New Yorker Fiction Review: "Kino" by Haruki Murakami
Issue: Feb. 23 & March 2, 2015
Story: "Kino"
Author: Haruki Murakami
Rating: $$
Review: Hallelujah, and thank the New Yorker Gods for the odd double-issue, allowing your humble New Yorker fiction blogger to get caught up, and barely-so, I might add: there's already a new issue out this week but I don't get mine in the mail until Thursdays, so...here we go with another great Murakami tale.
I'm a complete Murakami convert after trying unsuccessfully to read one of his novels a few years ago, and have since found his short fiction much more enjoyable. I'm at a loss to say exactly why, except that -- most likely -- his slow, methodical writing about simple characters doesn't grip me enough to stay with him over 300 pages. Over 3,000 words, on the other hand? He's got me.
"Kino" tells the story of a recently divorced bar owner who has a spiritual "moment" after a number of visits by a strangely mysterious patron to his establishment.
The character of Kino is vintage Murakami: he is a lonely man, wounded by the world but not crippled by it, and with enough strength and dignity to allow him to go on but to know not to ask for much in life. Hell..that could describe most of us in this world, right? Which is probably why Murakami's fiction can be so touching.
Also, naturally, the story has elements of Magical Realism thrown in: the mysterious patron and the odd spiritual thingy that happens at the end, and which I don't fully understand. Again, vintage Murakami...except that something about the ending here seemed much too convenient, almost as if the author wasn't taking enough "responsibility" for the character or for the resolution of the story. I know I'm guilty of some rather extreme Murakami puffing in my last entry about one of his stories...but in spite of that, I've got to say the end of this story left me very unsatisfied, even if the journey to that point was well-wrought.
Story: "Kino"
Author: Haruki Murakami
Rating: $$
Review: Hallelujah, and thank the New Yorker Gods for the odd double-issue, allowing your humble New Yorker fiction blogger to get caught up, and barely-so, I might add: there's already a new issue out this week but I don't get mine in the mail until Thursdays, so...here we go with another great Murakami tale.
I'm a complete Murakami convert after trying unsuccessfully to read one of his novels a few years ago, and have since found his short fiction much more enjoyable. I'm at a loss to say exactly why, except that -- most likely -- his slow, methodical writing about simple characters doesn't grip me enough to stay with him over 300 pages. Over 3,000 words, on the other hand? He's got me.
"Kino" tells the story of a recently divorced bar owner who has a spiritual "moment" after a number of visits by a strangely mysterious patron to his establishment.
The character of Kino is vintage Murakami: he is a lonely man, wounded by the world but not crippled by it, and with enough strength and dignity to allow him to go on but to know not to ask for much in life. Hell..that could describe most of us in this world, right? Which is probably why Murakami's fiction can be so touching.
Also, naturally, the story has elements of Magical Realism thrown in: the mysterious patron and the odd spiritual thingy that happens at the end, and which I don't fully understand. Again, vintage Murakami...except that something about the ending here seemed much too convenient, almost as if the author wasn't taking enough "responsibility" for the character or for the resolution of the story. I know I'm guilty of some rather extreme Murakami puffing in my last entry about one of his stories...but in spite of that, I've got to say the end of this story left me very unsatisfied, even if the journey to that point was well-wrought.
Comments
The beginnings are good and hook me, but the endings of the two Haruki stories I have read has been like serving me a slice of hot, homemade apple pie without Häagen-Dazs® vanilla ice cream... . Just keep the pie until you have the ice cream (Häagen-Daz)...
Why do these types of stories win awards? I will never understand. I like answers and will not be able to let this go... . I will find someone who will have an opinion on this story.
At the end he is forced to confront that repression, almost in a kind of tell-tale heart way, where he can't run from the pain and hurt of the world anymore and is forced to truly confront it when it literally comes knocking at his door. Of course Murakami has all of his obscure and idiosyncratic supernatural rules, something that I love about his writing but can understand not being everyone's favorite, but at the core it's a pretty simple story of a man coming to terms with his suppressed emotions, at least in my opinion.
But there's always room for deeper and different interpretation, especially in a story as idiosyncratic and ambiguous as basically any of Murakami's.
Have you known someone who's gone through a breakup and never processed it? Does it end well?
Here is a man who has been modestly burned by the world: a stunted track athlete, a cuckold, and even when he creates the most simple haven - a bar - he loses it. He's dealt a poor hand but not a tragic one. So, he remains tries to be stoic. Yet, he is crippled by the end of the story.
Why?
Kino never processes his emotions. When he hurts his Achilles, he doesn't mourn his lost career. When his wife brings a man to his bed, he doesn't yell.. When his bar is taken from him, he doesn't feel rage. Because Murakami writes the story from Kino's perspective, it almost seems like he's genuinely unaffected. However, a simple account of human nature tells us this is impossible.
And so, his repressed emotions haunt and consume him - literally. Finally, he is forced to admit, "Yes, I am hurt. Very very deeply."
Through his writing, Haruki Murakami is a man who endlessly wrestles with his emotions. However, investigating emotions can be extremely costly. For instance, ruminators are depressed for longer than others because they get too caught up in their emotions (sadly, this is especially common for women). Because of his extreme capacity for self-reflection, I'm sure Murakami is critical of this quality. I'm willing to bet that this story comforts him in his decision to embrace emotion. Although it may seem easier on the surface, if Murakami didn't write his fate would be that of Mr. Kino's.
There is a lot you can say about Murakami - both good and bad. However, a lack of ingenuity and depth cannot be found in his literature. If you do not find these in his work, I suggest you look again.