Reality and Dreams by Muriel Spark

She had married him for his looks which were admittedly star quality; but marriage was not a film; Cora was not a director; she had cast him in the role of a husband and he was hopeless at it. In screenplays the husband has a script to go by. Johnny had next to none.

The only other Spark book I’ve read, The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, did not in any way prepare me for this slim volume. Strangely, it reminded me much more of late-era Don DeLillo: it is similarly dispassionate, features a lot of stylized dialog, and even the plotline reminded me a lot of DeLillo’s Point Omega. It is, however, much colder and crueler than that; no one does distant like Muriel Spark.

The story follows Tom Richards, a film auteur whose entire live revolves around his film career. Not only does he spend most of his time either on the film set or working on his scripts, he sees the world as a giant set itself. He wonders, more than once, if the world is just a dream God is having, and it isn’t hard to see why the question fascinates him—in his mind, the world is a dream in his head. The story begins after Tom has a fall from a crane while shooting a difficult shot, which brings his family together. The family consists of Claire, his sort-of, open-relationship wife, Cora, his child from an earlier marriage, about whom Tom nurses some disturbingly romantic feelings, and Marigold, Tom and Claire’s daughter, who no one else in the family really understands or likes.

Redundancy is a recurring theme in the book, both the American and British sense. American, in the sense that all the characters feel redundant to one another—Tom’s stream of young actresses are ultimately made redundant by Claire; Marigold is born redundant, since Cora already exists—and British in the sense that everyone seems to be losing their jobs, to such an extent that Marigold decides to make a documentary about redundancy. At some point in the novel, Marigold disappears, and, since this seems to be one of the few Spark books that has a mystery at its center, I won’t spoil what eventually happens. I will say that this is where the book most closely reminded me of Point Omega—in both novels, a strange girl disappears and no one seems especially miffed. Here, though, the reasons no one really cares are spelled out, and boy, are they cold. It’s hard not to see some parallels with Spark’s own life—as covered here—and her estrangement from her own child.

Everything ultimately explodes in violence, according to the blurb on the back, although “explode” is probably a bit strong. Instead, things fall into a not-so-nice cyclical arc. Things get a little muddled thematically, but Reality and Dreams is a funny, nasty, thoughtful piece of work.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

"As you are well aware," the man continued, his voice soft but penetrating, "in the course of life we experience many kinds of pain. Pains of the body and pains of the heart. I know I have experienced pain in many different forms in my life, and I'm sure you have too. In most cases, though, I'm sure you've found it very difficult to convey the truth of that pain to another person: to explain it in words. People say that only they themselves can understand the pain they are feeling. But is this true? I for one do not believe that it is. If, before our eyes, we see someone who is truly suffering, we do sometimes feel his suffering and pain as our own. This is the power of empathy. Am I making myself clear?"

I wish I knew where to start to talk about The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. It is, at least in my opinion, incredibly hard to wrap my mind around this story. I told Chris, when I had about 100 pages left to read, that Wind-Up might just become my favorite book. I can say now that this did not turn out to be the case. The ending left too many mysteries unsolved, even unaddressed. Although looking back, I don't know how I could have imagined the story to play out any other way.

Wind-Up's plot is far too complex for me to do any justice here, but I'll try to give the the briefest description possible for a tale this intricate. Our hero, Toru Okada, isliving in Japan with his wife, Kumiko. Toru learns from Kumiko that their house cat has gone missing. Toru, now left with little to occupy himself after quitting his job, goes looking for the beloved pet. Upon commencing the search, however, Toru finds himself trapped in a series of bizarre events involving his wife, their cat, his brother-in law, psychic prostitution, forgotten war crimes, a slightly demented 16-year-old girl, and a strange bird with a bizarre call that no one can actually see. Without giving anything away, the story quicky jumps from the tale of a man searching for his missing cat to that of a man searching for answers to riddles he can hardly comprehend.

As I said, I have a real hard time explaining this book. While it has achieved critical acclaim almost everywhere, there are some that say the story contains hundreds of unnecessary pages filled with anecdotes completely unrelated to the main plot. As I read the story, however, I felt that Wind-Up was essentially a stream of consciousness. Not the stream of consciousness of Haruki Murakami, a professional writer who could more finely tune the story and target its scope on the only matters of conseuence. To me, Wind-Up seemed to be Toru Okada's stream of consciousness, set to type after all the events had transpired. Hardly a novelist himself, it seems logical that Toru's work would be somewhat misguided and dense.

Toru's adventure has the feel of Theseus' journey through the labyrinth. Perhaps more precisely, the book itself has the feel of a labyrinth. Chapters upon chapters are spent taking wrong turns leading to brick walls, forcing the reader to turn around, forget what they just saw. It becomes a struggle to simply search your way back to the point at which you made the wrong turn. This labyrinthal motif is touched upon by Toru himself near the end of the book. Additionally, one of the story's antagonist's name partially translates in english as "Bull." We encounter Bull, or Ushikawa, once Toru finally begins to approach the center of his dark, twisted labyrinth. Perhaps it's a bit too simplistic to describe Wind-Up as a maze, though. Mazes usually have an exit. Wind-Up's maze seems to only have more entrances. More devices to trick you into thinking that escape is just around the corner, when it is actually far out of reach. In hindsight, maybe Toru's adventure is less like Theseus' and more like one of the innocent Athenians who met their end in the harsh maze.

I certainly enjoyed The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, although I have a hard time explaining why. Murakami's writing style is addictive in his ability to write about extremely complex and bizarre concepts in an unbelievably accessible way. The book has a heavy, dense feel to it at 600 pages. But there's something about the way Murakami strings together words into sentences, sentences into paragraphs, and paragraphs into chapters. The pages simply melt together and before you know it, you're halfway through the book. This may sound like I'm trying to describe it as "A real page turner!" or saying "I couldn't put it down!" but its more than that. For example, Murakami goes from describing a sub attack on a passenger liner to a massacre at a Manchurian zoo in a single chapter that flows together so perfectly its as if the entire tale was told on a single page. Coupling that together with the fact that neither the sub attack or the zoo massacre have much to do with the general plot (if there even is one at all) makes Murakami's pacing all the more impressive.

I find myself sitting here with no idea how to tie this up. I feel like I've written 500 words without even saying anything. But then maybe thats exactly the kind of review that The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle warrants. Or maybe that's a copout. "I wonder."

Highlights: Murakami has without a doubt, one of the most readable writing styles I've ever been lucky enough to encounter
Lowlights: So many doors left unopened, so many riddles left unsolved. Also it makes me genuinely sad that I don't own a cat named Noburo Wataya.