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The scenario is as simple as it is uncomfortable: a college student falls in love (once and for all, despite everything that transpires afterward) with a classmate whose devotion to Kerouac and an untidy writerly life precludes any personal commitments -- until she meets a considerably older and far more sophisticated businesswoman. It is through this wormhole that she enters Murakami's surreal yet humane universe, to which she serves as guide both for us and for her frustrated suitor, now a teacher. In the course of her travels from parochial Japan through Europe and ultimately to an island off the coast of Greece, she disappears without a trace, leaving only lineaments of her fate: computer accounts of bizarre events and stories within stories. The teacher, summoned to assist in the search for her, experiences his own ominous, haunting visions, which lead him nowhere but home to Japan -- and there, under the expanse of deep space and the still-orbiting Sputnik, he finally achieves a true understanding of his beloved.… (more)
User reviews
There are similarities to Norwegian Wood but Sputnik Sweetheart is a similar story told far better in my opinion.
This is where the book begins to depart from the norm. With a backdrop of normality, Murakami introduces his own 'magic' storylines that depart from reality but remain very real to the reader. It is very alien to the western mind - there is something very Japanese about it, in a similar spirit to Miyazaki's animation and completely apart from any flights of fancy I've come across in western writing. The reader is left to put their own interpretation on the events of the novel and choose how far to take Murakami's description of events as literal.
In translated novels, you are so dependent on the translator's skill to let you appreciate the flair and language of the original. Read in translation, this book carried a depth of language and richness of evocative description, both of places and emotions. It reads well and in an unstilted manner. How closely this matched the sense of the original I cannot say, but I believe that anyone skilled enough to translate something that reads so well in English will have been true to the author's original words.
I would certainly recommend this highly and would suggest that even if you are a reader who prefers to read more literal novels, it is worth giving Murakami a try. It might surprise you!
I don't mind some unresoved threads in a book. But with Murakami it would be nice to have some that are actually resolved.
This book is about a kind of love triangle. Boy loves girl. The girl loves another girl. Not a book I would normally read from any author to be fair. I only bought this one because it was my fourth attempt to really "get" Murakami.
All his protaganists seem to be disconnected - adrift in a sea of people. The sense of isolation in the multitudes is a recurrent theme in his work, and remains so in this book.
But there is also surrealism, and the vague inference of alternate universes. We are no dount meant to wonder what happened to Sumire, the Japanese girl who goes missing in Greece - but then again, when we look at some conceptual art we are *supposed* to wonder what that is telling us to, or else we should bring our concepts to it. For both Murakami's novels, and for conceptual art, I personally find myself unable to care.
That no doubt makes me a cultural philistine - but then I don't care about that either. So Murakami lovers will shake their heads, knowing I have missed the point. I will shake my head and agree with them - and go and read a book that makes sense instead.
I will add that reading other people's thoughts on Murakami - inevitably they confess to not knowing what the books are about either - or else they come up with conflicting meanings. Any book that is so deep that it defies careful analysis cannot be rightly distinguished from eloquent nonsense.
In the first few pages of the book, I didn't care for too many metaphors that seemed forced and reaching... Maybe that's why this novel didn't grab me from the beginning, like some books do. Later on, the metaphors drastically diminished (and those that did occur were much better!) and the story flowed easier due to that. So it's fair to say that the book "grew on me". This author was on my list for a while, but I have a strange feeling that maybe I should have started reading him with another book, not this one, that maybe this is not his typical work... Still - a few very good insights into human nature here, like this one:
"Given the chance, people are surprisingly frank when they talk about themselves. 'I am honest and open to a ridiculous degree', they'll say, or 'I'm thin-skinned and not the type who gets along easily with the world'. Or 'I am very good at sensing others' true feelings'. But any number of times I've seen people who say they're easily hurt hurt other people. For no apparent reason. Self-styled honest and open people, without realizing what they're doing, blithely use some self-serving excuse to get what they want. And those "good at sensing others' true feelings" are duped by the most transparent flattery. It's enough to make me ask the question: How well do we really know ourselves?"
The story is narrated by a young male character--unnamed, but identified only once or twice as K. He is infatuated with Sumire, a beautiful young writer struggling to make a living, who does not return his affections. When Sumire meets a strange older woman named Miu, she believes she is falling in love, and quickly accepts Miu's job offer as a traveling secretary. But when, during a holiday in Greece, Sumire disappears without a trace, Miu calls upon K to try to find out where she has gone, and why.
What makes the novel so engaging is that it is equal parts romance and mystery, with the early part of the text focusing strongly on K's and Sumire's feelings about love and relationships. We understand immediately that K's feelings for Sumire are unrequited, but so does he, allowing us to root for his love to be returned without feeling as if we are betraying either character. Sumire too is a very strong character despite the little we are allowed to know about her: there is a certain youthful desperation to her that makes her supremely likable and engaging.
Where the book truly shines, however, is in its mysterious elements. Once Sumire disappears, the mood shifts strongly towards something almost creepy and supernatural. Miu's presence adds a certain haunting quality to the proceedings, and her story about the ferris wheel certainly stretches the bounds of plausibility, but there is a quality to the telling of the story that is urgent and palatable. Even in the final highly unusual and ghostly scene, we trust that what we are reading is entirely possible within the world Murakami has created, allowing the scene's emotional register to take over.
Nevertheless, the novel is not perfect. I would have liked to have known more about the supernatural elements, to have been given some kind of explanation for certain ideas and details, but on the plus side, the lack of explication doesn't ruin the experience of the book. Sputnik Sweetheart is touching, sweet, and captivating, and certainly the kind of book that will make someone unfamiliar with Murakami want to read more.
Extended review:
There's something about the novels of Haruki Murakami: I read them, I enjoy them (or don't: that would be Norwegian Wood), I'm moderately mystified by them--and then, a little while later, I find that I can't remember
They seem to want to be classed as existentialist novels, and yet when I think of them in comparison with Camus, I find them far more elusive and less concrete.
I know I liked Sputnik Sweetheart. I even wrote this in my notebook as soon as I finished it: "I found this more coherent than any of the other five Murakami novels I've read." I also harvested a lot of good quotations, from which the following selection comes:
• "[I]f I can be allowed a mediocre generalization, don't pointless things have a place, too, in this far-from-perfect world? Remove everything pointless from an imperfect life, and it loses even its imperfection." (page 4)
• "I felt like I was a meaningless bug clinging for no special reason to a high stone wall on a windy night, with no plans, no beliefs." (page 77)
• Sumire: "On the flip side of everything we think we absolutely have pegged lurks an equal amount of the unknown. Understanding is but the sum of our misunderstandings." (page 134; bold in original)
• Sumire: "Only a handful of writers--and I'm talking the most talented--are able to pull off the kind of irrational synthesis you find in dreams." (page 137-138; this is followed in the narrative by a dream sequence)
• In my notebook I labeled this "statement of theme": "So that's how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us--that's snatched right out of our hands--even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence."
I guess I'll take my word for it.
It is in a way a classic
Murakami again pulls off a seamless travel from realism into something very different. You hardly notice how things are beginning to tilt, and before you know it you accept a tale like the spectacular one about Miu and the Ferris wheel (which cannot be related without spoling it) as normal.
But what stays with me here is manly the relationships between these people, the distinct feeling they all share that something is LACKING in human nature, that you can be just as alone in a room full of people and the fear that it might be impossible to know someone for real. K, especially, is very relateable to me, in a bittersweet way. This book, at this time in my life, filled me with melancholy and wonder. It will linger for along time.
Although some might find the characters' attitude too dispassionate for their tastes, my impression while reading it, was not that the
Some diverting scenes while irrelevant for the main plot helped giving the book its detached tone and increased my interest as I tried to figure out their meaning and place in the story.
The toying with the concept of identity and the simple enjoyable prose reminded me slightly of Auster's “Book of Illusions” and probably anyone who has read and liked it will enjoy “Sputnik Sweetheart”.
Although the book provided me with some hours of entertaining reading, my failing to tie up all the threads (or the author's failing or unwillingness to do so) left the impression of a certain lack of substance, which is not all that bad as it also left me wanting for more, which I hope I will find in some other of Murakami's books.
Initially the situation in Sputnik Sweetheart seemed pretty normal, a sort of
The language was still beautiful but maybe a bit more simple. That’s part of the reason I think this one would make a good introduction to Murakami, along with it’s less in your face surrealism. It still has an aspect of surrealism which would give a hint but not so much it makes it a challenge to read.
Also really appreciated the book references in this one.
Not my favourite but still loved it.
The sign that Murakami is basically a mid- or late-twentieth century writer, and not a twenty-first century writer is that his characters all listen to Romantic music (and so, clearly, does the author): Gieseking, Schwarzkopf, Argerich, etc, playing the usual pieces by Beethoven, Liszt, Chopin, etc. This may seem trivial and irrelevant, but it is fundamental. Murakami's palette of emotions is formed by those pieces, those periods and performances. What does it mean to present yourself as a contemporary writer, and find it unproblematic that your emotional imagination is so at home in the 1820s and 1830s (the composers) and the 1970s and 1980s (the performers)?