Misery is deciding not to go out as the rest of your friends frolick around town, so that you can stay home and procrastinate in the face of 24 commentaries, a lit essay, two GP booklets to fill out, and EOM to boot.
Which I promise I’ll finish within an impossible time period of three hours. Later.
Spent the earlier part of today reading Murakami’s After Dark.
He’s actually the only serious-pretentious read I’ve picked up since Enid Blyton in primary school. I lost all hope in authors – besides Asians like Catherine Lim and Amy Tan (Also dunno the why) – since entering teen-hood. There’s really just nothing good enough, but not dark enough to read.
I mean like yeah there’s Harry Potter and then all those chick-lit I devoured. Or Dan Brown and Jodi Picoult. SERIOUSLY. That’s what my entire reading collection constitutes of. Which sounds very painful and sad but not really, I just reread Roald Dahls and shit to cripple my vocabulary into that of a eight-year-old’s.
Plus I only read Enid Blyton because it has all those vivid description of food erotica, (a tip: Especially in Famous Five.)
Okay now that I’ve revealed to you my very pitiful extension of literary range, let’s move on to After Dark.
The one thing that kept haunting me throughout the novel is how incredibly suited for a movie it is. It is one of those books that translate so easily into scenes, with it’s vivid night scene and explicit references to (really good) music. Hell, it even comes to a point of describing screenplays.
So I’m really surprised there’s no based-on films, yet.
Alright then again, maybe not. While it’s really pretty in print (the whole Murakami whimsical voice shizam), the life comes mostly from conversations (very often quietly insightful) and the visceral – but very much still – images. In other words, it lacks sufficient substance, plot or action to beef up one-half hours of film.
While I’m sure much of the beauty in prose was lost in the process of translating, it’s still a lot smoother than the contemporary American works you get around.
It takes place within a single night in Tokyo, and the inter-relationships can be pretty confusing but just keep in mind that there are three main stories, all somehow linked (illogically, but seamlessly. It’s weird in the best way possible);
Mari’s meeting of Takahashi and their interaction – often alluding to Mari’s estranged relationship with her comatose sister, Eri.
A Chinese hookah who got beaten up by a masochistic computer expert, (in a Love Hotel Mari later came to be associated with) and the maso’s actions post-attack.
This fantastical, surreal, and totally unexplained dream-scape of Eri’s subconscious/conscious state that the narrative breaks in now and then.
Characterization was crisp and real.
Nothing about the whole strawberry-blonde protagonist with determined spunk and a history of hurt. No smart-aleck annoyingly perfect sexy young man who’ll tease the heroine and then start making love to her towards the end.
Most importantly, no sparkling immortal who fell in love with his favorite food.
Instead, portrayal is incredibly genuine. The journey is also gradual; you learn about them as you would a friend over time. At the end of the day you know enough to be interested, but not completely as to lose the sense of mystery. Very like-able, very real, very effective.
Murakami’s narrative is engaging – maybe too much so; there are certain reinforcements that become redundant in excess. There’s also his tendency to pull the readers out of the story (this detachment also pretty evident in his other novels).
Well it really depends – if you’re the observing/analysing kind of reader, this book suits you perfectly. Murakami babies the audience by lending his eye on every detail, giving quite little space for self-assumptions or inference.
If you’re the kind with a ten-speed imagination running on Energizer, then you might feel stifled by his style of presentation.
The plot, though, I have an issue with. It’s conceptual idea is brilliant, but the potential of it just wasn’t fully exploited. It elevates to the point right before the ending, and wraps off nicely – short of that few unresolved ideas here and there.
The ending with Mari/Takahashi was pretty and proper, just the right amount of resolution and mystery where the audience can just pick n’ choose whatever they want to happen.
About Eri, though, I thought more of a hint could be given about the earlier happenings. YEAH it’s supposed to be fantasy~*, but (maybe just a leeeeeeetle) revelation of it’s paralled reality would be a damn nice ending touch – especially in the context of day/reality settling in.
The most disappointing cliffhanger, really, was with Shirakawa (the sadist prostitute beater computer night shift expert). I enjoyed his vignettes the most, and the stylisation of his thoughts were chilling. Maybe it’s just me, but I was expecting more of him to be revealed (especially after they described his body – a geek with ABS, wtfiwant.) but. Ah well. ):
Overall, a great read for an afternoon procrastination. Wouldn’t take more than a few hours to complete. Flow is lovely, so that’s a change from American Contemporary Lit (which I personally find v jarring in comparison.) MIGHT leave you a little HUH? at the end, but some fresh concepts to think about when you’re bored while in class or defecating.
Oh wow, okay I wasted so much time on this.
Q 