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Taufiq Yves's Reviews > After Dark
After Dark
by
by
Taufiq Yves's review
bookshelves: chinese-translation, japanese-lit, fav-haruki-murakami
Nov 10, 2024
bookshelves: chinese-translation, japanese-lit, fav-haruki-murakami
Haruki Murakami is a writer I really admire. Almost everyone close to me - relatives or friends - knows this.
I’ve never hidden why I’m drawn to Murakami: his books depict people living on the margins of society, and that resonates with me. Reading his works makes me feel I’m not the only one who feels lonely in this world. (Ironically, though, those around me never link loneliness with my personality. And in daily life, I tend to avoid the word “loneliness,” as if it were the start of something overly sentimental. The moment you press that “loneliness” button, it can sound pretty contrived. But aside from that word, I can’t think of anything more fitting. For now, let’s just call it loneliness.)
As for the question, ”What exactly is Murakami trying to say in this book?”
I’ve never had a precise answer.
My take is this: reading Murakami isn’t about the story itself or his narrative techniques - it’s about the emotions and resonance you feel. If his books could be summed up in a few words, that would be a great disservice to his die-hard fans. His work is open to individual interpretation; you get what you get, and I get what I get - why should our experiences have to be identical?
That being said, every time I finish 1 of his books, I have so much to say, yet there’s this unspoken weight that holds me back. I’m now trying to ease that inner tension with a few impressions fresh from my reading.
I believe the theme of this novel is violence. It seems that most of Murakami’s work grapples with this issue. But the violence I refer to isn’t the ordinary kind - domestic or societal violence. This violence stems from darkness; it’s elusive, ever-changing, and formless. It often appears in various guises - it can take the form of institutions, morals, or even laws. In short, it’s everywhere. Perhaps it is an invisible wound inflicted by modern civilized society. In this book, he describes it as a giant octopus lurking beneath a deep black surface.
There’s a love hotel in the story called “Alpha City.” “Alpha City” is the title of a film by Godard - a futuristic city invented by the director. As one character puts it, in Alpha City, those who cry or shed tears are arrested and publicly executed, because deep emotions are forbidden there. Consequently, love simply doesn’t exist there.
And modern society is much like Alpha City - devoid of sensitivity, where rules dictate everything. I think Alpha City is Murakami’s metaphor for contemporary society. It operates like a high-speed machine, and each of us is merely a cog in it. Our individuality is confined; we mechanically follow the program that society inputs. We barely have time to care about one another, and sentimentality is dismissed as cunning and treacherous. If society let me say it rationally: this harms every one of us.
A Chinese prostitute is assaulted in a love hotel by a client named Shirakawa - a man who, by all outward appearances, is a white-collar professional with a respectable job and a happy family. Here, the Chinese girl is clearly the victim - and yet Shirakawa, too, is victimized. The violence inflicted upon the Chinese girl is visible, but the violence endured by Shirakawa remains hidden.
Along with Shirakawa, who also suffers from this unseen violence, is Mari’s sleeping older sister - Eri Asai. Eri and Mari share the same parents and upbringing, yet they are completely different. Eri is beautiful, excels in her studies, is cherished by her parents, and enjoys a good rapport with men. Meanwhile, Mari has always been overlooked; she lacks striking features, her figure is rather plain - like an old photo forgotten in a corner. Eri seems perfect, yet she has no sense of self.
It appears that Eri, the older sister, acts as an oppressor toward her younger sibling. Similarly, Shirakawa is the one inflicting violence on the Chinese girl. And yet, both Eri and Shirakawa are also victims. They endure an extreme, hidden oppression - so overwhelming that it can’t be shown openly and must be borne alone. Over time, such pressure accumulates into a force that eventually erupts as violence. Thus, Shirakawa assaults the Chinese girl, while Eri distances herself from Mari, ultimately choosing a state of perpetual sleep to escape the pain.
As Takahashi says in the book, he becomes agitated and uneasy at the sight of someone sentenced to death. The reason is simple: no matter who a person is, to be relentlessly ensnared and dragged into darkness by a monstrous, giant octopus is utterly intolerable, regardless of any reason given.
A murderer can be punished by law, but the darkness that spawns murderers never gives us a warning. Sometimes, these perpetrators are even more blameless.
In a society like this, how does one survive? Or rather, how can we avoid harm - or at least lessen it?
Perhaps we should be like Mari and stay true to ourselves. Mari always knows what she wants, and when it’s time to say no, she says it plainly - without playing any roles just to fit into society. But would that really reduce the harm? No - in a society that doesn’t embrace those who don’t conform, you’re bound to be shunned, no matter where you go.
In the end, we might all end up like Takahashi - forsaking our passions to master a skill that merely keeps us alive, then earning money, getting married, and having children. Before we know it, we could even become the kind of person who, after a bout of heavy drinking, turns violent toward their wife and children.
The book also features a woman on the run who has abandoned her real name, going by the nick name “Cricket”. She, too, seems to be escaping from the persecution of darkness. She treats her memories as the fuel that keeps her alive. No matter what kind of memories - whether useful or not - even if life feels like a nightmare, she manages to carry on. “Cricket” almost seems like Murakami’s alter ego; Murakami uses memory as a kind of fuel to power his creative process, and that, in itself, is a way to resist the violence of darkness.
As I flipped through the novel, I found that my heart was granted a small measure of solace - a seemingly insignificant comfort that nonetheless provided me with the drive to keep moving forward.
5 / 5 stars
My other reviews of Murakami's Work:
The City and Its Uncertain Walls
Norwegian Wood
1Q84
Hear the Wind Sing
Kafka on the Shore
Sputnik Sweetheart
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
South of the Border, West of the Sun
After Dark
I’ve never hidden why I’m drawn to Murakami: his books depict people living on the margins of society, and that resonates with me. Reading his works makes me feel I’m not the only one who feels lonely in this world. (Ironically, though, those around me never link loneliness with my personality. And in daily life, I tend to avoid the word “loneliness,” as if it were the start of something overly sentimental. The moment you press that “loneliness” button, it can sound pretty contrived. But aside from that word, I can’t think of anything more fitting. For now, let’s just call it loneliness.)
As for the question, ”What exactly is Murakami trying to say in this book?”
I’ve never had a precise answer.
My take is this: reading Murakami isn’t about the story itself or his narrative techniques - it’s about the emotions and resonance you feel. If his books could be summed up in a few words, that would be a great disservice to his die-hard fans. His work is open to individual interpretation; you get what you get, and I get what I get - why should our experiences have to be identical?
That being said, every time I finish 1 of his books, I have so much to say, yet there’s this unspoken weight that holds me back. I’m now trying to ease that inner tension with a few impressions fresh from my reading.
I believe the theme of this novel is violence. It seems that most of Murakami’s work grapples with this issue. But the violence I refer to isn’t the ordinary kind - domestic or societal violence. This violence stems from darkness; it’s elusive, ever-changing, and formless. It often appears in various guises - it can take the form of institutions, morals, or even laws. In short, it’s everywhere. Perhaps it is an invisible wound inflicted by modern civilized society. In this book, he describes it as a giant octopus lurking beneath a deep black surface.
There’s a love hotel in the story called “Alpha City.” “Alpha City” is the title of a film by Godard - a futuristic city invented by the director. As one character puts it, in Alpha City, those who cry or shed tears are arrested and publicly executed, because deep emotions are forbidden there. Consequently, love simply doesn’t exist there.
And modern society is much like Alpha City - devoid of sensitivity, where rules dictate everything. I think Alpha City is Murakami’s metaphor for contemporary society. It operates like a high-speed machine, and each of us is merely a cog in it. Our individuality is confined; we mechanically follow the program that society inputs. We barely have time to care about one another, and sentimentality is dismissed as cunning and treacherous. If society let me say it rationally: this harms every one of us.
A Chinese prostitute is assaulted in a love hotel by a client named Shirakawa - a man who, by all outward appearances, is a white-collar professional with a respectable job and a happy family. Here, the Chinese girl is clearly the victim - and yet Shirakawa, too, is victimized. The violence inflicted upon the Chinese girl is visible, but the violence endured by Shirakawa remains hidden.
Along with Shirakawa, who also suffers from this unseen violence, is Mari’s sleeping older sister - Eri Asai. Eri and Mari share the same parents and upbringing, yet they are completely different. Eri is beautiful, excels in her studies, is cherished by her parents, and enjoys a good rapport with men. Meanwhile, Mari has always been overlooked; she lacks striking features, her figure is rather plain - like an old photo forgotten in a corner. Eri seems perfect, yet she has no sense of self.
It appears that Eri, the older sister, acts as an oppressor toward her younger sibling. Similarly, Shirakawa is the one inflicting violence on the Chinese girl. And yet, both Eri and Shirakawa are also victims. They endure an extreme, hidden oppression - so overwhelming that it can’t be shown openly and must be borne alone. Over time, such pressure accumulates into a force that eventually erupts as violence. Thus, Shirakawa assaults the Chinese girl, while Eri distances herself from Mari, ultimately choosing a state of perpetual sleep to escape the pain.
As Takahashi says in the book, he becomes agitated and uneasy at the sight of someone sentenced to death. The reason is simple: no matter who a person is, to be relentlessly ensnared and dragged into darkness by a monstrous, giant octopus is utterly intolerable, regardless of any reason given.
A murderer can be punished by law, but the darkness that spawns murderers never gives us a warning. Sometimes, these perpetrators are even more blameless.
In a society like this, how does one survive? Or rather, how can we avoid harm - or at least lessen it?
Perhaps we should be like Mari and stay true to ourselves. Mari always knows what she wants, and when it’s time to say no, she says it plainly - without playing any roles just to fit into society. But would that really reduce the harm? No - in a society that doesn’t embrace those who don’t conform, you’re bound to be shunned, no matter where you go.
In the end, we might all end up like Takahashi - forsaking our passions to master a skill that merely keeps us alive, then earning money, getting married, and having children. Before we know it, we could even become the kind of person who, after a bout of heavy drinking, turns violent toward their wife and children.
The book also features a woman on the run who has abandoned her real name, going by the nick name “Cricket”. She, too, seems to be escaping from the persecution of darkness. She treats her memories as the fuel that keeps her alive. No matter what kind of memories - whether useful or not - even if life feels like a nightmare, she manages to carry on. “Cricket” almost seems like Murakami’s alter ego; Murakami uses memory as a kind of fuel to power his creative process, and that, in itself, is a way to resist the violence of darkness.
As I flipped through the novel, I found that my heart was granted a small measure of solace - a seemingly insignificant comfort that nonetheless provided me with the drive to keep moving forward.
5 / 5 stars
My other reviews of Murakami's Work:
The City and Its Uncertain Walls
Norwegian Wood
1Q84
Hear the Wind Sing
Kafka on the Shore
Sputnik Sweetheart
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
South of the Border, West of the Sun
After Dark
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After Dark.
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Reading Progress
July 17, 2017
–
Started Reading
July 30, 2017
–
Finished Reading
July 24, 2024
– Shelved
