Murakami’s writing style is actually gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. His use of first-person plural perspective is stellar. He uses this omniscient camera lens to symbolise us, the reader, and he speaks about our inability to influence the story we’re reading. We’re observers, voyeurs, nothing more. What an interesting narrative voice to use! 

This book, at its core, is about duality. Darkness within light, light within darkness, people and behaviours existing within perpetual grey areas. When dark things happen to people, who do they become as a result? How can darkness be used to shine a light on who people really are? When the majority of the world is sleeping, what parts of you wake up? 

Using the liminal space of a singular night in Tokyo, Murakami explores the way people expose themselves under the safety of darkness. This whole book is full of conversation, of vulnerable interactions between strangers who—verbatim—mention that they don’t know why they feel this sudden urge to spill their innermost secrets. More than once, Mari is described by other characters as being easy to talk to. I found that very interesting, mostly because she spent a lot of the first three quarters of the book not being an active participant in many of the conversations. Very often she’d be talked at and would often only hum or nod her head in response. She was a void, almost; she was a darkness that people felt led to pour their own darkness into. However, as the book progresses, Mari starts to open up about what she’s dealing with but, even then, her own stories always seem to be in response to someone else’s. Darkness for darkness.