Greetings cyberspace! Tonight I wanted to talk about a novel I recently finished. Well, let me be more specific. As an English major, I'm usually required to read about a novel a week. The novel I want to talk about is one that I read for entertainment.
I actually reread the novel "The Wind Up Bird Chronicle," by Haruki Murakami. Sometimes I read things twice. Shocker, I know. I could bore you with my 'I-read-things-twice-because-I-like-to-make-new-discoveries-about-something-I-thought-I-had-figured-out' excuse, and, while that is pretty accurate, my real reason is that I have a terrible memory. It's actually frightening. I can read something literally the night before, but when I get to class the next morning it's like the book morphed into something completely foreign over night.
Think ancient, Hebrew documents.
Anyways, Murakami is a very famous Japanese writer who is gaining more notoriety in the United States thanks to his novel "IQ84." He is a very talented writer, and I enjoyed the book. In terms of style, I would say that he has the satirical wit of Pynchon, the bizarre complexity of Kafka, and the magical realism of Marquéz. All of this bound up with sharp, beautiful prose.
I won't summarize the plot for you. Mostly because it is very long, but also because I want you to go and pick up the book. Give it a try. If you hate it after fifty pages, then put it down and leave me a scathing review in the comments section. I can handle it.
There was one specific passage that stuck with me, and, to this day, continues to haunt me. I will give you a small hint for context: the complex plot is loosely structured around a disintegrating marriage. Murakami writes, "Is it possible, in the final analysis, for one human being to achieve perfect understanding of another? We can invest enormous time and energy in serious efforts to know another person, but in the end, how close can we come to that person's essence? We convince ourselves that we know the other person well, but do we really know anything important about anyone?"
Deep breath. Creepy right? And, the longer you think about it, the more anxiety ridden you will become. What do we know about other people? Well, we know what they've told us. We know what they want us to know. We know how they act around us.
But, what do they do when no one is there to watch them? Do they change?
Try going on a date now, I dare you.
After I read and reread the passage, I laid the book open on my chest and ran a list through my head. A list that included people in my life: friends, family members, co-workers, classmates, and sometimes even friendly strangers. Do I really know any of them?
Maybe one of the people on my list didn't mention something important because the timing was wrong. Maybe they pretended to enjoy my stupid jokes to spare my feelings. Hell, maybe one of them killed their grandmother with a shovel and just didn't want to tell me. All are possibilities- albeit hyperbolic possibilities. Especially the one about people not liking my jokes. I'm hilarious.
Even the friendships I've had for years (some since high school). Do I know these friends? Or, have I just convinced myself that I know them. Are there things that they would be afraid to tell me?
Also, the passage is from the point of view of a husband reflecting on his wife. If I had a dime for every time I've heard a couple say (disgustingly, probably in unison), "We don't have any secrets," I'd be a rich woman. I know it's crap. Everyone has secrets. I guess I just never considered the possibility that, despite all my efforts, I might not ever know another person perfectly.
Is it that easy to put on a mask and have people buy it?
I'll end on that somber thought.
Until next time,
Goodnight.
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