Haruki Murakami - Kafka on the Shore

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Kafka on the Shore: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Amazon.com
The opening pages of a Haruki Murakami novel can be like the view out an airplane window onto tarmac. But at some point between page three and fifteen-it's page thirteen in Kafka On The Shore-the deceptively placid narrative lifts off, and you find yourself breaking through clouds at a tilt, no longer certain where the plane is headed or if the laws of flight even apply.
Joining the rich literature of runaways, Kafka On The Shore follows the solitary, self-disciplined schoolboy Kafka Tamura as he hops a bus from Tokyo to the randomly chosen town of Takamatsu, reminding himself at each step that he has to be "the world¹s toughest fifteen-year-old." He finds a secluded private library in which to spend his days-continuing his impressive self-education-and is befriended by a clerk and the mysteriously remote head librarian, Miss Saeki, whom he fantasizes may be his long-lost mother. Meanwhile, in a second, wilder narrative spiral, an elderly Tokyo man named Nakata veers from his calm routine by murdering a stranger. An unforgettable character, beautifully delineated by Murakami, Nakata can speak with cats but cannot read or write, nor explain the forces drawing him toward Takamatsu and the other characters.
To say that the fantastic elements of Kafka On The Shore are complicated and never fully resolved is not to suggest that the novel fails. Although it may not live up to Murakami's masterful The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Nakata and Kafka's fates keep the reader enthralled to the final pages, and few will complain about the loose threads at the end.
From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Previous books such as The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and Norwegian Wood have established Murakami as a true original, a fearless writer possessed of a wildly uninhibited imagination and a legion of fiercely devoted fans. In this latest addition to the author's incomparable oeuvre, 15-year-old Kafka Tamura runs away from home, both to escape his father's oedipal prophecy and to find his long-lost mother and sister. As Kafka flees, so too does Nakata, an elderly simpleton whose quiet life has been upset by a gruesome murder. (A wonderfully endearing character, Nakata has never recovered from the effects of a mysterious World War II incident that left him unable to read or comprehend much, but did give him the power to speak with cats.) What follows is a kind of double odyssey, as Kafka and Nakata are drawn inexorably along their separate but somehow linked paths, groping to understand the roles fate has in store for them. Murakami likes to blur the boundary between the real and the surreal-we are treated to such oddities as fish raining from the sky; a forest-dwelling pair of Imperial Army soldiers who haven't aged since WWII; and a hilarious cameo by fried chicken king Colonel Sanders-but he also writes touchingly about love, loneliness and friendship. Occasionally, the writing drifts too far into metaphysical musings-mind-bending talk of parallel worlds, events occurring outside of time-and things swirl a bit at the end as the author tries, perhaps too hard, to make sense of things. But by this point, his readers, like his characters, will go just about anywhere Murakami wants them to, whether they "get" it or not.

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"Jeez," Hoshino muttered.

Colonel Sanders cut across another side street, crossed a main road, oblivious to the traffic light, and continued walking. He strode over a bridge and ducked into a shrine. A fairly big shrine, by the looks of it, but it was late and no one else was around. Colonel Sanders pointed to a bench in front of the shrine office, indicating that Hoshino should take a seat. A mercury lamp was next to the bench, and everything was as bright as day. Hoshino did as he was told, and Colonel Sanders sat down next to him.

"You're not going to make me do it here, are you?" Hoshino asked worriedly.

"Don't be an idiot. We're not like those deer that hang around the famous shrines and go at it. I'm not about to have you do it in a shrine. Who do you think I am, anyway?" Then he extracted a silver cell phone from his pocket and punched in a three-digit number. "Yeah, it's me," he said when the other person answered. "The usual place. The shrine. I've got a young man named Hoshino here with me. That's right… the same as usual. Yes, I got it. Just get here as soon as you can." He switched off the phone and slipped it back into the pocket of his white suit.

"Do you always call up the girls from this shrine?" Hoshino asked.

"Anything wrong with that?"

"No, not really. I was just thinking there's got to be a better place. Someplace more… normal? A coffee shop, or maybe have me wait in a hotel room?"

"A shrine's quiet. And the air's crisp and clean."

"True, but waiting for a girl on a bench in front of a shrine office-it's hard to relax. I feel like I'm going to fall under the spell of one of those fox spirits or something."

"What are you talking about? You're not making fun of Shikoku now, are you? Takamatsu's a proper city-the prefectural capital, in fact. Not some hick town. We don't have any foxes here."

"Okay, okay, just kidding… But you're in the service industry, so I was just thinking you'd better worry more about creating an atmosphere, you know what I'm saying? Something luxurious, to get you in the mood. I don't know, maybe it's none of my business."

"You're right. It isn't," Colonel Sanders intoned. "Now about that stone…"

"Right! The stone… Tell me about it."

"After you do the deed. Then we talk."

"Doing the deed's important, huh?"

Colonel Sanders nodded gravely a couple of times, and tugged at his goatee. "That's right. It's a formality you have to go through. Then we'll talk about the stone. I know you're going to like this girl. She's our top girl. Luscious breasts, skin like silk. A nice, curvy waist, hot and wet right where you like it, a regular sex machine. To use a car metaphor, she's four-wheel drive in bed, turbocharged desire, step on the gas, the surging gearshift in her hands, you round the corner, she shifts gears ecstatically, you race out in the passing lane, and bang! You're there-Hoshino's dead and gone to heaven."

"You're quite a character, you know that?" Hoshino said admiringly.

"Like I said, I'm not in this business for my health."

Fifteen minutes later the girl arrived, and Colonel Sanders was right-she was a knockout. Tight miniskirt, black high heels, a small black-enamel shoulder bag. She could easily have been a model. Generous breasts, too, spilling out of her low-cut top.

"Will she do?" Colonel Sanders asked.

Hoshino was too stunned to reply, and just nodded.

"A veritable sex machine, Hoshino. Have yourself a ball," Colonel Sanders said, smiling for the first time. He gave Hoshino a pinch on the rump.

The girl took Hoshino to a nearby love hotel, where she filled up the bathtub, quickly slipped out of her clothes, and then undressed him. She washed him carefully all over, then commenced to lick him, sliding into a totally artistic act of fellatio, doing things to him he'd never seen or heard of in his life. He couldn't think of anything else but coming, and come he did.

"Man alive, that was fantastic. I've never felt like that," Hoshino said, languidly sinking back in the hot tub.

"That's just the beginning," the girl said. "Wait till you see what's next."

"Yeah, but man that was good."

"How good?"

"Like there's no past or future anymore."

"The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future. In truth, all sensation is already memory."

Hoshino looked up, mouth half open, and gazed at her face. "What's that?"

"Henri Bergson," she replied, licking the semen from the tip of his penis. "Mame mo memelay."

"I'm sorry?"

"Matter and Memory. You ever read it?"

"I don't think so," Hoshino replied after a moment's thought. Except for the special SDF driver's manual he was forced to study-and the books on Shikoku history he'd just gone through at the library-he couldn't remember reading anything except manga.

"Have you read it?"

The girl nodded. "I had to. I'm majoring in philosophy in college, and we have exams coming up."

"You don't say," Hoshino said. "So this is a part-time job?"

"To help pay tuition."

She took him over to the bed, stroked him all over with her fingertips and tongue, getting another erection out of him. A firm hard-on, a Tower of Pisa at carnival time.

"See, you're ready to go again," the girl remarked, slowly segueing into her next set of motions. "Any special requests? Something you'd like me to do? Mr. Sanders asked me to make sure you got everything you want."

"I can't think of anything special, but could you quote some more of that philosophy stuff? I don't know why, but it might keep me from coming so quick. Otherwise I'll lose it pretty fast."

"Let's see… This is pretty old, but how about some Hegel?"

"Whatever."

"I recommend Hegel. He's sort of out of date, but definitely an oldie but goodie."

"Sounds good to me."

"At the same time that 'I' am the content of a relation, 'I' am also that which does the relating."

"Hmm…"

"Hegel believed that a person is not merely conscious of self and object as separate entities, but through the projection of the self via the mediation of the object is volitionally able to gain a deeper understanding of the self. All of which constitutes self-consciousness."

"I don't know what the heck you're talking about."

"Well, think of what I'm doing to you right now. For me I'm the self, and you're the object. For you, of course, it's the exact opposite-you're the self to you and I'm the object. And by exchanging self and object, we can project ourselves onto the other and gain self-consciousness. Volitionally."

"I still don't get it, but it sure feels good."

"That's the whole idea," the girl said.

Afterward he said good-bye to the girl and returned to the shrine, where Colonel Sanders was sitting on the bench just as he'd left him.

"You been waiting here the whole time?" Hoshino asked.

Colonel Sanders shook his head irritably. "Don't be a moron. Do I really look like I have that much time on my hands? While you were sailing off to heaven, I was working the back alleys again. She called me when you finished, and I rushed over. So, how was our little sex machine? Pretty good, I'll bet."

"She was great. No complaints by me. I got off three times. Volitionally speaking. I must've lost five pounds."

"Glad to hear it. Now, about the stone…"

"Right, that's what I came here for."

"Actually, the stone's in the woods right here in this shrine."

"We're talking about the entrance stone?"

"That's right. The entrance stone."

"Are you sure you're not just making this up?"

Colonel Sanders's head shot up. "What are you talking about, you dingbat? Have I ever lied to you? Do I just make up things? I told you I'd get you a supple young sex machine, and I kept my end of the bargain. At a bargain-basement price, too-only $120, and you were brazen enough to shoot off three times, no less. All that and you still doubt me?"

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