South of the Border, West of the Sun. (Harvill) [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

Some other customer reviewers have been frustrated by the stories unresolved loose ends: what happened to Shimamoto? what purpose did the Izumi character serve? I felt that in this book (as I did with other Murakami books like Dance Dance Dance) that these different female characters are really all one person or entity fragmented into different aspects: Shimamoto is the one that got away; Izumi the one you regret hurting; Yukiko the one you go back and really be with.

What is the purpose of breaking up the "Other" mentioned on the book jacket in this way? It may be an attempt to tease out what it is we feel when we are in sexual relationships - the more elusive and amiguous feelings as well as the obvious and positive ones. If I am unable to come up with a satisfactory answer to this question, it still didn't prevent me from loving this book and feeling that unique sense of familiarity I mentioned before. Something like "oh yeah, that IS what it's like, isn't it?"

To some extent Murakami is very thought-provoking in this way. But to some extent, in the case of both this and Wind-Up Bird, I couldn't help but feel that he just didn't entirely understand what he wanted to do with his story. Certain aspects of the story can be left hanging in the air in order to deliberately create a particular effect, it's true--but I wonder if Murakami doesn't overdo this technique a bit? The envelope with the money is a good example: a small oddity that is never really explained or explored, it seems thrown in strictly to generate speculation; to, when paired up with other small oddities like it, create that surreal "Murakami effect" while, at heart, remaining just a little too arbitrary. I *like* these small oddities I speak of, but a part of me pines to see Murakami weave a new tale into another startlingly cohesive, strangely powerful anti-climax, like that of 'Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World.' Not that I consider 'Hard-Boiled' Murakami's crowning acheivement or anything, but it's the one book of his I've so far read that, while still displaying all of the usual Murakami eccentricities, did genuinely leave me 100% satisfied. Not because everything was explained and nice and neat and perfect, but because it felt very competently *orchestrated* in the way it used its own imperfections to highlight its bizarre and unexpected ending (particulary in the 'End of the World' chapters.)

By contrast, 'SOB,WOS' feels, to some degree, like it uses its (deliberate) imperfections as an excuse for a lack of clarity. It is still genuinely thought-provoking, but in some respects I guess I'm just beginning to feel like Murakami has it a little too easy. His books are all very similar, and have employed the same techniques again and again. They are *fascinating* techniques, but I'd like to see ... a more ambitious employment of them, perhaps? 'Wind-Up Bird' was a more ambitious employment in many respects, but Murakami refused to bring his intriguing web of surreal juxtapositions and cross-analogies together for optimum impact. He refuses again in 'SOB,WOS,' but it's a smaller and simpler work. Which on the whole almost makes it a step back.

I love Murakami and I enjoy all of these techniques I'm discussing. I just want to see him build upon what he has, and after 'SOB,WOS' I just don't feel like he is. I'm nagged by the suspicion he's using his own stylized brand of ambiguity as something of an easy way out. I know that that ambiguity, and the refusal to give the reader what they expect and want, are absolutely vital to what Murakami is all about--and that is fine. I just feel as though Murakami dawdles a bit as an author: he has his own very unique thing going on, but I've seen it MANY times over now, manifest in more or less the same kinds of images, the same kinds of ideas, and in the same attitude; he seems either unwilling to do anything particularly new, or unable. Still though, even with this said, SOBWOS was well worth my time and ought to be well worth any interested readers.

The narrator of Murakami's tale feels as though he were promised a uniqueness that life never delivered. His odd birthdate and his unusual status as "only child" seemed to suggest an exciting individuality that would lead to adventure and greatness. However, by the time the story opens, he finds himself an adult with merely ordinary accomplishments to claim--worst of all, they were only possible due to his father-in-laws' generosity. As these subtle roots of discontent begin to plant themselves, he is revisited by the owner of the skin, song and hand that inspired unique feelings during his awakening childhood romance. After all these years the woman remains just as mysterious as she had been in the narrator's youth (as do the narrators feelings, and Murakami's prose). What follows is a remarkably gentle investigation into the dilemma that sometimes arises between life and responsibility. The voice is purposefully naive, and the experience of reading this book is sadly, sweetly engrossing.