Scan barcode
A review by wolfdan9
Men Without Women: Stories by Haruki Murakami
3.0
1. Drive My Car
I had read Men Without Women around 6 or so years ago, amidst a Murakami burnout to be honest, and I was becoming a bit disillusioned by his greatness. I found the connecting motif of men losing women redundant and shallow. Having read a few hundred stories in the last 6 years, I still greatly appreciate Murakami, and may even consider him my favorite writer, but I think I can look at his work through a slightly more critical/nuanced lens. With that being said, I thought Drive My Car was a rather strong story. It develops over the course of 40 pages, and central to its plot is the odd relationship between an actor ("Kafuku" -- obviously referencing Kafka) and his chauffeur, a stoic, plain-looking, chain-smoking woman named Misaki. The core of the story is about Kafuku reminiscing about his deceased wife's affair partner Takahashi -- particularly how he struck up a friendship with him after her death to learn more about what she saw in him. Kafuku and the man go out to eat regularly and talk about his wife, both of whom loved her, and through these meetings Kafuku has a realization -- which Murakami does not explicitly state -- that the love for his wife is what he’s confusing for a "blind spot;" it’s what allows him to understand his wife is cheating on him and say nothing despite her behavior confounding him. Murakami implies that perhaps all men have this “blind spot,” or love for their partner, which allows them to accept their weakness. It’s the same blind spot that allows Takahashi to meet with his deceased lover’s husband. For him, his blind spot is that she’s a married woman. Both men are driven by the same thing: a love that is uninhibited by a woman’s behavior/circumstances.
As far as Misaki and Kafuku's relationship, their strictly professional interactions have a breakthrough at the end of the story. Throughout the story, Murakami makes allusions to Misaki losing her father and Kafuku losing his daughter, and it seems like there is some sense of closure for both characters at the story's end, with Kafuku and Misaki commiserating over their losses in life. Both seem to acknowledge how others' intentions are impossible to read. The failings of Misaki's father and Kafuku's wife are attributed to some vague terms -- "a sickness," being "actors," and being chalked up to differences in men and women. Ironically, it seems that Kafuku gains closure from this conversation precisely because neither person can really explain why they've been so wronged by people they love (his "closure" is falling asleep in the car -- even the meaning of this remains unclear to the reader and must be implied), and not only that, but men and women are not entirely different, despite each character acknowledging that inexplicable differences exist. These differences may be more of an "occam's razor" explanation of the unknown reasons that a man would wrong a woman or vice versa, than a reasonable conclusion based on some factual/observable traits. There may be no way to confirm whether there's an inherently feminine pull toward adultery or an inherently masculine pull toward domestic violence, for example, but the victims of these experiences can perhaps find solace over releasing some control over learning the "why" behind these behaviors and realize they are not alone instead.
I had read Men Without Women around 6 or so years ago, amidst a Murakami burnout to be honest, and I was becoming a bit disillusioned by his greatness. I found the connecting motif of men losing women redundant and shallow. Having read a few hundred stories in the last 6 years, I still greatly appreciate Murakami, and may even consider him my favorite writer, but I think I can look at his work through a slightly more critical/nuanced lens. With that being said, I thought Drive My Car was a rather strong story. It develops over the course of 40 pages, and central to its plot is the odd relationship between an actor ("Kafuku" -- obviously referencing Kafka) and his chauffeur, a stoic, plain-looking, chain-smoking woman named Misaki. The core of the story is about Kafuku reminiscing about his deceased wife's affair partner Takahashi -- particularly how he struck up a friendship with him after her death to learn more about what she saw in him. Kafuku and the man go out to eat regularly and talk about his wife, both of whom loved her, and through these meetings Kafuku has a realization -- which Murakami does not explicitly state -- that the love for his wife is what he’s confusing for a "blind spot;" it’s what allows him to understand his wife is cheating on him and say nothing despite her behavior confounding him. Murakami implies that perhaps all men have this “blind spot,” or love for their partner, which allows them to accept their weakness. It’s the same blind spot that allows Takahashi to meet with his deceased lover’s husband. For him, his blind spot is that she’s a married woman. Both men are driven by the same thing: a love that is uninhibited by a woman’s behavior/circumstances.
As far as Misaki and Kafuku's relationship, their strictly professional interactions have a breakthrough at the end of the story. Throughout the story, Murakami makes allusions to Misaki losing her father and Kafuku losing his daughter, and it seems like there is some sense of closure for both characters at the story's end, with Kafuku and Misaki commiserating over their losses in life. Both seem to acknowledge how others' intentions are impossible to read. The failings of Misaki's father and Kafuku's wife are attributed to some vague terms -- "a sickness," being "actors," and being chalked up to differences in men and women. Ironically, it seems that Kafuku gains closure from this conversation precisely because neither person can really explain why they've been so wronged by people they love (his "closure" is falling asleep in the car -- even the meaning of this remains unclear to the reader and must be implied), and not only that, but men and women are not entirely different, despite each character acknowledging that inexplicable differences exist. These differences may be more of an "occam's razor" explanation of the unknown reasons that a man would wrong a woman or vice versa, than a reasonable conclusion based on some factual/observable traits. There may be no way to confirm whether there's an inherently feminine pull toward adultery or an inherently masculine pull toward domestic violence, for example, but the victims of these experiences can perhaps find solace over releasing some control over learning the "why" behind these behaviors and realize they are not alone instead.