This past weekend, Haruki Murakami appeared at U.C. Berkeley’s Zellerbach Auditorium for a reading of his short stories and a wide-ranging conversation about his work and life. Despite my disappointment with his recent work, Murakami ranks as one of my favorite writers, and it was a pleasure to finally see the notoriously shy writer in person.
Zellerbach is a big venue, at least 800 seats, and in an age when lit pundits constantly bemoan the future of literature, I was surprised when I attempted to buy tickets several weeks ago only to find they were sold out. Thanks to the timely intervention of a friend, however, I managed to get a decent seat in the mezzanine, and spent two and a half enjoyable hours laughing along with the capacity crowd at Murakami’s understated humor.
During the first part of the program, Murakami read “The Rise and Fall of Sharpie Cakes” (from Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman) The story, written in the early stages of his career, is a parable about the Japanese literary world and its reception of his first novel. In classic Murakami style, the story follows a Japanese everyman whose seemingly normal life descends into the bizarre. In this case, after responding to a newspaper ad, he finds himself baking cakes for a competition that is judged by cannibalistic crows. The story, in turns hilarious and gruesome, received a warm reception from the audience, with several people, strangely, even laughing at the grim denouement.
“Sharpie Cakes” was followed by a fascinating discussion on writing between Murakami and Roland Kelts, a writer and lecturer at the University of Tokyo, and questions from the audience. The conversation ranged from Murakami’s obsession with jogging to Carl Jung, hitting most of the stops in between, including hints about his newest novel. Some of the highlights (in no particular order and paraphrased in places):
On Reader’s Questions: Apparently Murakami actually answers all of his fan mail personally. “I like stupid questions. A guy sent me an email about squid. He asked ‘are their tentacles hands or feet?’ I told him he should give a squid ten pairs of gloves and ten pairs of socks and see what happens.”
On Inspiration: “I’m observing things, not making them up… I’m not nationalist, I don’t write for my country, but for my people… I don’t think with my brain. I like my keyboard. I think with my fingers. When I write, it’s just a simple joy… I can write about torture, about skinning someone alive. But it’s still heartwarming…”
On his obsessions: “Elephants, sofas, refrigerators, wells, cats, ears. These things help me to write.”
On video games: “Writing a story for me is just like playing a video game. I start with a word or idea, then I stick out my hand to catch what’s coming next. I’m a player, and at the same time, I’m a programmer. It’s kind of like playing chess by yourself. When you’re the white player, you don’t think about the black player. It’s possible, but it’s hard. It’s kind of schizophrenic.”
On dreams: “I don’t dream. I use my dreams when I write. I dream when I’m awake. That’s the job of a novelist. You can dream a dream intentionally. When you’re sleeping and you have a nice dream, you’re eating or with a woman, you might wake up at the best part. I get to keep dreaming. It’s great.”
On his next novel: He finished it last week. Apparently, it’s going to be a doorstop. “I hope you’re not a commuter… The new novel is in the third person, from beginning to end. I need that room, because the story is getting more complicated. I need many perspectives.”
On translations of his own work: “I’m a translator myself. I believe in my translations. If the story is strong enough, it will be translated rightly. I’m a novelist, not a linguist. If the story’s good, it will move you. That’s the important thing. It’s embarrassing for me to read my own work in Japanese. I enjoy the translations of my novels in English, because it’s not what I wrote. I forget what I wrote, and I turn the pages, excited to find out what will happen next.”
On Catcher in the Rye (which he translated several years ago): “It’s a dark story, very disturbing. I enjoyed it when I was seventeen, so I decided to translate it. I remembered it as being funny, but it’s dark and strong. I must have been disturbed, when I was young. J.D. Salinger has a big obsession, three times bigger than mine. That’s why I’m here tonight, and he isn’t.”
On Revision: “The first draft is most important. I have to go through and adjust small things, contradictions. When I stared writing The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, I wrote for an hour, and immediately I felt something was wrong. There was too much going on, so I pulled out that part of the story and wrote another book, South of the Border, West of the Sun.”
On his favorite music: “I listen to classical music in the morning, jazz in the evening. I listen to rock when I’m driving. I like Radiohead (big round of applause). I like REM, Beck, the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Thome Yorke is a reader of mine. He’s in Tokyo now, and he wanted to meet me, but I had to be here. It’s a huge sacrifice for me… I sing “Yellow Submarine” while I swim. It’s sounds like bubbling. It’s great. I recommend you try it… I loved the Beach Boys when I was younger. I met Brian Wilson when he came to Tokyo. He’s strange.”
On Berkeley: “Something’s wrong with this town.”
Bonus Link: A Rare Treat for Murakami Fans: Pinball, 1973