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A review by beaconatnight
Sputnik Sweetheart by Haruki Murakami
5.0
Sputnik Sweetheart is among the darkest novels of the Japanese master of cozy literature. His familiar elements of magical realism are used as euphemisms for events that left characters marked and traumatized for life. You won't notice at first, though, and for the most part it's still a joy to immerse yourself in the mystery at the center of the story.
The main subject is Sumire, an aspiring writer who lives from the money her father is paying her as fellowship until she is 28 years of age. Even though her creative output is quite impressive (at least quantitatively), she worries that her writing lacks that certain spark. Her only friend, the novel's narrator and protagonist (only referred to as "K"), suggests that maybe she lacks the experience to lend her stories the necessary authenticity. Her life changes when she meets the 17 years older Miu, a business woman of Korean descent. She is employed by her and together they travel to Europe for what ends up to be a trip of weeks. When the narrator is called by Miu, something must have happened to Sumire.
The plot revolves around love and sexuality. Sumire openly admits to K that she was never physically attracted to anyone. There are strong indications that this changes with Miu. The older woman must have sensed her sentiments, as she confides to her that she wasn't able to feel sexual pleasure ever since something happened to her 14 years ago (she describes it as being only "half" of what she was). After his arrival in Greece, Miu relates to K the course of the night that lead to Sumire's disappearance. The scene is among the novel's most powerful in its emotional intensity and enticing prose.
One night Miu woke up and found Sumire in her room. The girl was drenched in sweat, frozen stiff, and mentally absent. Her teeth are wedged in a towel. It's only very slowly that she becomes conscious of her surroundings again. The tender description of the moments that ensue reveals sensitivity for the qualities of the act that go beyond physical pleasure. It's saddening how Mia is bodily or mentally incapable to respond in the loving ways her conscious will intends. It's this emotional turmoil and crushing disillusionment from which she tries to escape.
Maybe it's part of our Western understanding that we expect Far-Eastern wisdom to be clad in flowery language. Suitably, crucial plot points are symbolized by tangible allegorisms. For one thing, there is the Russian satellite that may illustrate the outcast that travels restlessly and observes the world from afar. K uses an euphemistic metaphor to explain Sumire's artistic shortcomings. According to his exposition, there is the old Chinese belief that spirits inhabit town gates. They carried the bones of fallen soldiers to the gates. However, this wouldn't be enough, something vibrant with life is also necessary. This they found in the blood of dogs they sacrificed. Similarly, the texts that Sumire compiles from her surroundings need a pulse that is still beating. This may be her love for Miu.
Maybe the most meaningful symbolism is found in the Ferris wheel episode at the heart of Miu's past. It stands to reason that it's a circumlocution of a violent sexual encounter with a man that invaded her home during her stay in Switzerland. From what she says it seems as if she was nice to him before he became a stalker. What we know for sure is that whatever happened, it traumatized her deeply. Her hair immediately turned white, she stopped playing the piano, and she wasn't capable of sexual pleasures anymore. Instead, she followed the common career path and absorbed the business of her father. In short, she "abandoned everything", as she put it.
Of course, the theme of following your dreams rather than adhering to conformist society's ideas is one important motif of the story. Miu has her love for music and Sumire has her passion for literature. When Sumire takes on the job at Miu's business, her ways change - she wears nicer clothes, she moves into a new apartment, she stops smoking - and she becomes more what her social environment would consider to be a respectable human being. Although it's a life without passion, Miu too seems to value the security the found. Finally, K is portrayed as living an orderly life after he duly finished his studies and became a teacher. Though it may be argued that all their lives are lacking the certain spark, too.
It's only in chapter 5 that the narrator begins to talk about himself (it's Sumire's story after all). I'm sure many grown-up boys will deeply sympathize with him. Not only is he a prime example of being stuck in the friend-zone for years, he has the idea that he understands Sumire as no one else does. He's interesting for being so different to Murakami's usual protagonists. Rereading the book after over ten years, his more conservative approach resonated with me much more than it used to. As did the melancholic tone with which he narrates the events.
There are some things whose significance I wasn't able to decipher. For instance, one of the two crucial documents that K finds on Sumire's computer retells a dream she had about her mother. Towards the end of the book, there is much talk about there being different worlds and K hypothesizes that this may explain why there is absolutely no trace left of his friend. There is also the part with the son of K's mistress. I have to admit, I don't see how these fit into the bigger scheme of things. But it's precisely this ambiguity and interpretative openness that renders Sputnik Sweetheart so intriguing.
It's because of Murakami's unrivaled talent for character portrayal and because of the genuinely touching themes that Sputnik Sweetheart is another masterwork of modern literature. It shows how surrealism and ambiguity can be deployed for adding a level of emotional significance to an already captivating mystery.
Rating: 5/5
The main subject is Sumire, an aspiring writer who lives from the money her father is paying her as fellowship until she is 28 years of age. Even though her creative output is quite impressive (at least quantitatively), she worries that her writing lacks that certain spark. Her only friend, the novel's narrator and protagonist (only referred to as "K"), suggests that maybe she lacks the experience to lend her stories the necessary authenticity. Her life changes when she meets the 17 years older Miu, a business woman of Korean descent. She is employed by her and together they travel to Europe for what ends up to be a trip of weeks. When the narrator is called by Miu, something must have happened to Sumire.
The plot revolves around love and sexuality. Sumire openly admits to K that she was never physically attracted to anyone. There are strong indications that this changes with Miu. The older woman must have sensed her sentiments, as she confides to her that she wasn't able to feel sexual pleasure ever since something happened to her 14 years ago (she describes it as being only "half" of what she was). After his arrival in Greece, Miu relates to K the course of the night that lead to Sumire's disappearance. The scene is among the novel's most powerful in its emotional intensity and enticing prose.
One night Miu woke up and found Sumire in her room. The girl was drenched in sweat, frozen stiff, and mentally absent. Her teeth are wedged in a towel. It's only very slowly that she becomes conscious of her surroundings again. The tender description of the moments that ensue reveals sensitivity for the qualities of the act that go beyond physical pleasure. It's saddening how Mia is bodily or mentally incapable to respond in the loving ways her conscious will intends. It's this emotional turmoil and crushing disillusionment from which she tries to escape.
Maybe it's part of our Western understanding that we expect Far-Eastern wisdom to be clad in flowery language. Suitably, crucial plot points are symbolized by tangible allegorisms. For one thing, there is the Russian satellite that may illustrate the outcast that travels restlessly and observes the world from afar. K uses an euphemistic metaphor to explain Sumire's artistic shortcomings. According to his exposition, there is the old Chinese belief that spirits inhabit town gates. They carried the bones of fallen soldiers to the gates. However, this wouldn't be enough, something vibrant with life is also necessary. This they found in the blood of dogs they sacrificed. Similarly, the texts that Sumire compiles from her surroundings need a pulse that is still beating. This may be her love for Miu.
Maybe the most meaningful symbolism is found in the Ferris wheel episode at the heart of Miu's past. It stands to reason that it's a circumlocution of a violent sexual encounter with a man that invaded her home during her stay in Switzerland. From what she says it seems as if she was nice to him before he became a stalker. What we know for sure is that whatever happened, it traumatized her deeply. Her hair immediately turned white, she stopped playing the piano, and she wasn't capable of sexual pleasures anymore. Instead, she followed the common career path and absorbed the business of her father. In short, she "abandoned everything", as she put it.
Of course, the theme of following your dreams rather than adhering to conformist society's ideas is one important motif of the story. Miu has her love for music and Sumire has her passion for literature. When Sumire takes on the job at Miu's business, her ways change - she wears nicer clothes, she moves into a new apartment, she stops smoking - and she becomes more what her social environment would consider to be a respectable human being. Although it's a life without passion, Miu too seems to value the security the found. Finally, K is portrayed as living an orderly life after he duly finished his studies and became a teacher. Though it may be argued that all their lives are lacking the certain spark, too.
It's only in chapter 5 that the narrator begins to talk about himself (it's Sumire's story after all). I'm sure many grown-up boys will deeply sympathize with him. Not only is he a prime example of being stuck in the friend-zone for years, he has the idea that he understands Sumire as no one else does. He's interesting for being so different to Murakami's usual protagonists. Rereading the book after over ten years, his more conservative approach resonated with me much more than it used to. As did the melancholic tone with which he narrates the events.
There are some things whose significance I wasn't able to decipher. For instance, one of the two crucial documents that K finds on Sumire's computer retells a dream she had about her mother. Towards the end of the book, there is much talk about there being different worlds and K hypothesizes that this may explain why there is absolutely no trace left of his friend. There is also the part with the son of K's mistress. I have to admit, I don't see how these fit into the bigger scheme of things. But it's precisely this ambiguity and interpretative openness that renders Sputnik Sweetheart so intriguing.
It's because of Murakami's unrivaled talent for character portrayal and because of the genuinely touching themes that Sputnik Sweetheart is another masterwork of modern literature. It shows how surrealism and ambiguity can be deployed for adding a level of emotional significance to an already captivating mystery.
Rating: 5/5