The Japanese author's long, unsatisfying book was a big disappointment after years of hype
What is the sound of one book flopping? Or is it three books flopping?
It's no exaggeration to call the English-language publication of Haruki Murakami's 1Q84 the most anticipated literary event of the year. Two years ago, on the release of the first two volumes of the novel in Japan, the Guardian reported that Japanese fans were in a state of near hysteria: "Five years of pent-up anticipation found release" when the books hit the stores.
In April, American fans (and how strange it sounds to refer to a novelist's readers as "fans") had their appetites whetted by a 27-minute review on You Tube featuring the handsome covers of the Dutch edition, and on September 15 the New Yorker printed an excerpt. By the time 1Q84 was published in the UK and America in October, it seemed as if the only genuine purpose of critics was to give us their blessing. On October 30, the Guardian's Douglas Haddow called 1Q84 "a global event in itself [which] passionately defends the power of the novel." He continued, "With midnight openings, queues around the block, magazine covers and un-precedented pre-orers, it receveid a level of attention typically reserved for established cross-platform franchises."
But now that 1Q84 has landed, what was its impact? The answer seems to be, with each passing week: silence. The novel hit the New York Times bestseller list in the number-two spot on November 13, an extraordinary achievement for a serious work of literature. By the following week it had dropped to number six, and by December 11 it was out of the top ten at number 12. You would have thought that after such oceans of hype, word of mouth would have sustained sales. So far, that doesn't look to be happening.
It seems unfair to call a best-seller a failure. (In Murakami's native Japan the first volume, published in 2009, sold out its first printing and the subsequent two volumes reached, at peak, nearly a million sales per month.) And yet, the sales numbers for 1Q84, no matter how impressive, don't obscure the feeling that the work is an enormous letdown—rather like a big-budget, much-publicized Hollywood film that cost over $200 million and tops the box office on release but leaves you feeling that it was overstuffed and 45 minutes too long.
Initial reviews of 1Q84 were respectful if not worshipful, indicating the status that Murakami has achieved. Over the last ten years or so, he's practically become to adults what J.K. Rowling is to children. The reasons for his success aren't difficult to pin down: Murakami is clever and fun to read. In Norwegian Wood (published in Japan in 1987 and in English in 2000), and South of the Border, West of the Sun (1992/2000)—to pick just two of my favorites—he perfected a style based on layers of shimmering prose images. His best novels could leave you with a sense of yearning, for exactly what isn't always clear—sometimes a lover, sometimes a dimly remembered childhood—and often end with scenes that seem like lines in poetry that can be intuited if not always defined.
Murakami's fiction also rewards rereading; his novels are loaded with illusions and references to western pop culture, mostly American, everything from Bing Crosby's Christmas album to John Ford westerns to Raymond Chandler. Chandler, as he has revealed in interviews, seems to have been a profound effect on him, and though it isn't always evident in translation, in most of Murakami's work it survives in the terse, precise descriptions, the smoky, hard-boiled style (which Murakami often seems to be playfully parodying), and perhaps most of all, in the first-person narratives.
These trademarks have helped make Murakami the ideal novelist for Japanese, British, and, increasingly, American youth who want to read something smart and see their own culture reflected back to them. Though a character in a Murakami novel may stop for a cup of noodles, he's more likely to be at some atmospheric jazz club or a friend's apartment where the music selections are carefully chosen and described. Despite the occasional dropping of the name of a traditional Japanese literary classics like the 14th-century memoir The Confessions of Lady Nijo, Murakami seems to owe almost nothing to other 20th century Japanese writers such as Ryunosuke Akutagawa (best known in the West as the author of Rashomon) or Yasunari Kawabata (for whom a prestigious literary prize sought by a character in 1Q84 is named) or Shohei Ooka (whose World War II novel, Fires on the Plain, was made into one of the greatest of Japanese films), and certainly not Yokio Mishima, the fiery novelist who committed suicide in 1970 and, before Murakami, was the most popular Japanese writer to be translated into English. To many young American readers experiencing Murakami for the first time, the effect must have been like U.S. teenagers in the early 1960s hearing British rock: their own art transformed and handed back to them.