Lion as Metaphor" written on it. This suggests the sea lion could be likened to a new religious movement or a political activism, or perhaps more abstractly, to something that insensitively intrudes into our lives, yet is not malicious. Unquestionably entertaining.
- 1963/1982年のイパネマ娘 The Ipanema Girl (1963/1982)
A conceptual novel or essay that develops ideas from the phrase "The Ipanema Girl," rather than being about the Ipanema Girl herself. The Ipanema Girl says, "Because I'm a metaphysical girl."
- 5月の海岸線 The Coastline in May
A monologue by "I," who has returned to "the city" for a friend's wedding. "The city" is, of course, Kobe ("They leveled the mountains and used the soil, transported by conveyor belt, to fill in the sea"), and the description of the lost coastline connects to "Sheep" and even "Dance." It seems to imprint Murakami's personal feelings about the city of Kobe.
- 駄目になった王国    The Fallen Kingdom
A story about a chance encounter at a hotel poolside about ten years after "Mr. Q," with whom "I" had some contact during university. Mr. Q is unaware of "my" presence. The episode itself is unremarkable, but the work stands solely on its title, introduction, and conclusion. "The fading of a magnificent kingdom is far more melancholic than the collapse of a second-rate republic."
- 32歳のデイトリッパー The 32-Year-Old Daytripper
A text centered on a conversation between a 32-year-old man and his 18-year-old girlfriend. Like "The Girl from Ipanema," this is a kind of essay.
- チーズ・ケーキのような形をした僕の貧乏 My Poverty, Shaped Like a Cheesecake
This work recounts memories of living in a house on a triangular plot of land sandwiched between two railway tracks. Whether or not it's a true story, it's likely based on Murakami's own experiences of poverty. His skill in imbuing the word "poverty" with realism is remarkable
- 「サウスベイ・ストラット」のためのBGM South Bay Strut
A parody of hard-boiled mystery. Should this also be read as a preparatory work for "The End of the World"? I think it's more of a "fun" piece, with Murakami paying homage to hard-boiled writers like Chandler, whom he personally admires, and imitating their style and writing.

*****

 The third collection in Japanese is Firefly, Barn Burning and Other Stories (螢・納屋を焼く・その他の短編, 1984). This is Murakami's third short story collection, containing five works published between November 1982 and March 1984. Considering that "Kangaroo Weather" was a collection of serialized short stories, this could effectively be considered his second short story collection. Remarkably, Murakami had already achieved literary maturity by this point, with each included work possessing a clear focus and profound literary reflection.
In particular, the depth of "Firefly" and "The Blind Willow and the Sleeping Woman," which would later develop into "Norwegian Wood," is breathtaking. In these especially introspective works, Murakami seems to declare his continued commitment to the deficiencies and excesses that human existence is inevitably burdened with. This is undoubtedly because Murakami has discerned that these deficiencies and excesses are the driving force of the novel, the generators that propel our daily lives. There is nothing else to write about; only the unavoidable deficiencies and excesses that determine our lives remain, a realization that stands here, almost detached.
Murakami doesn't try to save them, because such deficiencies and excesses can never be saved by anything. If they can be saved, it can only be by the person who suffers from them forgiving themselves, and the essence of a novelist's job is to confront us with the form of those deficiencies and excesses in the most realistic way possible, and it is not permissible for a novelist to arbitrarily "save" them. In that sense, "Burning Barn" and the allegorically told "The Dancing Dwarf" are works that confront us with the deficiencies and excesses within ourselves that we usually live with, and it can be said that Murakami's fictional worldview had already reached a certain height around this time.

- Firefly (螢, 1983). An eighteen-year-old boy moves to Tokyo to attend university and lives in an all-male dorm with interesting personalities; his roommate is an occasional stutterer and geography major who works out early in the morning and his dorm head requires that all tenants attend a flag ceremony each morning. He tells this to amuse the girl he "dates" (who goes to a different university than him) and afterward they explore Tokyo together on foot. Afterward, they say goodbye as she departs by train back to her apartment. He first met the girl during his sophomore year of high school; she was his best friend's girlfriend and he would sometimes join them for get-togethers. However, the best friend committed suicide and he suspects this causes the girl to feel a disconnect with him because he was the last one to see the best friend alive and not her. They saw each other a few times after his death but nothing meaningful came from such "dates." He also internalizes the following philosophy: "Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it." When he is nineteen and a few months old in June, she turns twenty and they celebrate her birthday at her place. With just the two of them sharing dinner and alcohol, she loquaciously talks for hours past midnight; when the boy interrupts her to say that he needs to catch the last train home, she does not really hear him and continues speaking before she suddenly stops; she then sobs, and the boy does his best to comfort her and they end up having intercourse. He is shocked to learn that she is a virgin and this causes them further awkwardness; they spend the rest of the night with their backs to each other. He leaves a note the following morning before exiting her apartment. He receives a letter response from her at the end of July telling him that she is taking a "leave of absence" from her university studies to spend time at a sanatorium in Kyoto. She also thanks him for his companionship and also asks him not to seek her out before ending with "goodbye." He is left utterly crestfallen. His roommate gives him a firefly in a jar and tells him to take care of it. When it is dark, he goes to the top of the dorm building to release the firefly but it takes forever to move. When it finally does leave the jar, he reaches out and tries to touch the darkness. (In Norwegian Wood the "boy" is Toru, the "girl" is Naoko, the "best friend" is Kizuki, and the "roommate" is dubbed "Storm Trooper.") Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Barn Burning (納屋を焼く, 1983). A 31-year-old married man and a 20-year-old woman begin a casual and unclear relationship. The woman, an amateur mime, decides to leave Japan for Algiers. Three months later, she returns with a Japanese boyfriend. One day, the woman and her boyfriend ask if they can visit the man's home; because his wife is away visiting relatives, he agrees to the gathering. The three drink carelessly and smoke marijuana in the man's living room; the woman needs to be helped to bed after smoking one joint. Back in the living room, the boyfriend tells him about his idiosyncratic need to burn a barn about every two months. Interested, the man asks why and how he does this. The boyfriend replies that he feels morally obligated to do so and that he picks the barns that he will burn based on their condition. After the woman wakes up, she and the boyfriend leave the man's place, leaving the man very curious about barn burning. He plans his next few days around scouting possible barns nearby that the boyfriend might burn. He narrows it down to five barns, and passes by all of them on his morning run for a month, but there are no signs of arson. The man sees the boyfriend again during Christmas and they share coffee. He asks if the boyfriend has burned a barn recently; he says he did about ten days after he visited the man's house. Before leaving, the boyfriend asks if the man has seen the woman lately; he says no, and the boyfriend says that he has not either, and she does not answer her phone or door. The man checks her apartment and sees that her mailbox is filled with fliers. When he checks again later, he sees a new name on the door and realizes that she has disappeared. Continuing his daily routine, he sometimes thinks about barns burning. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Dancing Dwarf (踊る小人, 1984). A man working at a factory manufacturing elephants dreams of a dancing dwarf, then hears the dwarf existed and danced for the king prior to the revolution. In a subsequent dream he makes a pact with the dwarf to win the heart of a beautiful girl at the factory dance. Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (めくらやなぎと眠る女, 1984). An unnamed adult narrator and his younger teen-aged cousin wait for a bus to take them to the hospital so the cousin can have his ear problem examined, an ailment he has had since he was young due to being hit in the ear by a baseball. While waiting, the cousin inquires deeply about the narrator's watch. The bus ride takes them through much hilly terrain and gives the narrator time to think about how he developed a close bond with his cousin. After the cousin checks in, the narrator reminisces on what happened the last time he visited a nearby hospital. While the narrator was in high school, he and his friend visited his friend's girlfriend at the hospital, who needed to have one of her ribs realigned. After the operation, the girlfriend tells a narrative-poem about a woman who sleeps indefinitely because a "blind willow" sends its flies to carry pollen to her ear, burrow inside, and put her to sleep. Eventually, these flies eat the woman's flesh starting from the inside, despite a young man's effort in trying to save her. After the cousin returns from the check-up, the two cousins lunch. When they talk about the cousin's ailment and how it will probably affect him for the rest of his life, he says he thinks of the movie line "Don't worry. If you were able to spot some Indians, that means there aren't any there" from Fort Apache whenever someone sympathizes with him about his ears. As the bus taking them home approaches, the narrator begins to daydream of how he and his friend were careless with a gift of chocolates for the girlfriend many years ago. When he is able to think clearly again, he tells his cousin, "I'm all right." Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Not translated: 
- 三つのドイツ幻想 Three German Fantasies
This work consists of three short stories: "1. Pornography as a Winter Museum," "2. Hermann Göring Fortress 1983," and "3. The Hanging Gardens of Hell W." "Winter Museum..." is an essay-like piece that begins with the sentence, "What I imagine from sex is a winter museum." "Hermann Göring Fortress" is an episode where the narrator meets a young German man while sightseeing in East Berlin and is shown around World War II battle sites. "The Hanging Gardens" is a description of the Hell W Hanging Gardens, moored on the roof of a building in West Berlin. I don't know the occasion on which these were published, but aside from being related to Germany, there are no commonalities (it's even unclear whether "Museum" is related to Germany), and I think it's best read as a series of sketches. "Museum" is somewhat conceptual and difficult to understand, but "Fortress" and "Hanging Gardens" are enjoyable and straightforward.

*****

Next comes Dead Heat on a Merry-go-round (回転木馬のデッド・ヒート1985). 
In a short essay titled "Introduction: A Dead Heat on the Carousel," Murakami states that the works included in this book are not novels in the strict sense, but rather stories he has told several people and written down. He began this work as a warm-up for a longer novel, and the finished pieces were meant to be kept hidden away in his desk drawer, never to be published.
However, as he continued writing, Murakami says he began to feel that each of these stories "wanted to be told." This was essentially a cage arising from the gap between "my novels" and "my real life," and "they wanted to be told." Because these stories represent a "sense of powerlessness" that arises within us when we glimpse people's lives, and their essence, he says, is the realization that "we can't go anywhere."
The title of the book comes from the idea that the operating system of our lives defines us, and therefore, like a carousel, it merely circles fixed places at fixed speeds. Of course, whether what is written here is actually true or not is unknown. Or perhaps these are stories Murakami actually heard from someone, or perhaps they are entirely fictional works that borrow a theme and style.
However, of course, such things are irrelevant to us readers. What's important is that Murakami wrote this work in that format, or with that premise, and that he probably thought there were things he could only express in that form. If that's the case, then whether each short story here is based on fact or not is irrelevant to reading this collection. Rather, this collection is all about the "powerlessness" revealed by the discrepancy between ourselves and our real lives, which gradually accumulates within us, and the perspective that tries to discern the essence of the strangeness and unnaturalness of facts.

- Lederhosen (レーダーホーゼン, 1983). When a Japanese middle-aged woman on a trip to Europe decides to buy a pair of "Lederhosen" for her husband at home, and has somebody who resembles him (fat, white skin) try them on, she suddenly realizes how much she hates her husband. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- Nausea 1979 (おうと1979, 1984). From June 4 to July 14, 1979, a twenty-seven-year-old man vomits daily and receives regular phone calls in which a man says his name and hangs up. Since he regularly sleeps with his male friends wives or girlfriends as a whimsical hobby, he suspects the calls could be from a spiteful friend who does not want to directly confront him but the voice from the phone does not match any of his friends' voices. Further, no matter how hard he tries, he is unable to stop himself from vomiting the food he ate earlier in the day. He takes time off from work and stays at a hotel but the vomiting and calls do no stop. One the final day of his ordeal in July, he receives the final mysterious call; he is asked by the voice "Do you know who I am?" before it hangs up forever. Mr. Murakami, the listener of this man's story, suggests that the calls could be from a private detective or it could be that the man is possibly schizophrenic. Both conclude that the ordeal the man went through his some hidden meaning and agree that it could again happen to either of them out of the blue. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- Hunting Knife (ハンティング・ナイフ, 1984). A couple in their late twenties are vacationing on a Pacific Island, most likely Guam or Hawaii; they share a cottage with an elderly American mother and her adult, wheelchair-using son. On the afternoon of the day before they are set to return to Tokyo, while his wife is taking a nap, the narrator goes for a swim in the ocean. He eventually finds himself on a raft with an obese but healthy American woman and they talk. They talk about their respective personal lives before the narrator returns to the hotel to spend the evening with his wife. The narrator wakes up past midnight and is unable to continue sleeping so he goes out for a walk; he runs into the son at the beach bar and converses with him. The son talks about how he and his mother are staying there indefinitely and his philosophy regarding their relative idleness when they stay at these types of resorts. He finally shows an ornate hunting knife to the narrator and asks him to cut something for him. After hacking away at a number of things, the son tells about a recurring dream he has: there is a "knife" stuck in his head but he is unable to pull it out no matter how hard he tries. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Not translated: 
- タクシーに乗った男 The Man in the Taxi
The story unfolds through the perspective of a gallery owner recounting the most "shocking" painting she had ever seen. The painting, depicting a man in a taxi, is not particularly valuable as a work of art; it's merely a mediocre painting by an unknown young man. However, it is precisely this ordinariness that compels her to acquire it. By burning the painting, she seals away something within herself, but that something is definitively lost when she coincidentally encounters the man in the painting in Athens. This work symbolically speaks of how our lives, in the end, are comprised of such ordinariness and the unimaginable strangeness that swallows it up. The depiction of the confrontation between reality and illusion across a single painting, and the scenes where they intersect, is breathtaking.
- プールサイド Poolside
A story about a man who decides that 35 is the halfway point of his life and then faces that day. A man who has reached the halfway point of his life in a nearly perfect state, except for a few minor flaws, finds himself unexpectedly moved to tears upon seeing his wife ironing while listening to Billy Joel's music. He cannot understand what within him is causing this emotion. Perhaps it is the realization of his own aging, and regret for the irreplaceable time lost in exchange for a plausible life and explainable happiness. Compared to the other stories in this collection, it undeniably lacks a certain depth.
-  今は亡き王女のための For the Now-Deceased Princess
This is the story of a strange night spent with "me" and a beautiful girl who is decisively spoiled and "genius" at hurting others' feelings, and its aftermath. I don't know if such a girl really exists, but the careful description of her character in the first half vividly brings her presence to life, making the suffocating intensity of the intense experience with her in the middle of the story all the more real. You can almost feel the urge to simply surrender to the overwhelming current of desire, and the confusion of realizing what kind of troublesome situation would arise if that happened in this state. This is the power of fiction. Compared to the vibrant urgency of this scene, the epilogue in the latter half seems somewhat superfluous.
- 雨やどり 
Shelter from the Rain
This story follows a female editor who, after the magazine she worked for ceases publication, resigns from her job and, while waiting for her next position, begins selling herself to men in a bar. She also breaks up with a married colleague she had been seeing. In the strange void that arises, she spends a brief solitude, and is approached by a veterinarian she meets at a bar. She retorts, "I'm expensive." "Sleeping with her didn't seem so bad, but paying for it seemed a little strange," the narrator thinks. When a female acquaintance confides in the narrator that she sleeps with men for money, it creates confusion and distortion regarding the meaning and value of sex. Whether or not "sex is free like a wildfire" is debatable, but this distortion undoubtedly makes this work compelling.

- 野球場 The Baseball Stadium
This is the story of a man who, infatuated with a woman, rented a room next to a baseball stadium from which he could peek into her room, and meticulously observed what happened inside through a telephoto lens. Once he started, it unleashed the violence within him. He became so engrossed in the act that he lost himself in it. Perhaps this stemmed from the asymmetry of the act of peeking into a woman's room through a viewfinder. The distorted desires that this one-sided relationship awakened within him were, in reality, dormant within him all along. By expanding and analyzing, we approach a certain essence, but at the same time, we move further away from the whole. Here again, Murakami's meticulous description reveals the irrational core of human existence lurking behind this plausible story.

*****

In 1986 the collection The Second Bakery Attack (パン屋再襲撃) was published.
This collection contains six stories published between August 1985 and January 1986. In terms of publication dates, it sits between "The End of the World" and "Norwegian Wood."
While the individual stories vary in direction and feel, and there isn't a clear overarching theme, each story is generally highly accomplished, possessing the power to evoke a clear image in the reader's mind as a self-contained fictional world. Works like "The Twins and the Sunken Continent," which follows "Pinball, 1973," and "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and the Women of Tuesday," which later developed into "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," each form an independent world as short stories, even without any background information.
Generally speaking, in all of Murakami's works, it is suggested that the small cracks and distortions lurking in everyday life are gateways to a vast, absurd, and violent world behind them. However, in his short stories, the existence of this alternative world is not actively revealed; only the depth of the darkness that lies there is glimpsed. I believe that a certain lingering impression and symbolism common to Murakami's short stories emerges from this worldview.

- "The Second Bakery Attack" A recently married couple in their late twenties lie in bed, famished; they have little in their refrigerator: a six-pack of beer and some cookies. After drinking and eating all of it, the man recounts to his wife a time he and his friend "robbed" a bakery ten years ago. The two intended to take all the bread they could from a bakery by force. The man who ran the bakery offers a counterproposal before the two men can act: since he is a Richard Wagner fanatic, if they listen to Tannhäuser and The Flying Dutchman with him in the bakery, he will give them all the bread they can carry. They agree, and the bread is enough to feed the two men for a few days. After hearing of that story, the woman suggests that they do the same thing, despite it being 2:30 A.M. They drive around Tokyo looking for a bakery but all of them are closed; they "compromise" to "rob" a McDonald's instead. With ski-masks and a Remington automatic shotgun, they enter the restaurant and demand thirty Big Macs. The three employees working there fulfill the peculiar request. The couple then leave the restaurant and drive until they find an empty parking lot; they then eat four to six Big Macs each until they are full. The man feels calm after this experience.
Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Elephant Vanishes (象の消滅, 1985). The story begins with an unnamed narrator beginning his day reading the newspaper. Like clockwork, the narrator keeps to a tight morning routine which includes carefully looking through the newspaper. On that particular day, the big regional news specific to his suburban town was the disappearance of the local elephant and the elephant keeper. The elephant, an old creature that the townspeople expect to die soon, was housed in the local zoo in the narrator's town until the zoo unexpectedly closed down. While all of the other animals were able to be resettle in other zoos across the country, no other zoo wanted to house an elephant so old and feeble. Thus, the land developer that controlled the zoo property and the town mayor made an agreement to continue to house the elephant in the inoperative zoo and the town would continue to take care of the elephant. While many townspeople worried about the cost of caring for the elephant, the mayor's justification was that the town would have control over the land and build high-rise condo buildings after the elephant died and that the animal was harmless and could even serve as a "town symbol."

Interestingly, there was nothing out of the ordinary that occurred the day before, according to numerous students that had visited the elephant around 5 PM before the local zoo exhibit closed. Even the newspaper reporters are unable to hide their bewilderment at the strange event. The narrator describes three major problems about this potential escape or disappearance, the first being that the elephant's steel shackle, usually chained to its right leg, was still intact. While it may have been possible for the keeper to unlock the shackle, free the elephant, and close it again, the keys for the shackle were locked in safes at the police and fire stations. Secondly, it was impossible to escape even after the keeper and elephant managed to be freed from the shackle because of the large fence surrounding the exhibit and single entrance to the zoo which was always locked. Lastly, there was no sign of elephant tracks that proved the elephant had used other escape methods. Thus, the narrator believes that there is only one possible conclusion: the elephant had not escaped, but had indeed vanished.

Because of the elephant's disappearance, the entire town is thrown into turmoil, with the mayor holding press conferences and pledging to find the culprit of this act. The police force is also actively investigating the situation attempting to alleviate the fears of the townspeople. Despite the police and the mayor encouraging citizens to reveal any information that would help with the search, the narrator decides to keep quiet because they "would not believe what [he] had to tell them." After several days go by, the narrator still remains silent, not divulging the information he appears to have, but instead creating a scrapbook with newspaper clippings related to the elephant's disappearance.

The unofficial "Part 2" of the story begins when the narrator recalls his relationship with a woman he met months after the event of the elephant's disappearance. While they initially were attendees at a party thrown by the narrator's company, they began to chat and connect as he oversaw the publicity of his company's kitchen equipment and she was an editor of a magazine interested in those products. The narrator quickly realizes that they have many things in common, which makes conversation easier.

The narrator then brings up the topic of the elephant, which he regrets but is unable to move away from because the woman is exceedingly interested. Immediately, the woman is aware that the narrator is withholding information and presses the narrator to explain why he believes the situation is so strange. The narrator mentions that he saw the elephant the day before the disappearance around 7 PM by looking down at the elephant house from a hill, a spot he frequently visited to observe the elephant. The narrator was fascinated at the close relationship seen between the elephant and its keeper, filled with a deep trust and "special warmth." The only thing that the narrator notices is strange is not in the actions of the elephant and its keeper but of their physical appearance. Instead of a large difference in size, the narrator had seen the elephant and keeper appear the same size, whether it be because the elephant had shrunk or the keeper had grown larger (or both).

The conversation between the narrator and woman quickly dwindles as the narrator is left to mull over the strange sight he saw the night before the disappearance. The narrator notes that that is the last time he ever saw the woman and that the townspeople also seem to forget about the elephant and the keeper. 

Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- A Family Affair (ファミリー・アフェア, 1985). A bachelor and his younger sister live together in a Tokyo apartment. During a trip to Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, the sister meets a man named Noboru Watanabe who later becomes her fiancé; the man disapproves of her choice. The sister retorts by saying that she thinks her brother tries to make a joke out of everything. When the sister invites Noboru over for dinner at the apartment, the men get a chance to interact with each other talking about plans after the wedding. The bachelor then leaves to go out for a drink. He meets a woman at a bar; they talk about baseball and proceed to have sex at her apartment after a few more drinks. When he returns home, he and his sister have a talk about their sex lives, where they learn the number of partners they each slept with; the bachelor says twenty-six while the sister says two before she met Noboru. After, they proceed to their separate rooms for the night. Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Fall of the Roman Empire, the 1881 Indian Uprising, Hitler's Invasion of Poland, and the Realm of Raging Winds (ローマ帝国の崩壊・一八八一年のインディアン蜂起・ヒットラーのポーランド侵入・そして強風世界, 1986). The narrator uses world events to note down bland daily events in his diary. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Wind-up Bird And Tuesday's Women (ねじまき鳥と火曜日の女たち, 1986). The narrator searches for a missing cat and after passing through a closed-off alley between backyards, encounters a sunbathing girl. After a lazy conversation he dreams off and when he awakes, she has disappeared. Became the first chapter of the Wind-up Bird Chronicle, but is also perfect as a stand-alone story. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

Not translated:
- 双子と沈んだ大陸 The Twins and the Sunken Continent
A sequel to the twins from "Pinball, 1973." "I," having lost the twins, finds them in a magazine photo spread. "I" confront the void left by the twins' disappearance. "Everything is lost, and it's meant to remain lost." And even if he were to acquire the twins again to fill that void, they would eventually vanish without warning or explanation. Therefore, acquiring the twins again would be "meaningless." "I must accept a world without the twins." Although that void was created by the loss of the twins, even the twins themselves can no longer fill it. If so, isn't that void inherently present in our lives? "Perhaps it was already lost long before the twins left me. The twins merely made me aware of it." Therefore, all we should seek is reality. This work is like a quiet requiem for a part of our lives that was lost beforehand.

*****

In 1989 TV People (TVピープル) was published. This short story collection includes four stories published in the latter half of 1980, plus two newly written stories ("Kano Creta" and "Zombie"). In terms of novels, it was published between "Dance" and "South of the Border." There is clearly a literary fault line between "Dance" and "South of the Border," and from that point onward, Murakami's fictional world undoubtedly deepens to the next dimension. The six short stories included here are also drastically different from the earlier "The Second Bakery Attack." From the world protected by a certain intimate and special convention up to that point, this collection clearly reveals merciless collapse and the existence of hopeless, absolute contradictions, testing the quality of the reader's perception of reality as they confront them.
This tendency is particularly evident in his later novels, especially "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle." If there is salvation, it can only be found in our own firm will, and to find it, we must inevitably get our hands dirty. This work could be described as a process of exploration, leading to such an understanding and then to an image of the salvation that might be possible within that understanding. All the short stories included here, along with "The Wind-Up Bird and the Tuesday Women" from "The Second Bakery Attack," are part of a lineage that culminates in "South of the Border" and "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle."

- TV People (TVピープル., 1989). 20–30% smaller than normal people, the TV people install a television in the narrator's flat, but the change is ignored by his wife. He later spots them carrying a television through his workplace, but when he mentions it to his colleagues they change the subject. Then his wife disappears, but he meets TV People again. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- Aeroplane: Or, How He Talked to Himself as If Reciting Poetry (飛行機―あるいは彼はいかにして詩を読むようにひとりごとを言ったか, 1987). A twenty-year-old man meets regularly with a married woman seven years his senior at her place regularly to have sex; her husband is often out-of-town for his job and her daughter is in kindergarten. She has an idiosyncratic habit of crying for a set amount of time every so often and he has a peculiar practice of reciting "poetry" under his breath and not remembering any of it. One day she decides to write down what he says and they learn it is about airplanes. They try to make meaning of it but they conclude that he must mention airplanes for some ineffable reason. That day, she also cries twice, the only time this happens in all the time the two are acquainted. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- A Folklore for My Generation: A Pre-History of Late-Stage Capitalism (我らの時代のフォークロア―高度資本主義前史, 1989). A narrator meets an old classmate from his high school days in Kobe during his trip to Lucca. In a frame story, the classmate tells about his relationship with his girlfriend Yoshiko; most people thought they were ideal because of excellence in so many things but it was, in fact, the opposite. While they much enjoyed each other's company, they never had intercourse as Yoshiko wanted to keep her virginity until after marriage, the most sensual thing they do being erotic touching with their clothes on. They go to different universities after graduation (she remains in Kobe attending a women's college and he goes to Tokyo University), but they remain in a relationship for four years. The last time the classmate decides to bring up sex is right before they drift apart and eventually break up; Yoshiko is adamant but tells him that she will sleep with him after she is married. When they are both in their late twenties, Yoshiko calls him after she is married, asking him to come over to her apartment while her husband is away; she is willing to keep her promise. The classmate feels that it would not be the same so the extent of their tryst remains erotic touching. When the classmate leaves her apartment that day, he knows he will never see her again; he sleeps with a prostitute that evening before continuing on with the rest of his life. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Sleep (眠り, 1989).  One of MurakamI's darkest stories. A young mother cannot sleep anymore after she has dreamed that a shadowy man has poured water over her legs. Sitting up reading every night, she rediscovers herself and begins to question her marriage. But death is not far away, as she notices when she starts making nightly excursions in her car... Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

Not translated:
-  加納クレタ Kanō Creta
This is the story of Kanō Creta, the younger sister of Kanō Marta, who makes a living by listening to the sounds of water. Both Kanō Creta and Marta are characters from "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," and the theme of listening to water is carried over into the novel, but Kanō Creta's character is somewhat different. Here, within a fantastical, allegorical narrative, the essence of Kanō Creta's problem is stated: "Every man who sees me tries to rape me."
Because of this, Kanō Creta secludes herself in the mountains, tending to her water jars while designing thermal power plants. One day, she kills a police officer who comes to investigate and tries to rape her. However, while toying with his ghost, she gains confidence and returns to the outside world, becoming a leading expert in thermal power plant design. But eventually, she is violently raped and murdered by a large man with "fiery green eyes," her throat slit. Unjustified violence and sex. This is an idea sketch that connects to "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle."
- ゾンビ Zombies
A simple short story about a man who becomes possessed by a zombie while a couple is talking about zombies as they walk through a graveyard. The nested structure—waking up from one nightmare only to find yourself in another—can be seen as a relativization of reality, but there's no need to interpret it that deeply.


*****

From the 1996 collection Lexington Ghosts (レキシントンの幽霊). 
This short story collection, released in 1996, contains seven stories in total: four written between "Dance" and "South of the Border," two written after "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," and a shortened, revised version of "The Blind Willow and the Sleeping Woman" from "Firefly." The title story, "The Ghost of Lexington," and "The Seventh Man" were written after "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," and there's a subtle difference in feel compared to the four earlier stories.
The works before "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" are, broadly speaking, attempts to approach the essence of "fear," but they don't offer salvation for the person trapped by that fear; the stories converge, as if absorbed into a deep silence. However, the two stories after "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," while similarly discussing how "fear" manifests itself in our hearts, offer suggestions about the strength and power we can possess in the face of fear, even though we cannot escape it. This aligns with the progression from the short story collection "TV People" to "Children of God," and in his novels, it seems to correspond to a series of works—from "South of the Border" through "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" to "Sputnik"—as an attempt to overcome despair.
Therefore, while many of these works may seem somewhat surreal and hopeless on their own, if one listens to the breath of the story hidden behind them and gazes intently at the fragments of images that resemble afterimages, one will see Murakami's desperate attempt to grasp clues to a life with enough life to be worth living, even while descending into a cold, stark reality.

- The Little Green Monster (緑色の獣, 1991). A monster burrows up into a woman's garden, breaks into her house, and proposes love. The creature can read her mind and she uses this fact to fight against it. Because of her adamant rejection of the monster, it eventually dies, reduced to nothing more than a shadow. Translated by Jay Rubin in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Silence (沈黙, 1991). While waiting for a flight to Niigata, an unnamed narrator asks his friend Ozawa, an amateur boxer, if the pugilist has ever punched another person over an argument; Ozawa responds by saying that he did once, during a middle school feud with classmate Aoki. Aoki was a model student who always got the top scores on tests. However, during one English test in middle school, Ozawa bested Aoki's score; Ozawa confesses that his parents promising him to buy an exclusive item motivated him to study harder than ever before. When Aoki learns of his "failure," he spreads the rumor that Ozawa cheated on the test. When Ozawa confronted Aoki about the incident, Aoki showed much contempt and Ozawa retaliated by punching him in the jaw; the two do not talk for years even when they are in high school. During the final year of high school, Matsumoto, a classmate of both boys, committed suicide by jumping in front of a train. When the police investigated the tragedy, they learned that he was bullied by classmates, but are not sure of who gave him the bruises. They suspected Ozawa because of his boxing background and because he had hit another student in the past; Ozawa concluded that Aoki spread that rumor about him, still feeling sore about their run-in during middle school. Ozawa, despite being cleared of any wrongdoing, was still ignored by his classmates; they maintained a complete silence towards him for the rest of high school. Once, he stared down Aoki while enduring the silence until the end of the school year. Ozawa tells the narrator that he has an idiosyncratic admiration for people like Aoki who cunningly seize opportunity. Ozawa then expresses disappointment in humanity that so many are willing to believe lies and follow without question people like Aoki. The two men decide to get a beer as they continue to wait for their flight. Translated by Alfred Birnbaum in The Elephant Vanishes.

- The Ice Man (氷男, 1991). A woman meets an "Ice Man" during her trip to a ski resort. The Ice Man is able to tell her everything about herself bar her future during their conversation. The two begin dating in Tokyo until they decide to get married; the woman's family is against the marriage because of her age (twenty) and the fact that very little is known about the Ice Man's history. After being married for a while, they are unable to conceive a child. The woman suggests that they go to the South Pole for a vacation. After weeks of planning, she tries to back out but the Ice Man tells her they have already committed too much and they end up flying there together. At the South Pole, there are scarce traces of an Ice Man settlement, but the Ice Man feels at home for the first time. They are able to conceive a child and spend the entire winter at the pole together, but the woman's happiness vanishes as she feels an incredible loneliness. She knows that her new family will never leave the South Pole. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Tony Takitani (トニー滝谷, 1990). Shozaburo Takitani is a jazz trombonist who is able to avoid many of the hardships of World War II by playing in clubs in Shanghai. He is imprisoned after the end of the war by the Chinese Army but is released in 1946; he returns to Japan and a year later and gets married. Tony Takitani is born in 1948 and his mother dies three days later. Because of this unfortunate event, Tony grows up without a true parent as his father is often away on musical tours and does not know much about being a father. Despite this, Tony is able to become a great illustrator and secures a well-paying job as a technical illustrator. When Tony is thirty-seven years old, he falls in love with a twenty-two-year-old woman who visits his office on an errand. After pulling some strings to have her visit again, he asks her out to lunch. After a few dates he proposes to her; although unsure at first, she eventually agrees. For several years they are able to both live a carefree life, but when Tony points out to her that she buys an astronomical number of dresses and shoes, she begins to become self-conscious; she dies in an automobile collision shortly thereafter. To cope, he tries to hire a woman who has a body figure similar to his wife to wear his wife's clothing and work as a secretary in his office. When he finds a suitable candidate, he shows her his wife's wardrobe and the woman proceeded to cry over the beauty of the dresses. He tells her to take seven dresses and seven pairs of shoes for the week and to begin working tomorrow. After she leaves, he looks at the clothing and reconsiders; he calls the woman to tell her that he has rescinded the job offer but she is free to keep the dresses and shoes she has already taken for the week. Soon after Tony sells the remainder of his late wife's clothing for a fraction of the price. His father dies two years later and he sells all of his father's records for a decent price. After doing so, he feels that he is now truly alone. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

- The Seventh Man (七番目の男, 1996). A mid-fifties man dubbed "the seventh man" tells a story to a group about his childhood. When he was ten and lived in a small, seaside town most likely in Shizuoka Prefecture, he had a close friend named K. One day, a typhoon hits the area and while their town is in the eye, they go down to the beach; the seventh man is told by his father to return to the house as soon as winds pick up. While examining items of the beach, the seventh man sees a huge wave form and warns K by screaming to him but his warning falls on deaf ears; K is swallowed by the wave while the seventh man, on higher ground, is spared. A second wave forms but dies the moment before it is to hit the seventh man and in that moment he sees an apparition of K reaching out to him before he faints. The seventh man wakes up a week later in the care of his family and learns that K disappeared without a trace. Many years go on without any evidence of K's remains coming to light; further, the seventh man is haunted by nightmares of K drowning and by the fact that no one outwardly blames him for K's disappearance. By the end of the year, he moves away to Komoro to get away from the town; he stays in the city for more than forty years but is still haunted by nightmares of K. He returns to the town and the beach where K disappeared in his fifties and goes through a storage shed which contains K's paintings. Despite the anguish he feels with merely possessing them he takes it with him back home to Komoro. He studies them and realizes that K's apparition was not looking at him with hatred and resentment all those years. He returns to the beach once more and surrenders himself to the water by falling face-first into the ocean. The seventh man finishes the story by telling his audience to not turn our backs on fear and not close our eyes when it strikes. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman.

Not translated:
- レキシントンの幽霊 The Ghost of Lexington
This is a story about a writer entrusted with looking after an old mansion by a friend, who encounters strange occurrences. Waking up in the middle of the night in the supposedly deserted, quiet mansion, he hears a commotion like a large party. Suspicious, he goes downstairs and suddenly realizes, "That's a ghost."
However, the central theme of this story is probably not the ghost itself. Rather, it is the interaction with Casey, the owner of the mansion and a trapped figure within it, that underlies this short story and is the source of its vitality. Casey describes the time he slept soundly after losing his beloved father: "The real world was nothing more than a hollow, ephemeral world. It was a shallow world lacking color. (….) In other words, certain things take on another form. They cannot help but take on another form." I believe this is a story about the essential loneliness inherent in our very existence.
- The Blind Willow and the Sleeping Woman
This is a revised version of "The Blind Willow and the Sleeping Woman," originally included in "Firefly, Burning the Barn, and Other Short Stories," reduced to slightly more than half its original length. It's not simply a matter of cutting text; the expression has been refined in many places, resulting in a significantly different feel compared to the original. Specifically, the more concise expression tightens the writing, transforming the atmosphere of the original, which was shrouded in the dark shadow of "death," into a story of a will toward "life."
"For just a few seconds, I stood in a strange, dimly lit place. A place where nothing was visible, and only the invisible existed. But then, a real bus, number 28, stopped in front of me, and the door to reality opened. And I boarded it, heading somewhere else." The insertion of this sentence, which wasn't in the original, clarifies the work's meaning. And this work, written in 1995—in other words, after the Great Hanshin Earthquake and the subway terrorist attacks—concludes as follows. "I put my hand on my cousin's shoulder. 'It's going to be okay,' I said."



The Japanese edition of Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman (めくらやなぎと眠る女 (短編小説集) was brought out in 2009, and contains the following stories not in other early collections:

- Birthday Girl (バースデイ・ガール, 2002). In a frame story, a married woman with children recounts to her friend what happened on her twentieth birthday (the age of majority in Japan at the time this was written. In 2022, it was changed to 18). The woman begins by saying she spent that day working overtime as a waitress at an Italian restaurant in Roppongi because her friend called in sick at the last minute. The reclusive owner of the restaurant who lives on the sixth floor gets his food delivered to him room service-style by the manager of the restaurant every night at 8pm. The manager falls ill the night of the woman's birthday so the woman is delegated the responsibility of bringing the owner his food. The woman knocks on the door that evening and finds an elderly man at the door. After explaining the situation, he invites her into the room and asks for five minutes of her time; she agrees. He asks how old she is and she responds that she is twenty now, indirectly telling him that today is her birthday. After saying "Happy Birthday" to her, he tells her that he can grant her one wish. She makes her wish, leaves the room, and never meets the owner again. Her friend asks her if her wish came true and if she would have wished for something else in hindsight. She says that time will determine if her wish came true and semi-deflects the second question by asking the friend what she would wish for if she was in the woman's position; the friend is unsure and the woman says that is because "you've already made your wish." Published in Harper's, 2003. Translated by Jay Rubin.

- Man-Eating Cats (人喰い猫, 1991). A married man with a son meets a woman named Izumi during a business meeting; they soon realize that they have an ineffable mutual bond. They eventually consummate their relationship, but when Izumi's husband and the man's wife find out, the cheated spouses leave their respective partners (the man's wife also takes custody of their son). Izumi suggests to the man that they quit their jobs and go live on a Greek island for a few years with their savings; he agrees. On the airplane flight to the island, he has an anxiety attack, scared of a new start in a faraway land.

One day during their stay in Greece, the man reads a story in the newspaper to Izumi about a local woman who was eaten by her cats after she died (thus leaving her famished pets trapped in her apartment). Izumi says that it reminds her of a story a nun told her when she attended Catholic school: the nun says if you are stranded on an island with a cat, do not share food with the cat as it is not "chosen by God." He then tells the story of how, during his childhood, a cat "disappeared" by running up a tree. That night, he wakes up and finds Izumi missing; he also hears music coming from the top on a nearby hill and decides to make the trek to the summit to find the source of the melody. On the way up the hill, he experiences a trance in which he remembers his old life. When he reaches the top and is unable to find a source, he returns to his apartment and thinks of cats eating him alive as he tries to fall asleep alone. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Crabs (蟹, 2003). 
During a vacation in Singapore, a man and a woman in their twenties decide to eat at a restaurant serving crab meat. They eat at that same restaurant three straight days, and on their final night in the city-state, the man wakes up sick; he vomits the food content in the hotel toilet. He then notices that there are countless "worms" clinging to the crab meat which causes him to throw up bile; he gulps down mouthwash and flushes multiple times before returning to the bedroom. While observing the woman sleeping and the passing clouds, he resolves that he will never eat crab again. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Chance Traveler (偶然の旅人, 2005). 
To begin the story, the narrator introduces himself as Haruki Murakami. He gives a personal anecdote about strange, life-changing experiences. While serving as a writer-in-residence at a college in Cambridge, Massachusetts from 1993 to 1995, Murakami frequented jazz clubs. During one visit, he got to see Tommy Flanagan play and admits he was underwhelmed for most of the performance; he imagines Flanagan asking for requests to which Murakami would ask for "Barbados" and "Star-Crossed Lovers." Suddenly Flanagan launches into a rendition of "Star-Crossed Lovers" and then "Barbados" without Murakami having to ask; the writer admits that the chances of him picking to play both of those specific pieces was one in a million. A second incident occurred some time later while he was exploring a used-record store; he finds a mint condition record of 10 to 4 at the 5 Spot and decides to buy it. As he leaves the store with his treasure, a man asks him for the time to which he replies, "Yeah, it's ten to four."

He then retells the story of his friend who had a similar strange, life-changing experience. This friend is a gay man who works as a piano tuner. During his music college days, he dates a girl but soon learns of his true sexual orientation and comes out. This causes him to stop talking with his sister because this news almost ruins her engagement. He is able to find a steady partner but they do not cohabitate due to his partner's job. About a decade later, he spends time at an outlet mall in the Kanagawa Prefecture reading Bleak House. One Tuesday, he is approached by a middle-aged, married mother about what book he is reading; they learn that they are both reading Bleak House. They soon start seeing each other more often and sharing lunches but when she insinuates that she wants to have intercourse, he tells her that he is gay. She tells him that this "tryst" has been so comforting for her because she is worried after receiving word that she has to return to the hospital because she may have breast cancer. The friend leaves the woman with the following advice: "If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn't, go for the one without form." Despite this, she feels jilted and does not frequent their special spot in the mall anymore.

Because of this acquaintance with this woman, the friend feels a need to reach out to his sister. He calls her and they agree to meet at his apartment. They catch up before she asks him why he called today of all days. He explains that "something" happened, and she reveals that she is going to the hospital tomorrow for an operation for breast cancer. Although flabbergasted, he still does not tell her his exact motivation for calling her. After his sister has a successful operation, he resumes a healthy relationship with her and her family, even getting the chance to teach their gifted daughter the piano.

Murakami and his friend agree that these happenings are more than "chance" and even joke that maybe there may be a "god of jazz" or a "god of gays." Murakami ends the story by saying that he hopes for the best for the woman who "coincidentally" influenced his friend's life. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Hanalei Bay (ハナレイ・ベイ, 2006). 
Sachi's son, an avid surfer, dies from drowning after going into cardiac arrest as a result of being attacked by a shark in Hanalei Bay. She travels from Tokyo to Honolulu and then to Lihue to confirm that it is her son's body for the police. After confirming that it is him, she asks for him to be cremated so that she can take his ashes back to Japan. Sachi visits the hotel the next day to pay her late son's bill but learns that lodges there must pay before staying. She subsequently makes yearly visits to Hanalei for ten years to commemorate her son's passing. One day, she decides to pick up Japanese hitchhikers. She gives them advice on where to stay and to look out for hard drugs.

Sachi was a talented pianist in her younger years but began to hit her ceiling early. As a result, she decided to study the culinary arts in Chicago. She worked as a pianist in a bar to fund herself but was deported after an officer caught her without a license to work in the states. She got married at twenty-four and had her only son two years later. The father died prematurely when she is in her thirties from a drug overdose. After his death, she opened a bar but was not able to maintain a strong bond with her son as he ages. Nonetheless, she plays piano at her bar whenever she feels the need to do so.

Back in Hanalei, she decides to play piano at a restaurant as she is more skilled than the regular. She again meets the two hitchhikers who thank her for her help. Then a former marine enters the restaurant and demands that Sachi play a piece for him. When she tells him that she is not employed here, he becomes belligerent and has to be restrained by the owner; the disgruntled ex-marine leaves without much of a fuss due to him being friends with the owner. The hitchhikers then tell Sachi that they saw a one-legged Japanese surfer riding the waves. Convinced that is her son, she spends the next few days asking around about the surfer and keeping a lookout but she is not able to see him and returns home to Tokyo after three weeks. She runs into one of the hitchhikers eight months later in Tokyo and they briefly talk. She continues her routine of playing piano at her bar while thinking of Hanalei Bay. Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- Where I'm likely to find it (どこであれそれが見つかりそうな場所で, 2005) 
In Tokyo, a woman's father-in-law is killed in a streetcar accident, leaving her mother-in-law a widow. The mother-in-law then moves into the same building as the woman and her husband so that the couple can be near her; they live two floors above her in a high-rise. One day, they receive a phone call from the mother-in-law asking for her son to come down; she has cardiac problems. After he is done, he calls his wife and asks her to prepare pancakes and that he will return soon; after a while, he does not come back which causes the woman to call the police and eventually file a missing person report.

A private detective agrees to work pro bono searching for the husband in the building stairs; the husband never uses the elevator. He suspects that the man could be a stockbroker turned painter (like Paul Gauguin) who suddenly moves to Tahiti to pursue his new passion but ultimately shoots that idea down, realizing that he disappeared without taking his wallet and other essentials. Near the beginning of his search, he meets a jogger running up the stairs who says he saw the husband using the stairs but did not know him well. Later on, he meets an elderly man who lived on the same floor as the husband and knew the man but never discussed anything meaningful with him. A few weeks later, he talks with a young girl but refrains from doing anything suspicious or mentioning that he is looking for the husband; they instead talk about donuts and he says he is looking for a “door.”

The woman calls twenty days after the disappearance to tell the detective that her husband has been discovered at Sendai Station; the last thing he remembers is heading back to his place for pancakes with his wife. She thanks him for his efforts and the man resolves that he will continue his search for the “door.” Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

- The Kidney-Shaped Stone that moves every day (日々移動する腎臓のかたちをした石, 2005). Although distant from his father, thirty-one-year-old Junpei takes to heart his father's words that a man will only know three women “that have real meaning for him.” Junpei is sure he has already met his first, but she ended up marrying his friend and is wary of meeting his second too soon; thus, he does not engage in a meaningful relationship for some time.

He meets Kirie, a woman five years older than him, at a French restaurant and they begin a relationship. He tells her that he is a short story writer but she is surreptitious regarding her profession. Nonetheless, she takes an interest in his writing and inspires him to write a story about a woman doctor who has an affair with a married surgeon. During a trip, the doctor finds a kidney-shaped stone and takes it back to her office to use as a paperweight. The stone begins appearing in a moment in the woman's life and she begins to think it has supernatural abilities; however, it always returns to the same position in her office when she comes in each morning. She decides to get rid of it by throwing it far into the ocean, but it still returns to her desk. When Junpei finishes writing the story, he calls Kirie to share it with her but he is unable to get through to her. He nonetheless submits it for publication and it gets accepted in a major literary journal.

Months go by before he hears her voice on a taxi radio; it is at their point he learns that she owns a business of high-rise building window washers and her passion is tightrope walking between high-rise buildings without a lifeline. He also learns that she has been in Germany the past few months performing her craft. Despite not being able to speak to her again, he is inspired to write more than ever before and decides that she was influential enough to be “number two,” but starts to doubt the meaningfulness of his father's theory. The woman doctor story ends with the stone disappearing from her desk.

This story shares several similarities with Murakami's earlier story “Honey Pie.” Translated by Jay Rubin in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman


- A Shinagawa Monkey (品川猿, 2005). 
Mizuki forgets her name when she is asked what it is by others. Her surname is Ando, the name she took after marrying her husband, but still uses her maiden name Ozawa professionally. After reading about a counseling center established for residents of the Shinagawa ward in the newspaper, she decides to book and attend a session in hopes of getting to the root of her worry. There, she meets Mrs. Tetsuko Sakaki who is open to listening to her story. Mizuki tells about her upbringing in Nagoya and how she moved to Yokohama to go to college.

In subsequent sessions, Mrs. Sakaki asks her to tell her an event relating to names. Mizuki tells her the story about how her classmate Yuko Matsunaka came to her to talk shortly she committed suicide; she talked about jealousy and asked her to keep her “dorm name tag” for her so that it would not be stolen. During that talk, Mizuki learns that she has never felt jealousy in her life. That night at home, she searches for the name tags (hers and Yuko's) but is not able to locate them.

During her tenth session, Mrs. Sakaki says that they have found the reason for her forgetfulness: a monkey stole the name tags; Mr. Sakaki and his associate Sakurada have now caught the monkey. The women meet the two men and the monkey. When the monkey demonstrates the ability to talk, they interrogate it. The monkey stole the names because it has an irresistible urge to steal names; in doing so, he is able to learn profound things about them as well as partially deprive them of the memory of their own names. Sakurada suggests that they kill the monkey to alleviate the problem, but Mr. Sakaki says that might cause further problems with animal rights groups. Mizuki suggests that they let the monkey live as long as he tells them about the profound things associated with her name; they agree. The monkey says that when he stole her name, he learned that her mother and sister never loved her and that her marriage is static; Mizuki agrees that she suspected that was the case but is now sure thanks to the monkey. Mr. Sakaki says that he will take the monkey to Mount Takao; the monkey promises never to return to the city. As Mizuki leaves with the name tags, Mrs. Sakaki tells her that if she has any other things she wants to discuss, she is always welcomed to return. Translated by Philip Gabriel in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman

Later short story collections:

After the Quake (神の子どもたちはみな踊る, 2000).
1    UFOが釧路に降りる    『新潮』1999年8月号    UFO in Kushiro
(The New Yorker. March 19, 2001)
2    アイロンのある風景    『新潮』1999年9月号    Landscape with Flatiron
(Ploughshares. September 22, 2002)
3    神の子どもたちはみな踊る    『新潮』1999年10月号    All God's Children Can Dance
(Harper's. October, 2001)
4    タイランド    『新潮』1999年11月号    Thailand
(Granta. July 7, 2001)
5    かえるくん、東京を救う    『新潮』1999年12月号    Super-Frog Saves Tokyo
(GQ. June, 2002)
6    蜂蜜パイ    書き下ろし    Honey Pie
(The New Yorker. August 20 & August 27, 2001)

東京奇譚集 (stories from Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman - see above)

Men without Women (女のいない男たち, 2014)
1    ドライブ・マイ・カー    『文藝春秋』2013年12月号    Drive My Car
(Freeman's: The Best New Writing on Arrival. October 13, 2015)
2    イエスタデイ    『文藝春秋』2014年1月号    Yesterday
(The New Yorker. June 9 & 16, 2014)[7]
3    独立器官    『文藝春秋』2014年3月号    An Independent Organ
4    シェエラザード    『MONKEY』2014年2月15日発行・Vol.2    Scheherazade
(The New Yorker. October 13, 2014)[8]
5    木野    『文藝春秋』2014年2月号    Kino
(The New Yorker. February 23, 2015)[9]
6    女のいない男たち    書き下ろし    Men Without Women

First Person Singular (一人称単数, 2020)
石のまくらに     『文學界』2018年7月号
クリーム     同上
チャーリー・パーカー・プレイズ・ボサノヴァ     同上
ウィズ・ザ・ビートルズ With the Beatles     『文學界』2019年8月号
「ヤクルト・スワローズ詩集」     同上
謝肉祭(Carnival)     『文學界』2019年12月号
品川猿の告白     『文學界』2020年2月号
一人称単数     書下ろし




Western reviewers have (a bit stupidly) complained that Murakami is "too Western." Some would rather have sushi than hamburgers, not to speak about other exotisms. They are wrong, because the Japan that Murakami's stories describe, is the real Japan of today, where people eat more hamburgers than sushi!

I like the stillness (ordinariness?) of these stories - also when seemingly nothing happens, still something important shifts inside the narrator. Or he realizes there is something more below the surface of daily life, like the undersea volcano in The Second Bakery Attack.

Most of the stories are realistic. When fantasy elements intrude, one doesn't mind as it is only for the time of a story. That is better than in Murakami's recent "magic-realistic" novels as Kafka on the Shore, where the piled-on magic elements become unbelievable. (I would have liked a short story about those fish raining from the sky!) On the other hand it is true that there is personal preference involved here - I prefer lyrical poetry to epics, haiku to tanka and concise short stories, like the world caught reflected in a diamond, to bulky, meandering novels.