I have seen a lot of talk online about the best place to start reading Haruki Murakmi. From YouTube to Instagram, from Reddit to TikTok, everyone and their dog has their own opinion. But it is usually a mix of the same three books that these people recommend. Check any recommended reading list and I guarantee that Norwegian Wood, Kafka on the Shore, and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle will be front and centre. Make no mistake, these books are Haruki Murakami at his best. But for first-time readers?
If you are going to start reading Murakami, the best place to start is After Dark.
Initially written in 2004, After Dark was given an English translation three years later by Jay Rubin. While After Dark is certainly on the shorter side, it is more than enough Murakami for first-time readers. Leave Norwegian Wood and Kafka on the Shore for later. For now, stick to Men Without Women, First Personal Singular, After the Quake, and most importantly, After Dark. Despite its size, After Dark hits with as much force as its weightier siblings, complete with its own commentary on our modern world. If anything, these messages have more room to breathe and catch hold in the reader’s mind. And that is all thanks to how concise and focused it is compared to his bigger books.
Truth be told, Murakami does his best work in these shorter formats. While Murakami certainly sees himself as a long-form writer, I think his true calling is in novellas. Murakami has the unfortunate habit of rattling on about completely unnecessary details in his more drawn-out pieces. You will often find him waffling on about either jazz, sex, or Italian cooking. And it is not just the once either, with Murakami hashing the same conversation multiple times in the same book. While it is nice to hear him talk about his passions, it can get a little annoying and repetitive at times. That is why first-time readers should pick up After Dark instead. And while he does talk about jazz, it serves the story rather than drag it down.
Like any other good Murakami novel, After Dark leaves just enough for interpretation. Lynchian in nature, Murakami books lack any coherent message or meaning. At least on the surface. One of the reasons why I like Murakami is how open his books are for interpretation.
With ample evidence to support any contention, no one reading is more accurate than another.
Long time translator Jay Rubin smashes it out of the park once again with this English edition of After Dark. Translators often go unrecognized, at least to me, when people review a foreign language book. A lot of responsibility rests on their shoulders. They have to capture the style and rhythm of a writer and translate that into a whole other language, all without diluting the original prose. While many of us will never read a Murakami book the way it was intended, translators like Rubin try their best to bring us a similar feeling.
Mari Asai, like every other Murakami protagonist before or after her, is a certified loner. Wearing inconspicuous clothing, Mari blends in with the crowd, becoming just another nameless face. She likes reading books and knows obscure facts about jazz.
And that is why I did not like her at first. When I first reviewed After Dark, I was quite critical of how Murakami wrote Mari. I thought, wrongly, that Mari was just another shallow and emotionless female character, someone without any real depth or substance. I found myself relating more with the side characters, particularly Takahashi, resonating with their various outlooks. Mari felt like a side-character in her own story.
But, having read the book twice in preparation for this essay, I have come to understand. I see now that Murakami wrote Mari that way on purpose. Since childhood, Mari has had to step aside and let her sister take the limelight. She has had to watch her parents prioritize Eri’s well-being over hers, never having any of her needs met. So rather than hogging the page, she stands aside for the side-characters, letting them talk about their life, their hopes, and their dreams. While certainly is not a child, Mari is not a blown adult just yet. Like many other 19-year-olds, Mari is at a crossroads in life. Signing up for a language program in China, Mari has taken a big step in her growth journey. At just 19 years old, there is so much for her to see, do, and experience.
Much of the story centres around two sisters. While they share similar sounding names, Mari and Eri Asai could not be less alike. One is blessed with good looks and the other simply has to get by with her intelligence. One was coddled by her parents and pampered from birth, while the other was left to fend for herself, suffering in silence. One had her life laid out for her and the other chose to forge her own path, living it on her terms.
Mari comes to understand her older sister a little better throughout the book. It was not Eri’s choice to isolate herself from her only sister, to live a busy and demanding life at such an early age, to be under so much pressure for so long. These feelings of quiet desperation only grow stronger after her sister falls into a deep slumber. All alone with just her parents for company, Mari cannot bear the crushing silence at home. Instead, Mari spends her nights in restaurants and bars, wasting the hours until dawn reading. For someone who wants to be alone, she sure does love crowded places with lots of people.
After mulling their relationship over, talking it out with After Dark’s colourful side characters, Mari comes to understand her sister a little better by the end of the book. She learns from Takahashi that her sister is actually jealous of her freedom and autonomy. Unlike Eri, Mari is free to make her own decisions in life, to be and do what she pleases. And shockingly enough, we learn that Eri shares her sister’s longing for reconnection.
By the end of the book, Mari in bed with a semi-conscious Eri, remembers a time when they were not world apart. Trapped in an elevator, Eri held her younger sister and kept her safe, telling her everything would be all right. The tenderness of this memory brings a tear to the protagonist’s otherwise placid face. While there is still a lot of work left to do, a veritable ocean left to cross, there is hope for these estranged sisters.
