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In this riotous satire of urban life, generational conflict, and the battle of the sexes, Japanese best-selling sensation Ryu Murakami introduces us to six aimless young men who find themselves at war with a group of divorced, fiercely independent women.
The young men are lost.The highlights of their lives are eating beef jerky and spying on a neighbor undressing. The women – the “Midori Society,” for they came together over their unusual name – lead insular lives, barely tolerating the interruption of a child or ex-husband.
Taken by an inexplicable urge, one of the young men spontaneously attacks and murders a Midori, which leads to a fiery, meticulously strategized war between the two groups. Best of all, having found a sense of purpose, they’re having the time of their lives. Who knew that plotting revenge could be such fun? Murakami builds the conflict into an explosive, hilarious meditation on modern life.
The young men are lost.The highlights of their lives are eating beef jerky and spying on a neighbor undressing. The women – the “Midori Society,” for they came together over their unusual name – lead insular lives, barely tolerating the interruption of a child or ex-husband.
Taken by an inexplicable urge, one of the young men spontaneously attacks and murders a Midori, which leads to a fiery, meticulously strategized war between the two groups. Best of all, having found a sense of purpose, they’re having the time of their lives. Who knew that plotting revenge could be such fun? Murakami builds the conflict into an explosive, hilarious meditation on modern life.
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
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About the author
Ryū Murakami
255 books3,669 followersRyū Murakami (村上 龍) is a Japanese novelist and filmmaker. He is not related to Haruki Murakami or Takashi Murakami.
Murakami's first work, the short novel Almost Transparent Blue, written while he was still a student, deals with promiscuity and drug use among disaffected Japanese youth. Critically acclaimed as a new style of literature, it won the newcomer's literature prize in 1976 despite some observers decrying it as decadent. Later the same year, Blue won the Akutagawa Prize, going on to become a best seller. In 1980, Murakami published the much longer novel Coin Locker Babies, again to critical acclaim.
Takashi Miike's feature film Audition (1999) was based on one of his novels. Murakami reportedly liked it so much he gave Miike his blessing to adapt Coin Locker Babies. The screen play was worked on by director Jordan Galland. However, Miike could not raise funding for the project. An adaptation directed by Michele Civetta is currently in production.
Murakami has played drums for a rock group called Coelacanth and hosted a TV talk show.
Murakami's first work, the short novel Almost Transparent Blue, written while he was still a student, deals with promiscuity and drug use among disaffected Japanese youth. Critically acclaimed as a new style of literature, it won the newcomer's literature prize in 1976 despite some observers decrying it as decadent. Later the same year, Blue won the Akutagawa Prize, going on to become a best seller. In 1980, Murakami published the much longer novel Coin Locker Babies, again to critical acclaim.
Takashi Miike's feature film Audition (1999) was based on one of his novels. Murakami reportedly liked it so much he gave Miike his blessing to adapt Coin Locker Babies. The screen play was worked on by director Jordan Galland. However, Miike could not raise funding for the project. An adaptation directed by Michele Civetta is currently in production.
Murakami has played drums for a rock group called Coelacanth and hosted a TV talk show.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 331 reviews
February 3, 2012
I never would have thought so just by looking at it, but I believe this is what I've been looking for.
It's offbeat and familiar and hideous and alluring in perfect balance.
It's the literary love of my life.
When I showed Scott Fitzgerald the divorce papers, he was like "Really, Katie? For a 200-page Japanese novel from 1994?"
"It was just translated to English last year," I told him, a single tear sliding down my cheek.
It's offbeat and familiar and hideous and alluring in perfect balance.
It's the literary love of my life.
When I showed Scott Fitzgerald the divorce papers, he was like "Really, Katie? For a 200-page Japanese novel from 1994?"
"It was just translated to English last year," I told him, a single tear sliding down my cheek.
May 27, 2021
Recensione: https://youtu.be/9CcZ2Z64Z7w
Nel retrocopertina dell'edizione inglese (il libro è inedito in Italia come molti, TROPPI, romanzi di Ryu Murakami, un autore geniale mai troppo celebrato) si legge: "Ogni volta che Ryu Murakami pubblica un nuovo romanzo, la gente che lavora all'agenzia del turismo giapponese si regge la testa disperata...".
E non si può che dar ragione alla quote.
La letteratura di Murakami (che nulla a che vedere con Haruki) è repellente e feroce, sovversiva e spudoratamente in-your-face, sia quando è psicopatica ("Piercing", "Audition", "Tokyo Soup"), sia quando è malinconica ("Blu quasi trasparente") o ancora disperata ("Tokyo Decadence").
"Canzoni popolari dell'era Showa" mostra un Ryu Murakami molto più scanzonato e irriverente del solito. Per la prima volta con l'autore, dopo una sequenza fitta di grandi opere, mi sono trovato a credere che quello che stavo leggendo fosse più un divertissement che altro, una sorta di giochino. Eppure, quanto mi sono divertito! Il romanzo, per quanto non tra i più riusciti di Ryu, è un'esplosione di follia.
Prendi sei incel psicopatici drogati di karaoke.
Aggiungi sei "sciure" (in giapponese oba-san) in total-Chanel che destano gli uomini.
Falli uccidere tra loro.
Dona loro, all'inzio, dei coltelli e delle pistole. Poi abituali alle armi nucleari.
Il risultato è una girandola imprevedibile, densa di humor nerissimo.
Nei momenti migliori, soprattutto nei dialoghi, si toccano vertici che sembrano anticipare di molti anni (il romanzo è del 1994) il cinema di Yorgos Lanthimos.
Dicevo, non il migliore dell'autore.
Ma ad averne di letture così.
Inimitabili, originali, fuori controllo.
Piaccia o non piaccia, non leggerete mai nulla che somigli a Ryu Murakami.
Nel retrocopertina dell'edizione inglese (il libro è inedito in Italia come molti, TROPPI, romanzi di Ryu Murakami, un autore geniale mai troppo celebrato) si legge: "Ogni volta che Ryu Murakami pubblica un nuovo romanzo, la gente che lavora all'agenzia del turismo giapponese si regge la testa disperata...".
E non si può che dar ragione alla quote.
La letteratura di Murakami (che nulla a che vedere con Haruki) è repellente e feroce, sovversiva e spudoratamente in-your-face, sia quando è psicopatica ("Piercing", "Audition", "Tokyo Soup"), sia quando è malinconica ("Blu quasi trasparente") o ancora disperata ("Tokyo Decadence").
"Canzoni popolari dell'era Showa" mostra un Ryu Murakami molto più scanzonato e irriverente del solito. Per la prima volta con l'autore, dopo una sequenza fitta di grandi opere, mi sono trovato a credere che quello che stavo leggendo fosse più un divertissement che altro, una sorta di giochino. Eppure, quanto mi sono divertito! Il romanzo, per quanto non tra i più riusciti di Ryu, è un'esplosione di follia.
Prendi sei incel psicopatici drogati di karaoke.
Aggiungi sei "sciure" (in giapponese oba-san) in total-Chanel che destano gli uomini.
Falli uccidere tra loro.
Dona loro, all'inzio, dei coltelli e delle pistole. Poi abituali alle armi nucleari.
Il risultato è una girandola imprevedibile, densa di humor nerissimo.
Nei momenti migliori, soprattutto nei dialoghi, si toccano vertici che sembrano anticipare di molti anni (il romanzo è del 1994) il cinema di Yorgos Lanthimos.
Dicevo, non il migliore dell'autore.
Ma ad averne di letture così.
Inimitabili, originali, fuori controllo.
Piaccia o non piaccia, non leggerete mai nulla che somigli a Ryu Murakami.
October 7, 2019
This dark, outrageous satire couldn't be more timely, as it discusses the emergence of violence out of a feeling of rejection and alienation (hello, "Joker" movie) - but Murakami does not only depict frustrated young men as perpetrators, but also frustrated middle-aged women. In the novel, he stages a major showdown between a group of six socially awkward, karaoke-loving, anxious/enraged incels and six equally sexless, directionless women caught up in themselves and unable to maintain meaningful relationships. It all starts when one of the incels gets drunk and molests one of the women, who of course objects, which causes the incel to kill her in a spontaneous outburst. The surviving women take revenge, and this starts a spiral of violence that quickly spins out of control and leads to bona fide warfare.
In his trademark subversive tone and with no-holds-barred storytelling, Murakami revels in playing with the stereotypes that are often employed when it comes to explaining pointless over-the-top violence - but then again, he knows that there's more than a grain of truth in these sterotypes. Both the men and the women experience comradery when they plan and execute their evil plans against the common enemy, a comradery they did not know before - a dynamic that pretty much every real-life extremist group exploits. It's not that Murakami intends his readers to feel with the killers, it's more like he employs his bitter farce to illustrate societal phenomena.
And yes, the book is frequently rather crude, but hey, Ryu Murakami is a master of pulp, suberversion and high pressure storytelling, and if you enjoy that kind of thing, you'll also like this book, even though it isn't his best effort.
In his trademark subversive tone and with no-holds-barred storytelling, Murakami revels in playing with the stereotypes that are often employed when it comes to explaining pointless over-the-top violence - but then again, he knows that there's more than a grain of truth in these sterotypes. Both the men and the women experience comradery when they plan and execute their evil plans against the common enemy, a comradery they did not know before - a dynamic that pretty much every real-life extremist group exploits. It's not that Murakami intends his readers to feel with the killers, it's more like he employs his bitter farce to illustrate societal phenomena.
And yes, the book is frequently rather crude, but hey, Ryu Murakami is a master of pulp, suberversion and high pressure storytelling, and if you enjoy that kind of thing, you'll also like this book, even though it isn't his best effort.
February 28, 2025
Real Rating: 2.5* of five
The Publisher Says: In his most irreverent novel yet, Ryu Murakami creates a rivalry of epic proportions between six aimless youths and six tough-as-nails women who battle for control of a Tokyo neighborhood. At the outset, the young men seem louche but harmless, their activities limited to drinking, snacking, peering at a naked neighbor through a window, and performing karaoke. The six "aunties" are fiercely independent career women. When one of the boys executes a lethal ambush of one of the women, chaos ensues. The women band together to find the killer and exact revenge. In turn, the boys buckle down, study physics, and plot to take out their nemeses in a single blast. Who knew that a deadly "gang war" could be such fun? Murakami builds the conflict into a hilarious, spot-on satire of modern culture and the tensions between the sexes and generations.
My Review: Six dreadfully bored, dreadfully sociopathic young twentysomething men find each other, and for want of anything better to do, start hanging out. They drink, they eat, they talk at but not to each other, and no one bothers to listen because no one has anything to say that means any-damn-thing in the others' solipsistic brainiverses.
Six dreadfully bored, dreadfully ugly and unloving, unloved thirtysomething women find each other, and for want of anything better to do, start hanging out. They drink, they eat, they talk at but not to each other, and no one bothers to listen because no one has anything to say that means any-damn-thing in the others' solipsistic brainiverses.
One day, one of the men decides, after a horrible sleepless night, to kill one of the women. Thus begins a kind of grisly tontine scheme of murder and reprisal that ends in the death of an entire Tokyo suburb.
Ick. I feel defiled. There is nothing believable about this book, thank goodness, because if there *was* I would be forced to sharpen my longest knife and go out randomly slitting the throats of passers-by.
Ryu Murakami, it would seem, is the Dennis Cooper of the Japanese literary scene, exploring the revolting images that modern Japanese society casts in the funhouse mirror. He's won a boatload of prizes for doing this. All I can think is, Japanese society being so buttoned up and tightly controlled, this kind of transgressive hooliganism carries more of a shock-and-awe sensation than it does in our American laissez-faire emotional environment. All it does for me is make me feel like I've spent several hours with the most absurdly overacting players of overwritten parts in an overwrought melodrama that, while effectively satirizing the anomie and autarky of armed camps that constitute modern societies, loses a lot of its force and impact to sheer overexuberance.
Thank goodness it's short. Fifty more pages and I'd have to mail-bomb the publisher's offices.
The Publisher Says: In his most irreverent novel yet, Ryu Murakami creates a rivalry of epic proportions between six aimless youths and six tough-as-nails women who battle for control of a Tokyo neighborhood. At the outset, the young men seem louche but harmless, their activities limited to drinking, snacking, peering at a naked neighbor through a window, and performing karaoke. The six "aunties" are fiercely independent career women. When one of the boys executes a lethal ambush of one of the women, chaos ensues. The women band together to find the killer and exact revenge. In turn, the boys buckle down, study physics, and plot to take out their nemeses in a single blast. Who knew that a deadly "gang war" could be such fun? Murakami builds the conflict into a hilarious, spot-on satire of modern culture and the tensions between the sexes and generations.
My Review: Six dreadfully bored, dreadfully sociopathic young twentysomething men find each other, and for want of anything better to do, start hanging out. They drink, they eat, they talk at but not to each other, and no one bothers to listen because no one has anything to say that means any-damn-thing in the others' solipsistic brainiverses.
Six dreadfully bored, dreadfully ugly and unloving, unloved thirtysomething women find each other, and for want of anything better to do, start hanging out. They drink, they eat, they talk at but not to each other, and no one bothers to listen because no one has anything to say that means any-damn-thing in the others' solipsistic brainiverses.
One day, one of the men decides, after a horrible sleepless night, to kill one of the women. Thus begins a kind of grisly tontine scheme of murder and reprisal that ends in the death of an entire Tokyo suburb.
Ick. I feel defiled. There is nothing believable about this book, thank goodness, because if there *was* I would be forced to sharpen my longest knife and go out randomly slitting the throats of passers-by.
Ryu Murakami, it would seem, is the Dennis Cooper of the Japanese literary scene, exploring the revolting images that modern Japanese society casts in the funhouse mirror. He's won a boatload of prizes for doing this. All I can think is, Japanese society being so buttoned up and tightly controlled, this kind of transgressive hooliganism carries more of a shock-and-awe sensation than it does in our American laissez-faire emotional environment. All it does for me is make me feel like I've spent several hours with the most absurdly overacting players of overwritten parts in an overwrought melodrama that, while effectively satirizing the anomie and autarky of armed camps that constitute modern societies, loses a lot of its force and impact to sheer overexuberance.
Thank goodness it's short. Fifty more pages and I'd have to mail-bomb the publisher's offices.
February 20, 2020
When you seek out weird little books, and then find them....
'If only he could be given a chance to abandon something of tremendous importance to him—to dump it as if it were no longer needed in his life! He often reflected that if he were a woman, all he’d have to do was get pregnant, give birth to the baby, and abandon it; and it had even occurred to him that if he dressed up in drag and left a Cabbage Patch Kid somewhere he might be able to experience a similar sort of sensation, though he was restrained by the fear that if he went that far he might never find his way back. I am, after all, a man, for better or worse, he would mutter, and resign himself once again to waiting for a gender-appropriate opportunity to appear.'
'If only he could be given a chance to abandon something of tremendous importance to him—to dump it as if it were no longer needed in his life! He often reflected that if he were a woman, all he’d have to do was get pregnant, give birth to the baby, and abandon it; and it had even occurred to him that if he dressed up in drag and left a Cabbage Patch Kid somewhere he might be able to experience a similar sort of sensation, though he was restrained by the fear that if he went that far he might never find his way back. I am, after all, a man, for better or worse, he would mutter, and resign himself once again to waiting for a gender-appropriate opportunity to appear.'
February 5, 2020
(3.5)
An uncompromisingly vicious satire that detonates the perceived incipient rage and desperation of two particular, diametrically opposed Japanese social groups: pre-middle-aged single ladies and post-teen men. In his demolition of both, Murakami somehow suggests a certain perverse empathy; in lampooning these very different - but equally problematic and loathsome, according to the author - groups, Murakami recasts them as hysterical caricatures before setting them in murderous mutual pursuit, the argument seemingly: even as insane puppets for provocative fictional tomfoolery, though these people are hideous, they are nonetheless far better off, whilst picking one another off in horrible fashion, than their real-world equivalents.
Overall: a bit thin but often very funny and incisive. John Waters meets Bret Easton Ellis.
'Since the deaths of their two comrades, all of the remaining Midoris had come to a more or less unconscious realization. None of them had ever found, aside from their respective fathers, a man who made them feel from the bottom of their hearts that they wanted to pour his beer or have him pour their wine; and now that they were heading into their late thirties it was extremely doubtful whether any of them ever would find such a man. It wasn’t a question of lonely or not lonely, however. Each was convinced that the fact that she’d never burned with passion for a man was due to various circumstances in her life that mitigated against such passion—circumstances in her family, for example, or in her social milieu or workplace or community. And they realized now that their mindless “You’ll have some more, won’t you?” had only served to obfuscate reality by keeping things vague and ambiguous. But why had this realization, unconscious and unformulated though it may have been, come to them now? Put this too down to the sudden and unexpected deaths of their comrades. The two departed Midoris hadn’t had the opportunity to experience such revelations, and now they never would. It was in order to honor the memory of these unfortunate two that the survivors had filled their own glasses and now prepared to drain them with quiet dignity. It had nothing to do with loneliness. All four shared an unconscious and unspoken conviction that for them, at least, certain possibilities still remained.'
'No one was putting any thought into the question of why the general energy level was so low, but it didn’t help that snacks were also in short supply. Nobue had extracted from the fridge a long, vacuum-sealed, fish-meat sausage with the legend MARUHA written vertically down the length of the wrapper, an item that hangs in convenience stores like a relic of the nineteenth century, but it never occurred to him to slice it up into little pucks and hand them around. Instead, he squeezed a tip-of-the-pinky-sized dollop of mayonnaise onto one end and laughed for no apparent reason—Ah, ha ha ha ha ha!—before biting off about two centimeters, peering at the toothmarks in the new end of the sausage and laughing again, then carefully adding another dollop of mayonnaise and repeating the sequence. Ishihara had apparently arrived hungry: along with his One Cup Sake, he’d brought three croquettes in convenience-store packaging—a styrofoam tray sealed with industrial-strength plastic wrap. Nobue hadn’t set out any chopsticks or sauce, however, and the obvious fact that one couldn’t eat croquettes without chopsticks or sauce somehow failed to penetrate Ishihara’s enervated brain. He just sat there playing with the unopened package, making little dents in the taut bubble of plastic wrap with his index finger. Normally even this level of mindless diversion would have triggered audible risibility, but tonight, what with his empty stomach and overall lack of vitality, he hadn’t so much as chuckled.
It was extremely unusual for someone of Ishihara’s psychological makeup to go any length of time without laughing. Not even being beaten half to death could keep him from erupting with meaningless laughter—and this is no mere conjecture. Late one night some three years before, he’d been walking through Shinjuku’s Central Park, drunk, and had jumped up on a park bench and begun singing Japanese pop songs at the top of his lungs. When he ignored the repeated cries of “Quiet!” and “Shaddup!” issuing from the darkness on all sides, three middle-aged homeless men approached, dragged him down, pounded him to a pulp, and then, with tears of rage streaming down their cheeks, made a sincere attempt to strangle the life out of him. Homicides of just this sort are not uncommon in places like Shinjuku and Shibuya, but Ishihara survived. Symptoms of cyanosis had already begun to appear on his face, in all their blue and purple glory, when he’d suddenly started laughing so uncontrollably that his startled attackers backed off. Nobue, on first hearing this story, had expressed amazement that anyone could manage to laugh at a time like that. “I don’t know why, but it was really funny,” Ishihara had said, and laughed again at the recollection. “There was this flood of light and sound that was like from a different world, and it cracked me up, and I figured it would be a waste not to laugh, because if you laugh you feel better even if you don’t have any reason to. But mainly I just didn’t want to miss a good opportunity.”'
An uncompromisingly vicious satire that detonates the perceived incipient rage and desperation of two particular, diametrically opposed Japanese social groups: pre-middle-aged single ladies and post-teen men. In his demolition of both, Murakami somehow suggests a certain perverse empathy; in lampooning these very different - but equally problematic and loathsome, according to the author - groups, Murakami recasts them as hysterical caricatures before setting them in murderous mutual pursuit, the argument seemingly: even as insane puppets for provocative fictional tomfoolery, though these people are hideous, they are nonetheless far better off, whilst picking one another off in horrible fashion, than their real-world equivalents.
Overall: a bit thin but often very funny and incisive. John Waters meets Bret Easton Ellis.
'Since the deaths of their two comrades, all of the remaining Midoris had come to a more or less unconscious realization. None of them had ever found, aside from their respective fathers, a man who made them feel from the bottom of their hearts that they wanted to pour his beer or have him pour their wine; and now that they were heading into their late thirties it was extremely doubtful whether any of them ever would find such a man. It wasn’t a question of lonely or not lonely, however. Each was convinced that the fact that she’d never burned with passion for a man was due to various circumstances in her life that mitigated against such passion—circumstances in her family, for example, or in her social milieu or workplace or community. And they realized now that their mindless “You’ll have some more, won’t you?” had only served to obfuscate reality by keeping things vague and ambiguous. But why had this realization, unconscious and unformulated though it may have been, come to them now? Put this too down to the sudden and unexpected deaths of their comrades. The two departed Midoris hadn’t had the opportunity to experience such revelations, and now they never would. It was in order to honor the memory of these unfortunate two that the survivors had filled their own glasses and now prepared to drain them with quiet dignity. It had nothing to do with loneliness. All four shared an unconscious and unspoken conviction that for them, at least, certain possibilities still remained.'
'No one was putting any thought into the question of why the general energy level was so low, but it didn’t help that snacks were also in short supply. Nobue had extracted from the fridge a long, vacuum-sealed, fish-meat sausage with the legend MARUHA written vertically down the length of the wrapper, an item that hangs in convenience stores like a relic of the nineteenth century, but it never occurred to him to slice it up into little pucks and hand them around. Instead, he squeezed a tip-of-the-pinky-sized dollop of mayonnaise onto one end and laughed for no apparent reason—Ah, ha ha ha ha ha!—before biting off about two centimeters, peering at the toothmarks in the new end of the sausage and laughing again, then carefully adding another dollop of mayonnaise and repeating the sequence. Ishihara had apparently arrived hungry: along with his One Cup Sake, he’d brought three croquettes in convenience-store packaging—a styrofoam tray sealed with industrial-strength plastic wrap. Nobue hadn’t set out any chopsticks or sauce, however, and the obvious fact that one couldn’t eat croquettes without chopsticks or sauce somehow failed to penetrate Ishihara’s enervated brain. He just sat there playing with the unopened package, making little dents in the taut bubble of plastic wrap with his index finger. Normally even this level of mindless diversion would have triggered audible risibility, but tonight, what with his empty stomach and overall lack of vitality, he hadn’t so much as chuckled.
It was extremely unusual for someone of Ishihara’s psychological makeup to go any length of time without laughing. Not even being beaten half to death could keep him from erupting with meaningless laughter—and this is no mere conjecture. Late one night some three years before, he’d been walking through Shinjuku’s Central Park, drunk, and had jumped up on a park bench and begun singing Japanese pop songs at the top of his lungs. When he ignored the repeated cries of “Quiet!” and “Shaddup!” issuing from the darkness on all sides, three middle-aged homeless men approached, dragged him down, pounded him to a pulp, and then, with tears of rage streaming down their cheeks, made a sincere attempt to strangle the life out of him. Homicides of just this sort are not uncommon in places like Shinjuku and Shibuya, but Ishihara survived. Symptoms of cyanosis had already begun to appear on his face, in all their blue and purple glory, when he’d suddenly started laughing so uncontrollably that his startled attackers backed off. Nobue, on first hearing this story, had expressed amazement that anyone could manage to laugh at a time like that. “I don’t know why, but it was really funny,” Ishihara had said, and laughed again at the recollection. “There was this flood of light and sound that was like from a different world, and it cracked me up, and I figured it would be a waste not to laugh, because if you laugh you feel better even if you don’t have any reason to. But mainly I just didn’t want to miss a good opportunity.”'
April 18, 2017
This is an extremely dark comedy, focusing on two groups; the first young men in their twenties to early thirties who sing karaoke and talk without listening to each other. The second set is a group of middle-aged women, who sing karaoke and talk without listening to each other. Notice a pattern? Good because these two groups act the same, but follow a different thought process as to why they act this way.
Murder brings them together.
After one of the young men senselessly murders one of the women, this unites both groups. The men look at this random act of violence as a way to take control of their lives. The women now seek revenge on the person who murdered their friend. For the first time both groups listen to each other and begin to communicate… all for the sake of violence.
There’s a lot going on in this book. It’s a nihilistic meditation upon modern life in Japan; it’s about conflict between generations… it’s also about karaoke, because everything always comes back to karaoke.
Mostly it’s a book about horrible people. Completely and totally unlikeable monsters who talk about revenge making them feel “all gooey” inside. People who decide to look for inspiration for their methods from the Japanese Imperial Army, terrorists and Nazis (I did not make this up, it’s flat out stated by one character).
I'm also probably a horrible person for saying this, but the book is also very funny. It’s completely against all good taste, but it’s a shockingly funny read. There are scenes (in particular when the group of guys go to buy a pistol at a hardware store) that genuinely had me laughing out loud.
I debated with myself whether to give this one a 3 or 4 star review, as the truth is somewhere in-between. I decided to go with a four, as I genuinely kept laughing throughout, and any time the book slowed down, something ridiculous would happen to bring a smile to my face. his is certainly not a book I can suggest to everyone, but if you're the sort who laughed at American Psycho or delights in the films of Takashi Miike, this is certainly worth a look.
Murder brings them together.
After one of the young men senselessly murders one of the women, this unites both groups. The men look at this random act of violence as a way to take control of their lives. The women now seek revenge on the person who murdered their friend. For the first time both groups listen to each other and begin to communicate… all for the sake of violence.
There’s a lot going on in this book. It’s a nihilistic meditation upon modern life in Japan; it’s about conflict between generations… it’s also about karaoke, because everything always comes back to karaoke.
Mostly it’s a book about horrible people. Completely and totally unlikeable monsters who talk about revenge making them feel “all gooey” inside. People who decide to look for inspiration for their methods from the Japanese Imperial Army, terrorists and Nazis (I did not make this up, it’s flat out stated by one character).
I'm also probably a horrible person for saying this, but the book is also very funny. It’s completely against all good taste, but it’s a shockingly funny read. There are scenes (in particular when the group of guys go to buy a pistol at a hardware store) that genuinely had me laughing out loud.
I debated with myself whether to give this one a 3 or 4 star review, as the truth is somewhere in-between. I decided to go with a four, as I genuinely kept laughing throughout, and any time the book slowed down, something ridiculous would happen to bring a smile to my face. his is certainly not a book I can suggest to everyone, but if you're the sort who laughed at American Psycho or delights in the films of Takashi Miike, this is certainly worth a look.
August 13, 2012
This book is awesome!
I picked it up expecting a daft switch-off read, and that's exactly what I was provided with, and a whole lot more :-)
Best way to describe it:
The only other Ryū Murakami book I read was Piercing, which is more of an intimate psychological study, whereas this book is clearly overblown fun and contrasting the two books really shows his versatility as an author.
Funny, crazy, and better yet, probably some parable for modern Japanese society that I don't really care to investigate!
Comes highly recommended by me, whoever I am :D
I picked it up expecting a daft switch-off read, and that's exactly what I was provided with, and a whole lot more :-)
Best way to describe it:
The only other Ryū Murakami book I read was Piercing, which is more of an intimate psychological study, whereas this book is clearly overblown fun and contrasting the two books really shows his versatility as an author.
Funny, crazy, and better yet, probably some parable for modern Japanese society that I don't really care to investigate!
Comes highly recommended by me, whoever I am :D
April 28, 2020
Ne bih znao tačno da objasnim zbog čega mi se Audicija drugog Murakamija toliko svidela. Jedan od retkih naslova koje sam pročitao odjednom, maltene bez ustajanja. Prosečna priča, likovi ok, ali atmosfera sjajna.
Karaoke strave su, ipak, promašaj. Nema napetost prvog dela, likovi nikakvi, priča ispričana bez mašte. Razumem ja da je ovo satira, ali na momente zvuči ozbiljno za tako nešto, a kad želi da bude duhovita - nije.
Pročitao do kraja, preskačući redove...
Karaoke strave su, ipak, promašaj. Nema napetost prvog dela, likovi nikakvi, priča ispričana bez mašte. Razumem ja da je ovo satira, ali na momente zvuči ozbiljno za tako nešto, a kad želi da bude duhovita - nije.
Pročitao do kraja, preskačući redove...
Read
April 18, 2023DNF 42%. Ne mogu se siliti ni stranicu više...
Nadrealan razvoj događaja. Strava izgrađena na besmislenom nasilju, nezrelosti i nerazumevanju, u kojoj obe podivljale strane pevaju, dok se naizmenično, jedno po jedno, ubijaju. Nikog posebno ne interesuje smisao iza početka, niti kamo taj ludi okršaj ide. Zdrav razum ih je sve komplet zaobišao. Jedino bitno postaje—učestvovati. I pobediti??? To bi u suštini bilo to.
Autor kroz svoje likove portretiše psihološke bolesti koje muče moderne Japance i Japanke, uglavnom mlađe i generacije u srednjem dobu, i kako je ta duhovna smrt rani vesnik fizičke civilizacijske smrti. Makar ja tako racionalizujem svoje iskustvo, jer nekako moram (sebi) opravdati sve šanse koje sam knjizi dala.
Glavni likovi su ili mentalno sagoreli (na granici potpune vegetacije frontalnog dela mozga) ili tek mentalno sazrevaju (najčešće kad ih od smrti dele dragoceni trenuci), te kao takvi nisu ni previše zanimljivi, niti iole prijatni da bi me zadržali nad knjigom. Najveći deo razloga zašto ovde stajem su upravo oni, mada me je i atmosfera ludila i beznađa, bez humora kao protivteže, do sada dobrano iscedila.
Kraće i jednostavnije je nekad prosto bolje. A i knjiga nije bila za mene...
Nadrealan razvoj događaja. Strava izgrađena na besmislenom nasilju, nezrelosti i nerazumevanju, u kojoj obe podivljale strane pevaju, dok se naizmenično, jedno po jedno, ubijaju. Nikog posebno ne interesuje smisao iza početka, niti kamo taj ludi okršaj ide. Zdrav razum ih je sve komplet zaobišao. Jedino bitno postaje—učestvovati. I pobediti??? To bi u suštini bilo to.
Autor kroz svoje likove portretiše psihološke bolesti koje muče moderne Japance i Japanke, uglavnom mlađe i generacije u srednjem dobu, i kako je ta duhovna smrt rani vesnik fizičke civilizacijske smrti. Makar ja tako racionalizujem svoje iskustvo, jer nekako moram (sebi) opravdati sve šanse koje sam knjizi dala.
Glavni likovi su ili mentalno sagoreli (na granici potpune vegetacije frontalnog dela mozga) ili tek mentalno sazrevaju (najčešće kad ih od smrti dele dragoceni trenuci), te kao takvi nisu ni previše zanimljivi, niti iole prijatni da bi me zadržali nad knjigom. Najveći deo razloga zašto ovde stajem su upravo oni, mada me je i atmosfera ludila i beznađa, bez humora kao protivteže, do sada dobrano iscedila.
Kraće i jednostavnije je nekad prosto bolje. A i knjiga nije bila za mene...
December 2, 2015
This is a really fun read, yet very different to the other Ryu Murakami book I have read, Piercing. PHotSE sits further toward the "light entertainment" end of the spectrum, but I enjoyed it very much all the same. The storyline centres around two groups of very dysfunctional people: a group of young men who are socially...... retarded, and a group of catty, self-absorbed 30-40ish women (oba-sans). In both cases, the members are disconnected from each other as well as society. When war erupts between the two groups, however, the members unite against a common enemy, finding what they've been lacking in their own lives. Murakami writes with his usual humour, insight and irony, not to mention a strong dose of violence and gore.
"If you were drinking at some oden stand you've never been to before, and some homeless guy comes by and sneaks a skewer of oden, and a thug with no pinky finger beats him half to death, this is the kind of song you'd want to be listening to."
PLAYLIST for Popular Hits of the Showa Era
I've had to use a bizarre mixture of YouTube clips and Spotify tracks, (including two which are cover versions), but here are the songs from each of the relevant chapters. Please enjoy!
Chapter 1: Season of Love - Pinky and Killers: Koi no Kisetsu
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvzCgx...
Chapter 2: Stardust Trails - Kikuchi Akiko – Hoshi no Nagari ni
http://open.spotify.com/track/2tzsBvG...
Chapter 3: Chanchiki Okesa - Minami Haruo – Chanchiki okesa
http://open.spotify.com/track/1hS8Lrz...
Chapter 4: Meet me in Yurakucho - Frank Nagai – Yuurakuchou De Aimashou
http://open.spotify.com/track/0wCkEo8...
Chapter 5: A Hill Overlooking the Harbor - Hirano Aiko – Minato ga Mieru Oka
http://open.spotify.com/track/3ShKCyD...
Chapter 6: Rusty Knife - Angel's Music Box – Sabita Naifu [Originally Performed by Yujiro Ishihara]
http://open.spotify.com/track/7kA2YfC...
Chapter 7: After the Acacia Rain - Sachiko Nishida - Acacia no Ame ga Yamu Toki
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hs-hVl...
Chapter 8: Love Me to the Bone – (originally performed by Takaya Jou) - Shinsei Band – Hone Made Aishite
http://open.spotify.com/track/3kUBnGQ...
Chapter 9: Dreams Anytime - Sayuri Yoshinaga & Yukio Hoshi - Itsudemo Yume wo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N4BAo...
Chapter 10: Until We Meet Again - Kiyohiko Ozaki - Mata Au Hi Made
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vw43SD...
"If you were drinking at some oden stand you've never been to before, and some homeless guy comes by and sneaks a skewer of oden, and a thug with no pinky finger beats him half to death, this is the kind of song you'd want to be listening to."
PLAYLIST for Popular Hits of the Showa Era
I've had to use a bizarre mixture of YouTube clips and Spotify tracks, (including two which are cover versions), but here are the songs from each of the relevant chapters. Please enjoy!
Chapter 1: Season of Love - Pinky and Killers: Koi no Kisetsu
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qvzCgx...
Chapter 2: Stardust Trails - Kikuchi Akiko – Hoshi no Nagari ni
http://open.spotify.com/track/2tzsBvG...
Chapter 3: Chanchiki Okesa - Minami Haruo – Chanchiki okesa
http://open.spotify.com/track/1hS8Lrz...
Chapter 4: Meet me in Yurakucho - Frank Nagai – Yuurakuchou De Aimashou
http://open.spotify.com/track/0wCkEo8...
Chapter 5: A Hill Overlooking the Harbor - Hirano Aiko – Minato ga Mieru Oka
http://open.spotify.com/track/3ShKCyD...
Chapter 6: Rusty Knife - Angel's Music Box – Sabita Naifu [Originally Performed by Yujiro Ishihara]
http://open.spotify.com/track/7kA2YfC...
Chapter 7: After the Acacia Rain - Sachiko Nishida - Acacia no Ame ga Yamu Toki
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hs-hVl...
Chapter 8: Love Me to the Bone – (originally performed by Takaya Jou) - Shinsei Band – Hone Made Aishite
http://open.spotify.com/track/3kUBnGQ...
Chapter 9: Dreams Anytime - Sayuri Yoshinaga & Yukio Hoshi - Itsudemo Yume wo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N4BAo...
Chapter 10: Until We Meet Again - Kiyohiko Ozaki - Mata Au Hi Made
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vw43SD...
February 4, 2020
2.5, rounded up.
Although I really enjoyed my first exposure to Murakami (i.e., Piercing), I wasn't quite so taken with this one. The beginning two or three chapters were promising, with the slow-building 'war' between the 'Gang of Six' and the Oba-sans, and the ending was kind of bizarrely 'fun' ... but I thought the L-O-N-G bulk in between was a bit of a slog. Partially, since I didn't really know the culture, and NONE of the characters were strongly differentiated (apparently intentional), I never much cared what happened to any of them.
Endless descriptions of what they were eating and drinking and their rather mundane existences just didn't resonate, and knowing the author's penchant for gross-out and shocking elements, I was more or less expecting what was to come. Oddly, since I have seen the film adaptations of both 'Piercing' and the notorious 'Audition', I kept thinking this might make a better movie also than it does a book, with all the non-essential elements excised. Since according to GR this is seventh in popularity in Murakami's oeuvre, I'd be interested in seeing if this was just an 'off' one for me, and if his other, more popular, books might be more to my taste.
Although I really enjoyed my first exposure to Murakami (i.e., Piercing), I wasn't quite so taken with this one. The beginning two or three chapters were promising, with the slow-building 'war' between the 'Gang of Six' and the Oba-sans, and the ending was kind of bizarrely 'fun' ... but I thought the L-O-N-G bulk in between was a bit of a slog. Partially, since I didn't really know the culture, and NONE of the characters were strongly differentiated (apparently intentional), I never much cared what happened to any of them.
Endless descriptions of what they were eating and drinking and their rather mundane existences just didn't resonate, and knowing the author's penchant for gross-out and shocking elements, I was more or less expecting what was to come. Oddly, since I have seen the film adaptations of both 'Piercing' and the notorious 'Audition', I kept thinking this might make a better movie also than it does a book, with all the non-essential elements excised. Since according to GR this is seventh in popularity in Murakami's oeuvre, I'd be interested in seeing if this was just an 'off' one for me, and if his other, more popular, books might be more to my taste.
February 21, 2020
In Popular Hits of the Showa Era, Ryū Murakami deep-dives into a near-term moral and social dystopia. Murakami’s dystopia features generational conflict that’s devolved into generational warfare accompanied by casual apocalyptic violence, making today’s OK Boomer meme seem quaintly charming and well mannered. But even more than generational warfare and rock-em, sock-em violence, Murakami’s dystopia horrifies because its characters are largely without individuation and without interiority. Popular Hits. . . feels almost alarmingly visual and ekphrastic, not so much cinematic as like a manga without pictures and a graphic novel without graphics. The full-on anomie of Popular Hits. . . is relieved only by Marukami’s rampant humor: the unforgettable image of the warrior oba-sans, the karaoke nights, the bizarre armament salesmen and instructors. Oh, for an American Ryū Murakami who writes an American Popular Hits. . . about today’s real life American dystopia.
October 25, 2021
‘We’ve been ignored all our lives, so nobody knows who we are.’
Might as well call this novel, ‘The Revenge of the Incels’, which would have been less misleading than the original title. But of course, if it had been called the former, it would have certainly cut down the amount of readers, drastically. I, for one, would not have picked this up. I’ve spoken much too soon when I said that ‘this was less of a torture porn’ than In the Miso Soup. The especially distasteful, loose composition of torture-pornographic ending could’ve been easily reduce one short paragraph with more impact. Highly ironic considering the anticlimactic, but ‘explosive’ ending. Is it satire, really, if there is no proper critique embedded in the prose? Whatever his ‘message’ might have been, it all just felt very loose, blurry, lacking control and precision. The entire thing was like someone telling another person of a thing they’ve seen word for word in the most raw and literal sense – trashy, pulpy and gossipy. And at the end of it all, one can’t help but gasp, and thirst for a tall glass of delicious, meaningful conversation. For top quality pulp fiction, I’d recommend Life for Sale by the legendary Yukio Mishima that of which I have a clear and dear preference for.
‘The junior college girl with the misaligned eyes was attending a lecture on child psychology in the big lecture hall at her school and wondering why no one in the crowded room took any of the seats around her. It made her sad to think it might be because her face was so scary, as her brother had always told her when she was little and as the manager at MOS Burger had said just recently when she went to apply for a part-time job. In her loneliness, she decided to try and summon up one of her ghost friends to talk to. Sugioka’s ghost was always the first to appear, and today was no exception.’
Why then would I give Murakami’s novel a 3-star rating if I had found/experienced so little pleasure reading it? In comparison to ‘In the Miso Soup’, this one, I have to admit, do actually offer a few decent sub-plots (that I can definitely see becoming great stand-alone novellas). As for characterisation, I thought the most interesting one was the junior college girl who appears on and off throughout the novel. And I particularly enjoyed the story of the ‘buri’/yellow-tail fish. Murakami captured that tender moments of obscure, muddled violence and the discomfort of that awkward occasion brilliantly. It was executed so well that one can’t help but wonder why he’d fuck up the rest of the novel. Even though I enjoyed the story about the ‘buri’, I can’t help but think of Haruki Murakami when I read it. It reminded me of Haruki without the magical realism. Something Haruki would have produced if he was possessed by the ‘ghost’ of Beckett/Pinter, perhaps? All that I had manage to ‘enjoy’/appreciate in this novel wasn’t anything that felt characteristically Ryu, but simply something that was reminiscent of Haruki’s prose.
‘When a passing prep school student saw the victim, his first instinct was to try and help…or at least summon the police, but he was wearing a white shirt and on his way to a date…“I can’t mess up this shirt. Besides,” he reasoned to himself, “there’s a big pile of shit or something right next to her.’
The ‘incels’ and the ‘oba-sans’ were portrayed as the victims of their own crippling loneliness. The ‘incels’ seemed to be effortlessly ignored by the majority/masses, while the ‘oba-sans’ being less so (but think of as ‘worse’ by the intolerable narrator). The ‘incels’ in their own muted desperations had went out of their way to fill their ‘void’ and voraciously fed their own social needs in ways both acceptable and inappropriate/criminal – in a ‘whatever it takes’ kind of approach. Like them, the ‘oba-sans’ had a similar need to feel validated and to thrive/prosper socially. Each of us have our own level of tolerance and our own views of ‘loneliness’ – and I suppose in many ways – ‘loneliness’ is more than a feeling. In the novel, it’s presented as a form of hunger that destabilises the characters, leading them to do things they wouldn’t have wanted to do otherwise. This sentiment is well pronounced in the first few pages of the novel – which I thought was very well crafted. Both groups were socialising for the sake of socialising without actually ‘socialising’/relating to one another. It was a brilliant composition of the failures of communication in modern societies. There were admittedly a handful of promising elements in the novel that were never used to compose a better narrative(s), therefore resulting in a beautiful waste of sentences.
‘Her body felt fuzzy and itchy inside, however, reminding her that it was about time for her period to begin…’
The problem I have with both Murakamis (yes, I’m thinking of the more popular, Haruki Murakami) is that they write very unrealistic women characters. Thinking about it more thoroughly, surely, this isn’t just limited to Japanese men writers – it’s just a much too common issue for (men) writers. Ryu Murakami’s attempt to write about a woman’s body during her menstruation period was just embarrassingly bad – so poorly done. He could’ve played with anything from nausea, anaemia, a drop in body temperature, bottomless hunger, swelling/bloated, low self-esteem, heightened sensitivity to smells, uterine and intestinal contractions; inexplicable sadness or futile anger, but he went with ‘itchy’ and ‘fuzzy’ instead. I’m also pretty confident that that’s not a translation issue. But also, what a massive lack of literary research on his part.
‘At the moment, Ishihara was nudging Nobue’s shoulder and saying, “Nobu-chin! Nobu-chin, say ‘Congratulations on the New Year’!” The closest Nobue could get was something like, Kon raw yoo rayon la la Roo Ya, at which Ishihara collapsed on the tatami and rolled about, laughing hysterically. Nobue didn’t mind. He knew now that when you’ve been badly damaged emotionally or physically, it isn’t the people who are mournfully sympathetic or overly careful about your feelings that help you out so much as those who treat you as they’ve always done.’
The half-arsed, badly constructed homo-erotic scene in the third quarter on the book had seemed vaguely promising, but the ending ultimately killed it. Also, I would expect at least a soft exploration of ‘suicide’ in a book like this (which could have had balanced the ‘flat’, tedious, one-sided portrayal of violence out a bit), but the novel was wholly deprived of that. The constant and pervasive theme of (simple and predictable) murder in the novel was sickening – not like in a way that makes one sick in the stomach – but more of a matter of taste. It was like eating too much salt and vinegar crisps in one sitting, and your tongue just gives up on you for the rest of the day. Murakami’s novel just didn’t hit hard enough in any/every way. I tried appreciating the novel in different angles, but none hit the spot. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good enough at all. Underwhelming. Mediocre at best. Murakami had played with the extremist concept of ‘murder’ as the only way that makes the ‘invisible’ visible. A wildly and carelessly overused method to induce ‘shock’. And Murakami didn’t even seem to have spent much effort in developing it further/well which only makes it worse and even less palatable. It felt stunted, and half-arsedly finished. I’d much rather watch ‘Squid Game’ again.
‘None of the Midoris had ever been big on travel, and though they were always trying to think of things to do together, somehow the idea of going overseas had never before occurred to them. Every one of them had always thought of travel abroad as an extravagance she had no need for. They believed it was wrong to want things you didn’t need, and that the people who flaunted Celine scarves, for example, or Louis Vuitton bags or Chanel belts or Hermès perfumes, were essentially people who had no self-esteem.’
For the most part, it has the same vibe as Murakami’s other book, In the Miso Soup – loosely built on a narrative of ‘unattractive’/unwanted men spending the cheap and messy hate they’ve collected throughout their uneventful lives on unsuspecting women who they do not have any personal ties to; oh, and make it as pornographic as possible. This should probably be on the back cover of every Ryu Murakami. Even though I complain about Haruki Murakami quite a bit, he reigns superior to Ryu every time, all the time, without a single second of doubt. It’s not simply about how ‘problematic’ Ryu’s work is, but it's more about the simple fact that his work lacks substance. It’s like someone just taking a shit in the middle of a road, in broad daylight – and then calling it art. It just makes me want to read some Bataille very badly to cleanse my literary palate. A happy (literary) meal of Bataille, Mishima, and Camus is necessary to help me recover from this flavourless disappointment and dissatisfaction. Might even throw in a re-read of the better (Haruki) Murakami as the novelty toy essential to a proper ‘happy meal’.
I’ve not been doing this as consistently as I’d like to, but I have for this review made a tiny playlist (below). Instead of songs that simply ‘complement the novel’ (as with my previous reviews), these are songs would also (in my opinion, surely) make the reading experience much more bearable if you are so keen to give it a try. I don’t particularly think that it was a waste of time per say, but I certainly could live without the experience of reading it. But then having said that, I’m also finding it pretty impossible to give this novel any less than a 3-star rating considering that I’ve already given ‘In the Miso Soup’ a generous 2-star rating; and to clarify, this one’s better in every way.
Fetch the Bolt Cutters – Fiona Apple
Flamingo – Kenshi Yonezu
Hit Me Like That Snare – Alt-J
‘Ishihara then approached the register and asked the clerk, a sweet-faced youth of about his own age, “Do you have any food that can warm the cockles of hearts?” The young clerk tilted his head, thinking. “Let me see…cockles of hearts, that’s a difficult one. May I ask you to wait a moment?” He called for the manager, a serious-looking, bespectacled man of maybe thirty. “The customer is looking for a dish that will warm cockles of hearts,” the sweet-faced clerk said, and the manager muttered, “I see,” and with his arms crossed and a look of intense concentration began walking up and down the aisles. The clerk marched along behind him, and Ishihara and Nobue followed. Finally the manager selected a package of nabeyaki udon, an earthy noodle dish that required only fire and water to prepare. “This ought to do the trick,” he said.’
February 17, 2020
This was the weirdest book I have ever read, even including John Dies at the End, and that’s saying something. I almost dnf-ed it when it looked like this was going to be a pointless gory horror show between two groups of psychopaths... but when they started one-upping each other and the absurdity exploded (quite literally), I got hooked and wondered how could they possibly top the last crazy thing... and then they did.
Apart from hideousness, gore, and vomit, we have running social commentary of lost youths and desperate middle-aged women (which starts in the mid-thirties in Japan, ugh!). The young men are inane, creepy, have the emotional range of a whoopie cushion, and have been ignored all their lives, including by each other. Both groups have zero meaning in their lives when the book starts - but plotting murder energizes them, and turns their lives around.
The writing is wry, witty, and indescribable... so here are some quotes - which I have randomly picked as the whole book is full of quotable weirdness:
Apart from hideousness, gore, and vomit, we have running social commentary of lost youths and desperate middle-aged women (which starts in the mid-thirties in Japan, ugh!). The young men are inane, creepy, have the emotional range of a whoopie cushion, and have been ignored all their lives, including by each other. Both groups have zero meaning in their lives when the book starts - but plotting murder energizes them, and turns their lives around.
The writing is wry, witty, and indescribable... so here are some quotes - which I have randomly picked as the whole book is full of quotable weirdness:
“They laughed individually, at completely different moments, and not necessarily about anything in particular. Each laughed in his distinctive way, but in each case, the laughter was loud, uncontrollable, and spasmodic, like sneezes or hiccups. An impartial observer would have noticed that at any given moment at least one of the six would be laughing — that by the time the laughter of one had subsided, that of another would have begun, which is in effect to say that the laughs never ceased — but the same observer would not have had the impression that anyone was actually having fun. Perhaps for these young men, all born in the latter half of the Showa Era, the connection between fun and laughter has never been made.”
“No, it wasn’t violence they disliked: it was contact with strangers.”
[remarks about a song]
“I dunno, I’m like, I feel kinda sad about everything, kind of like after yanking myself off to the lady on that children’s show Open! Ponkikki.”
“In those days, Suzuki Midori was thinking, it must have been STARVED FOR A MAN stamped on their foreheads. The funny thing was that as soon as you stop needing men, they suddenly started finding you desirable.”
“Sakaguchi’s singing was so bad that it gave the lyric a strange new pathos and poignancy. Listening to his version, [...] Takeuchi Midori pondered the noble truth that nobody’s life consists of exclusively happy times; Henmi Midori vowed to remember that it’s best to keep an open heart and forgive those who’ve trespassed against us; and Tomiyama Midori had to keep telling herself that hitting rock bottom is in fact the first step to a hopeful new future.”
June 22, 2025
Have you ever seen Don’t Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood? Probably not. That kind of parody isn’t for everyone. But if you have, you might recall a scene where two main characters, facing off with a rival crew, escalate their confrontation by pulling out increasingly absurd weapons, from handguns to a ballistic missile hidden in a van. That exact progression of absurdity perfectly captures the arc of Ryu Murakami’s Popular Hits of the Showa Era.
At the beginning, Murakami introduces us to six men in their late twenties. Not exactly friends, more like aimless acquaintances bound by alcohol, karaoke, and latent sexual frustration. Socially awkward and emotionally stunted, their greatest thrill comes from watching a neighbor undress across the street. An event that happened once, and they keep waiting for the sequel. The absurdity begins to seep in early, but when one of them casually asks, “Does anyone mind if I masturbate?” during the peeping session, you know the ride is just beginning.
As is typical with Ryu Murakami, violence enters the story quickly and sharply. This time, it’s the senseless murder of a woman in her late thirties, a random passerby and a member of an unusual women’s group named Midori per their last names (not related in any way). Divorced, overlooked, and cast aside, these women are invisible to society. The killer is one of the boys, who was at the moment walking around with a hard on, thinking whether to go home and masturbate or have sex with a brand new doll he got.
Her friends, all similarly marginalized, vow revenge, and so begins a satirical war of escalation between two forgotten corners of society, the young disaffected men and the quietly furious women. What follows is a surreal chain of events that snowballs with cartoonish speed, leading to a finale that is both unhinged and brilliant.
And yes, there’s also a female student who sees ghosts. She’s so horrifyingly ugly that both men and women vomit at the sight of her. The narrator shares this tidbit with deadpan precision, in Murakami’s signature tone of grotesque detachment.
Unlike his more famous namesake, Haruki, who writes about dreamlike Japan where cats speak and mysteries unfold in the dead of night, Ryu Murakami dives into the mud, into the parts of Japanese society that are repressed, denied, or simply ignored. His characters aren’t lovable, but they reflect uncomfortable truths. Beneath the outlandish satire lies a harsh critique of societal neglect, rendered with biting clarity. As in Audition and In the Miso Soup, Murakami pulls no punches, neither with his characters nor with his readers, going to the border of taste and then some more.
Popular Hits of the Showa Era could easily sit on the shelf next to American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, not in theme, but in form and impact. Both are savage satires, violent and absurd, dissecting a world that pretends not to see its rot. If you’re easily offended, skip this one. But if you enjoy pitch-black humor with razor-sharp edges, Ryu Murakami’s novel might just blow you away.
At the beginning, Murakami introduces us to six men in their late twenties. Not exactly friends, more like aimless acquaintances bound by alcohol, karaoke, and latent sexual frustration. Socially awkward and emotionally stunted, their greatest thrill comes from watching a neighbor undress across the street. An event that happened once, and they keep waiting for the sequel. The absurdity begins to seep in early, but when one of them casually asks, “Does anyone mind if I masturbate?” during the peeping session, you know the ride is just beginning.
As is typical with Ryu Murakami, violence enters the story quickly and sharply. This time, it’s the senseless murder of a woman in her late thirties, a random passerby and a member of an unusual women’s group named Midori per their last names (not related in any way). Divorced, overlooked, and cast aside, these women are invisible to society. The killer is one of the boys, who was at the moment walking around with a hard on, thinking whether to go home and masturbate or have sex with a brand new doll he got.
Her friends, all similarly marginalized, vow revenge, and so begins a satirical war of escalation between two forgotten corners of society, the young disaffected men and the quietly furious women. What follows is a surreal chain of events that snowballs with cartoonish speed, leading to a finale that is both unhinged and brilliant.
And yes, there’s also a female student who sees ghosts. She’s so horrifyingly ugly that both men and women vomit at the sight of her. The narrator shares this tidbit with deadpan precision, in Murakami’s signature tone of grotesque detachment.
Unlike his more famous namesake, Haruki, who writes about dreamlike Japan where cats speak and mysteries unfold in the dead of night, Ryu Murakami dives into the mud, into the parts of Japanese society that are repressed, denied, or simply ignored. His characters aren’t lovable, but they reflect uncomfortable truths. Beneath the outlandish satire lies a harsh critique of societal neglect, rendered with biting clarity. As in Audition and In the Miso Soup, Murakami pulls no punches, neither with his characters nor with his readers, going to the border of taste and then some more.
Popular Hits of the Showa Era could easily sit on the shelf next to American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, not in theme, but in form and impact. Both are savage satires, violent and absurd, dissecting a world that pretends not to see its rot. If you’re easily offended, skip this one. But if you enjoy pitch-black humor with razor-sharp edges, Ryu Murakami’s novel might just blow you away.
November 25, 2019
I still have vivid memories of reading Murakami's 'In the Miso Soup', which was a creepy and menacing novel that really got under my skin, and featured one moment in particular that I couldn't quite believe. This one though, didn't really do an awful lot for me. The plot was ridiculous, and it's central characters driven by nihilism, and the sickest of human instincts were a bunch I just never got my head around. Central to the story is a war between two factions that stand in for different segments of Japanese society. The first is a group of puerile young men who gather in the evenings to slurp down junk food, peep at a neighbor, dress in drag, and perform elaborate karaoke numbers. For no particular reason, one of the men stabs an innocent woman to death in the street. The victim belongs to a group of divorced women, whose friendship derives from the fact that they happen to share the same surname: Midori. The women are as numb to the world as the men though, and want to exact bloody revenge. After the men respond with another attack, the cycle of vengeance escalates with an ever-increasing bloodbath of violence. Clearly there will be those who will find this novel a great deal of fun, but I struggled to find much to like about it.
June 8, 2023
Though this may not be Murakami at his best, there is still plenty here to entertain. One of the things I enjoy about his writing, is that come upon him unknowingly and within a couple of sentences it is obvious it his him, he is so distinctive.
This is best appreciated as a completely over the top, tongue-in-cheek, piss take.
But first, set the scene.. the ‘Showa Era’ refers to the reign of Hirohito and lasted until 1989. This book focuses on 1980s and two specific demographic groups, a gang of disaffected and socially inept young men who had ‘given up on committing positively to anything in life’, and a flock of divorced women in their late thirties, ‘graduates of high school or junior college, all sturdy of frame and far from beautiful, all karaoke enthusiasts’.
It begins when one of the first group kills one of the second group, the Midoris. Revenge leads to revenge, and mayhem ensues. It’s very slapstick, and often the farce doesn’t convince. One gets the idea pretty quickly though, that this is intentional on Murakami’s part. It’s cartoonish to the extent that makes one feel it might have worked better as manga.
At its heart though, it’s a bitter condemnation of Japanese society as the economic boom was about to collapse. The young men may be failures, but Murakami stresses that it was society is responsible for that. The vindictive and spiteful Midoris are even less part of the future, and society created then as well. That the police have such an insignificant role is also poignant.
Some of the references will be understood better by readers more versed in Japanese culture than I am, but I enjoyed its oddness, and some of its humour.
This is best appreciated as a completely over the top, tongue-in-cheek, piss take.
But first, set the scene.. the ‘Showa Era’ refers to the reign of Hirohito and lasted until 1989. This book focuses on 1980s and two specific demographic groups, a gang of disaffected and socially inept young men who had ‘given up on committing positively to anything in life’, and a flock of divorced women in their late thirties, ‘graduates of high school or junior college, all sturdy of frame and far from beautiful, all karaoke enthusiasts’.
It begins when one of the first group kills one of the second group, the Midoris. Revenge leads to revenge, and mayhem ensues. It’s very slapstick, and often the farce doesn’t convince. One gets the idea pretty quickly though, that this is intentional on Murakami’s part. It’s cartoonish to the extent that makes one feel it might have worked better as manga.
At its heart though, it’s a bitter condemnation of Japanese society as the economic boom was about to collapse. The young men may be failures, but Murakami stresses that it was society is responsible for that. The vindictive and spiteful Midoris are even less part of the future, and society created then as well. That the police have such an insignificant role is also poignant.
Some of the references will be understood better by readers more versed in Japanese culture than I am, but I enjoyed its oddness, and some of its humour.
September 7, 2025
Goddamn it, Ryu Murakami did it again 😂
I dont know if I will be damned for laughing on how absurdly dark this book is and please dont come for me, if you think this story is ridiculous bcus yes it is😭.
Here's the thing about Ryu Murakami. He wrote some really dark stuff that leaned more to comedy and offensive. His stories are exaggerated with unlikeable, almost hateable characters, they are annoying, brash, stupid and unbelievably worst kind of people you could ever read. This book is exactly that. Yet, they are so damn entertaining to read. I'm a bit skeptical to review this but yknow what, I still think its one of the funniest read I have this year so might as well just talk about it
A mixed bag of offensive comedy drama exploded into a bloody disturbing end of two clans, the boisterous men versus Oba san. When one of the Midoris was killed randomly, the Midoris group consisted of 6 women with Midori surname decided to exact revenge to the killer. The killer is a part of another group of friends, 6 young men with hopeless background, with a ritual of karaokes session to cheer their dull life. These mens are vile, misogynist, horrible pieces of shit you ever read but beyond this,the reason they stick together bcus of their crazy laughter that will erupt suddenly with no purpose & context but to hide their loneliness & voids. The war of violence escalated when the killer from this group was then murdered by Oba san in act of revenge and they soon exploded to massacre & relentless pursuit of deaths in the name of revenge
This was a wild one. Very wild than what I have read so far from Murakami. The brutality and violence in this book borders on comedic and absurd with plenty of gore and nauseating details. The portrayals of characters in here are offensively exaggerated to the point you are gonna question wtf is this and I hate to love these characters yet they are so freaking funny and crazy. An offbeat satire with heinous characters and extreme dark portrayal of repressed men versus repressed thirty year old somethings women. If you want the edgier, extreme, on the edge of Japanese underbelly society, not the squeaky clean type of story, this one may be for you.
In the end, if you are a fan, you will probably like this one. If you are not then I will say stay far away from this book cuz you are gonna hate this one for sure 😭
I dont know if I will be damned for laughing on how absurdly dark this book is and please dont come for me, if you think this story is ridiculous bcus yes it is😭.
Here's the thing about Ryu Murakami. He wrote some really dark stuff that leaned more to comedy and offensive. His stories are exaggerated with unlikeable, almost hateable characters, they are annoying, brash, stupid and unbelievably worst kind of people you could ever read. This book is exactly that. Yet, they are so damn entertaining to read. I'm a bit skeptical to review this but yknow what, I still think its one of the funniest read I have this year so might as well just talk about it
A mixed bag of offensive comedy drama exploded into a bloody disturbing end of two clans, the boisterous men versus Oba san. When one of the Midoris was killed randomly, the Midoris group consisted of 6 women with Midori surname decided to exact revenge to the killer. The killer is a part of another group of friends, 6 young men with hopeless background, with a ritual of karaokes session to cheer their dull life. These mens are vile, misogynist, horrible pieces of shit you ever read but beyond this,the reason they stick together bcus of their crazy laughter that will erupt suddenly with no purpose & context but to hide their loneliness & voids. The war of violence escalated when the killer from this group was then murdered by Oba san in act of revenge and they soon exploded to massacre & relentless pursuit of deaths in the name of revenge
This was a wild one. Very wild than what I have read so far from Murakami. The brutality and violence in this book borders on comedic and absurd with plenty of gore and nauseating details. The portrayals of characters in here are offensively exaggerated to the point you are gonna question wtf is this and I hate to love these characters yet they are so freaking funny and crazy. An offbeat satire with heinous characters and extreme dark portrayal of repressed men versus repressed thirty year old somethings women. If you want the edgier, extreme, on the edge of Japanese underbelly society, not the squeaky clean type of story, this one may be for you.
In the end, if you are a fan, you will probably like this one. If you are not then I will say stay far away from this book cuz you are gonna hate this one for sure 😭
May 18, 2023
Sequinned karaoke costumes,
Bone-chillingly ugly junior high girls,
Pubic hair danger detectors,
Holding hands at night.
Blood, guts and glory.
Final wishes ablaze.
The last one standing.
Bone-chillingly ugly junior high girls,
Pubic hair danger detectors,
Holding hands at night.
Blood, guts and glory.
Final wishes ablaze.
The last one standing.
March 18, 2011
Honestly: Just sort of a stupid, seemingly pointless little novel-- and crass to boot. The prose is clumsy, and the story-- about a group of terminally bored Japanese who turn to shocking acts of violence and terrorism as their one source of real engagement with the world-- fails to make any substantive point or even be entertaining, feeling instead like a sort of "exploitation" story, only devoid of any style or humor. To give you an idea of how dumb this book is: There are multiple scenes that document, in considerable detail, rounds of paper-rock-scissors. For real.
July 30, 2016
Puerile and violent. Should be five stars from me then.
The plot is an absurd face off between six nerds and an equal number of "aunties" - unmarried ladies in their thirties -which descends into a maelstrom of death and chaos. The action escalates until a fuel air bomb takes out a whole district of Tokyo.
Not sure why but this just didn't grab me. I think it was because Murakami tries too hard to be wacky. It may be the translation - who knows.
The plot is an absurd face off between six nerds and an equal number of "aunties" - unmarried ladies in their thirties -which descends into a maelstrom of death and chaos. The action escalates until a fuel air bomb takes out a whole district of Tokyo.
Not sure why but this just didn't grab me. I think it was because Murakami tries too hard to be wacky. It may be the translation - who knows.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 23, 2017
This is it. The blackest black comedy I've ever read. Goddamn is it brutal, and funny. And it's amazing how Ryu Murakami made me care about two very Japanese subcultures that I previously had no idea about.
May 21, 2014
”Numai criminalii mai au sens în zilele noastre” - spune un personaj care tocmai ce și-a înfipt cuțitul într-o mătușică de treizeci și ceva de ani.
Această crimă pornește conflictul dintre tinerii iubitori de karaoke în aer liber care râd din senin și a proasta și mătușicile de 30 și ceva de ani, divorțate, cu pielea fleoșcăită, cu viețile în pioneze și cu apetitul sexual uitat prin vreo plasă la un supermarket.
Aceasta este intepretarea lui Ryu Murakami la războiul dintre generații. Adică război pe bune! Le pune arme în mâini și le dă dreptul ca argumentele să zboare dintr-o parte în alta șuierând ra-ta-ta-ta-ta sau zvușșșș! sau hârști.
Tinerii sunt acei tineri de care societatea aude că au murit și nu le pasă. Acei tineri care-i fac pe oameni să spună: mai bine că au murit că oricum nu se alegea nimic de ei dacă au ajuns să facă ce au făcut; au fost crescuți prost.
Mătușicile sunt acele femei trecute ușor de treizeci de ani despre care zici că au aproape cinzeci și se uită urât la copilul tău pe stradă, sau la tine sau la nevasta ta sau la orice pare a se bucura încă de viață.
Atât in clubul iubitorilor de karaoke cât și Clubul Midori (pentru că pe toate membrele acestui club le cheamă Midori) sunt oameni care nu se regăsesc și care nu au respect de sine. Unii nu l-au învâțat, ceilalți l-au uitat, încercați fiind de viață.
Singura lor scăpare din amorțeala aceasta mortală este, culmea, moartea. Sau crima. Sau amândouă.
Murakami se joacă cu personajele sale pentru prima dată, zic eu, atât de duios. Parcă sunt copii lui și îi crește părintește la sânul său protector. Nu l-am mai văzut arătând atâta atenție sentimentelor personajelor sale si faptului de a le face sensibile și a trăi sensibilatea. Deși violente în cel mai tarantinesc sens al cuvântului, toate personajele criminale ale lui Murakami sunt extrem de sensibile, aproape patetice. Atât de dezrădăcinate și rupte încât până și amintirile lor parcă sunt despre altcineva. Sunt atât de înstrăinați de tot ceea ce-i înconjoară încât nici măcar nu se mai ascultă între ei.
Un alt personaj care m-a luat total prin surprindere a fost studenta martoră la momentele cheie ale crimelor și care îndruma când un grup când altul către conflictul final. Care se mai lăsa cu o moarte. Studenta incredibil de urâtă și față de care toată lumea avea reacții adverse la nivel psiho-somatic, mi-a părut că e însăși Moartea în persoană. Nu Moartea poetesă și gânguritoare de metafore, ci aia care chiar există, Moartea aia crudă care nu ezită să ia cât mai multe suflete cu ea. Studenta lui Murakami ar merita doar ea o recenzie dar am să o las în seama altcuiva. În altă ordine de idei, acest arbitru care apare pentru prima dată într-un roman de Murakami care-și propune să rezolve o dată pentru totdeauna conflictul dintre generații, mi-a lăsat impresia că este un fel de Zeitgeist ce decide irevocabil cine trebuie să câștige și cine trebuie să piardă.
Nu ai înțeles absolut nimic din recenzia asta și nu știi dacă vrei, până la urmă, să o citești sau nu? Hai că-ți dau o mână de ajutor: dacă Tarantino ar fi scris o carte, atunci ar fi scris una precum Hiturile celebre din epoca Showa.
Această crimă pornește conflictul dintre tinerii iubitori de karaoke în aer liber care râd din senin și a proasta și mătușicile de 30 și ceva de ani, divorțate, cu pielea fleoșcăită, cu viețile în pioneze și cu apetitul sexual uitat prin vreo plasă la un supermarket.
Aceasta este intepretarea lui Ryu Murakami la războiul dintre generații. Adică război pe bune! Le pune arme în mâini și le dă dreptul ca argumentele să zboare dintr-o parte în alta șuierând ra-ta-ta-ta-ta sau zvușșșș! sau hârști.
Tinerii sunt acei tineri de care societatea aude că au murit și nu le pasă. Acei tineri care-i fac pe oameni să spună: mai bine că au murit că oricum nu se alegea nimic de ei dacă au ajuns să facă ce au făcut; au fost crescuți prost.
Mătușicile sunt acele femei trecute ușor de treizeci de ani despre care zici că au aproape cinzeci și se uită urât la copilul tău pe stradă, sau la tine sau la nevasta ta sau la orice pare a se bucura încă de viață.
Atât in clubul iubitorilor de karaoke cât și Clubul Midori (pentru că pe toate membrele acestui club le cheamă Midori) sunt oameni care nu se regăsesc și care nu au respect de sine. Unii nu l-au învâțat, ceilalți l-au uitat, încercați fiind de viață.
Singura lor scăpare din amorțeala aceasta mortală este, culmea, moartea. Sau crima. Sau amândouă.
Murakami se joacă cu personajele sale pentru prima dată, zic eu, atât de duios. Parcă sunt copii lui și îi crește părintește la sânul său protector. Nu l-am mai văzut arătând atâta atenție sentimentelor personajelor sale si faptului de a le face sensibile și a trăi sensibilatea. Deși violente în cel mai tarantinesc sens al cuvântului, toate personajele criminale ale lui Murakami sunt extrem de sensibile, aproape patetice. Atât de dezrădăcinate și rupte încât până și amintirile lor parcă sunt despre altcineva. Sunt atât de înstrăinați de tot ceea ce-i înconjoară încât nici măcar nu se mai ascultă între ei.
Un alt personaj care m-a luat total prin surprindere a fost studenta martoră la momentele cheie ale crimelor și care îndruma când un grup când altul către conflictul final. Care se mai lăsa cu o moarte. Studenta incredibil de urâtă și față de care toată lumea avea reacții adverse la nivel psiho-somatic, mi-a părut că e însăși Moartea în persoană. Nu Moartea poetesă și gânguritoare de metafore, ci aia care chiar există, Moartea aia crudă care nu ezită să ia cât mai multe suflete cu ea. Studenta lui Murakami ar merita doar ea o recenzie dar am să o las în seama altcuiva. În altă ordine de idei, acest arbitru care apare pentru prima dată într-un roman de Murakami care-și propune să rezolve o dată pentru totdeauna conflictul dintre generații, mi-a lăsat impresia că este un fel de Zeitgeist ce decide irevocabil cine trebuie să câștige și cine trebuie să piardă.
Nu ai înțeles absolut nimic din recenzia asta și nu știi dacă vrei, până la urmă, să o citești sau nu? Hai că-ți dau o mână de ajutor: dacă Tarantino ar fi scris o carte, atunci ar fi scris una precum Hiturile celebre din epoca Showa.
April 27, 2022
Diría que es la peor novela que he leído del autor. El libro relata el conflicto entre dos grupos de parias sociales: un grupo de veinteañeros incels y otro de mujeres treintañeras y divorciadas, que se enfrentan en lo que parece una lucha de bandas callejeras.
La visión masculina más rancia impregna el libro. Las mujeres tendrán treinta años, pero la novela las trata como si fueran mujeres de la tercera edad, destacando la falta de su belleza y su deterioro. Mientras que la crítica al grupo de los hombres es casi nula en el narrador, que tan cruel se muestre con las mujeres. Por supuesto, el libro muestra suma frivolidad ante el abuso sexual y casi considera que esta lucha entre abuso y abusador es casi como parte de esta "guerra de sexos".
No entiendo porque el autor ha decidido hacer una historia de "guerra de sexos" (que ya de por si me parece un tema ridículo y que da mucho pie a caer en estereotipos) si parece que no ha hablado con una mujer en su vida. Las mujeres solo son fracasadas en cuanto su relación con los hombres: sus ex-maridos, sus posibles amantes y sus hijos. A ellas se las trata de fracasadas, mientras que al grupo de hombres se les trata de incomprendidos y para nada se cuestionan sus actitudes de abuso.
Entiendo este acercamiento nihilista del autor donde todo se siente absurdo y carente de sentido. La trama tiene un buen comienzo, grupos de solitarios que se juntan y, a pesar de todo, son incapaces de entenderse y escucharse. Siguen siendo solitarios a pesar de juntarse con gente de su misma naturaleza. Y me pareció interesante ver como estos grupos comienzan a vincularse y a conectar en cuanto tienen un objetivo común: el asesinato.
El narrador rancio con sus comentarios de cuñado, el estilo "edgy" de utilizar las metáforas más innecesariamente sexuales y el favoritismo por uno de los grupos, acaba por volver la novela un calvario. En vez de sentir una sensación de desasosiego o vacío como en otras obras sobre la falta de sentido de la vida, esta solo acaba por ser aburrida.
Los personajes nada definidos y la carencia de reflexiones hace que sea una novela con poco que ofrecer más allá de unas páginas violentas y otras muchas de comentarios machistas.
La visión masculina más rancia impregna el libro. Las mujeres tendrán treinta años, pero la novela las trata como si fueran mujeres de la tercera edad, destacando la falta de su belleza y su deterioro. Mientras que la crítica al grupo de los hombres es casi nula en el narrador, que tan cruel se muestre con las mujeres. Por supuesto, el libro muestra suma frivolidad ante el abuso sexual y casi considera que esta lucha entre abuso y abusador es casi como parte de esta "guerra de sexos".
No entiendo porque el autor ha decidido hacer una historia de "guerra de sexos" (que ya de por si me parece un tema ridículo y que da mucho pie a caer en estereotipos) si parece que no ha hablado con una mujer en su vida. Las mujeres solo son fracasadas en cuanto su relación con los hombres: sus ex-maridos, sus posibles amantes y sus hijos. A ellas se las trata de fracasadas, mientras que al grupo de hombres se les trata de incomprendidos y para nada se cuestionan sus actitudes de abuso.
Entiendo este acercamiento nihilista del autor donde todo se siente absurdo y carente de sentido. La trama tiene un buen comienzo, grupos de solitarios que se juntan y, a pesar de todo, son incapaces de entenderse y escucharse. Siguen siendo solitarios a pesar de juntarse con gente de su misma naturaleza. Y me pareció interesante ver como estos grupos comienzan a vincularse y a conectar en cuanto tienen un objetivo común: el asesinato.
El narrador rancio con sus comentarios de cuñado, el estilo "edgy" de utilizar las metáforas más innecesariamente sexuales y el favoritismo por uno de los grupos, acaba por volver la novela un calvario. En vez de sentir una sensación de desasosiego o vacío como en otras obras sobre la falta de sentido de la vida, esta solo acaba por ser aburrida.
Los personajes nada definidos y la carencia de reflexiones hace que sea una novela con poco que ofrecer más allá de unas páginas violentas y otras muchas de comentarios machistas.
January 1, 2018
Ryu Murikami has something of a cult following. Having read Popular Hits of the Showa Era, I am worried about the nature of this cult. The title is a wonderful joke and the premise has promise. The execution is too many executions. Just how bloody can droll be before the comedy is drained out dark comedy.
The fall back case for too many books like this is that it is a commentary on these terrible times, or a satire of the Russia/US Arms race. Popular Hits is not focused enough or logical enough to be much more than a too dark dystopia made to serve the overweening negativity of the dedicated punk goth rocker. Here the expression is made to evoke a now passé trend among some then older teens that pretended that everything and everyone is corrupt and terrible.
The title is taken, first from the Japanese tradition of naming an era for each new Emperor. The Showa Era was the life time of WW II Emperor Hirohito who died, ending the period in 1989. Greatest hits is a play on the expression used for rock music and the shorter one for gangster hits, i. e. murder.
The premise is that a group of supremely useless young Japanese males fall into one another’s company having in common except an interest in Karaoke and being stunned to immobility on those occasions when an unknown female undresses in her apartment window. For most of the book they will be described in terms rarely associated with functional humans.
One of their number indulges a whim by murdering a randomly selected middle age-Japanese woman. In the language of Japan she is an obasan, or auntie. As it happens she was a member of a group of obsans who have in common being single and the same first name.
What follows in an increasing grotesque campaign of revenge and counter revenge. It may be possible to force some kind of commentary on what is another wise well written novella. This attempt is merely the results of a rational mind seeking to rationalize ugliness.
The fall back case for too many books like this is that it is a commentary on these terrible times, or a satire of the Russia/US Arms race. Popular Hits is not focused enough or logical enough to be much more than a too dark dystopia made to serve the overweening negativity of the dedicated punk goth rocker. Here the expression is made to evoke a now passé trend among some then older teens that pretended that everything and everyone is corrupt and terrible.
The title is taken, first from the Japanese tradition of naming an era for each new Emperor. The Showa Era was the life time of WW II Emperor Hirohito who died, ending the period in 1989. Greatest hits is a play on the expression used for rock music and the shorter one for gangster hits, i. e. murder.
The premise is that a group of supremely useless young Japanese males fall into one another’s company having in common except an interest in Karaoke and being stunned to immobility on those occasions when an unknown female undresses in her apartment window. For most of the book they will be described in terms rarely associated with functional humans.
One of their number indulges a whim by murdering a randomly selected middle age-Japanese woman. In the language of Japan she is an obasan, or auntie. As it happens she was a member of a group of obsans who have in common being single and the same first name.
What follows in an increasing grotesque campaign of revenge and counter revenge. It may be possible to force some kind of commentary on what is another wise well written novella. This attempt is merely the results of a rational mind seeking to rationalize ugliness.
January 7, 2021
This book is MENTAL. But I loved it
February 6, 2020
I've read Murakami before and I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what he's doing here, so. Let's have some bullet points because that helps me get my thoughts in order better.
- This novel sets out to show us the most disgusting and apathetic excuses for human beings that have ever decided to group together. You might come into the novel thinking you're going to sympathise with one group over the other, but the novel treats the guys and the women the same way. In fact, most of the time I was reading it, I felt Murakami was going out of his way to make the characters as unsympathetic and hard to love as possible.
- And he uses just the right words to inspire disgust (congratulations to Ralph McCarthy for this excellent translation). Seriously, some of the smells early in the novel made me mentally gag; the first murder was described in such a way to sound as smelly and mundane and ugly as possible you practically think 'Well I can't blame them' when random passersby ignored the body and went on their way. And since this is a something of a satire, I'm gonna say it's successful. It's hilarious when it wants to be (but that totally depends on your sense of humour), and what it has to say about the human condition is cutting.
- I mentioned earlier that Murakami goes out of his way to make the characters hard to love, but there were moments when the narrative seems to slip and forget this--sometimes right before they die, but not always. Such as when the groups really bond together and have moments of introspection. That's what kept me reading, the moments when we seem to look behind the ugly crusty facade and into a moment of vulnerability, where the text actually treats the character as a human being with a name, separate from the group, and with their own personal fears and thoughts.
- It takes a while before the characters become more than 'one of the boys' or 'one of the oba-sans'. The aunties are actually more fleshed out, since they live real lives and have concrete concerns (whether trivial or not). The guys barely have anything but some reptilian desire to keep on living, with few exception. This is balanced imo by having the aunties all named Midori, as if to force upon them a homogeneity that they otherwise would easily break out of.
- That said, I feel the text is more loving towards the oba-sans. Not because a bunch of men in the novel get all 'Yes, let's kill oba-sans!!' at the mere mention of this group of people, but because the text gives enough fucks to turn these character into people who could sustain thought and emotions and plans for more than 5 minutes.
- Murakami almost gets it. Like at this point I'm not sure if I can say it's part of the novel that's holding itself back or if the writer actually believes what he's saying but we almost reached perfection and then we didn't.
We could in fact have had these women realise the problem wasn't that society was holding them back, or that they haven't ventured out enough to find the right man, or (spoiler: this is a revelation we are given towards the end) that women are only alluring to men once they stop wanting men or whatever. The problem is that they ever thought they needed to feel the passion in the first place. Not finding a man who would inspire the desire to pour their drink is not the issue--just pour your own drinks, ladies. It's fine. We almost get there, but the text always hangs back.
On a related note, the text also flirts with the idea of homosexuality. I'm not really sure how to judge this, as the novel doesn't really seem to play this as a joke or something we should be pitying them for. In fact, it serves to humanise them and shows us how shaken they both are about what has happened so far. So uh. I guess the novel went there because that's where it would go had they been man and woman? Idk. It was a thing.
- Actually writing all this down now makes me realise I do like this novel more than I thought I did. It's funny, it's insightful, it's disgusting and horrible. The characters are so bad, especially the guys. But I have a soft spot for all the girls and the lone Nobue. It's not perfect like I said, but it was fun.
We could have had it all, though.
As a sort of tl;dr: this is not an edgelord novel that is written to shock but do nothing else. Yes it does shock and yes sometimes what it wants to say is bullshit (women are not humanised simply because they have child-rearing instincts, Jesus), but there is something of worth in all that blood and gore and they're meant to be there. I don't think those moments when the text forgets it hates these characters and actually say something insightful about the human condition are there by chance, and those moments make the rest worth it. Well, if you like this kind of thing. Turns out I do.
- This novel sets out to show us the most disgusting and apathetic excuses for human beings that have ever decided to group together. You might come into the novel thinking you're going to sympathise with one group over the other, but the novel treats the guys and the women the same way. In fact, most of the time I was reading it, I felt Murakami was going out of his way to make the characters as unsympathetic and hard to love as possible.
- And he uses just the right words to inspire disgust (congratulations to Ralph McCarthy for this excellent translation). Seriously, some of the smells early in the novel made me mentally gag; the first murder was described in such a way to sound as smelly and mundane and ugly as possible you practically think 'Well I can't blame them' when random passersby ignored the body and went on their way. And since this is a something of a satire, I'm gonna say it's successful. It's hilarious when it wants to be (but that totally depends on your sense of humour), and what it has to say about the human condition is cutting.
- I mentioned earlier that Murakami goes out of his way to make the characters hard to love, but there were moments when the narrative seems to slip and forget this--sometimes right before they die, but not always. Such as when the groups really bond together and have moments of introspection. That's what kept me reading, the moments when we seem to look behind the ugly crusty facade and into a moment of vulnerability, where the text actually treats the character as a human being with a name, separate from the group, and with their own personal fears and thoughts.
- It takes a while before the characters become more than 'one of the boys' or 'one of the oba-sans'. The aunties are actually more fleshed out, since they live real lives and have concrete concerns (whether trivial or not). The guys barely have anything but some reptilian desire to keep on living, with few exception. This is balanced imo by having the aunties all named Midori, as if to force upon them a homogeneity that they otherwise would easily break out of.
- That said, I feel the text is more loving towards the oba-sans. Not because a bunch of men in the novel get all 'Yes, let's kill oba-sans!!' at the mere mention of this group of people, but because the text gives enough fucks to turn these character into people who could sustain thought and emotions and plans for more than 5 minutes.
- Murakami almost gets it. Like at this point I'm not sure if I can say it's part of the novel that's holding itself back or if the writer actually believes what he's saying but we almost reached perfection and then we didn't.
We could in fact have had these women realise the problem wasn't that society was holding them back, or that they haven't ventured out enough to find the right man, or (spoiler: this is a revelation we are given towards the end) that women are only alluring to men once they stop wanting men or whatever. The problem is that they ever thought they needed to feel the passion in the first place. Not finding a man who would inspire the desire to pour their drink is not the issue--just pour your own drinks, ladies. It's fine. We almost get there, but the text always hangs back.
On a related note, the text also flirts with the idea of homosexuality. I'm not really sure how to judge this, as the novel doesn't really seem to play this as a joke or something we should be pitying them for. In fact, it serves to humanise them and shows us how shaken they both are about what has happened so far. So uh. I guess the novel went there because that's where it would go had they been man and woman? Idk. It was a thing.
- Actually writing all this down now makes me realise I do like this novel more than I thought I did. It's funny, it's insightful, it's disgusting and horrible. The characters are so bad, especially the guys. But I have a soft spot for all the girls and the lone Nobue. It's not perfect like I said, but it was fun.
We could have had it all, though.
As a sort of tl;dr: this is not an edgelord novel that is written to shock but do nothing else. Yes it does shock and yes sometimes what it wants to say is bullshit (women are not humanised simply because they have child-rearing instincts, Jesus), but there is something of worth in all that blood and gore and they're meant to be there. I don't think those moments when the text forgets it hates these characters and actually say something insightful about the human condition are there by chance, and those moments make the rest worth it. Well, if you like this kind of thing. Turns out I do.
February 10, 2011
I think that I have read enough Ryu Murakami at this point to safely consider myself a connoisseur without sounding like too much of an asshole. This Japanese horror writer always manages to tickle my gag reflex or give me school bus giggles. He is lurid. He is inventive. He is hilarious.
However, if I wasn't a Murakami-sseur, I'm not sure his most-recently translated to English novella "Popular Hits of the Showa Era" would inspire the sort of supple roots, oaky after taste-style of fandom I've developed. In fact, I'm not sure I'd bother following his career. Luckily, I count his novel "In the Miso Soup" among my favorite books of all time and was appropriately stunned at the first sentence of "Coin Locker Babies" so I know how to sift out the moments of gold in this sort of crudely-drawn semblance of a story well enough to consider it a fine read.
The story stars two dueling factions: A herd of 20-something misfit boys who hang out on Saturday nights and watch the neighbor lady get naked, have Rock/Paper/Scissors contests and then jet off for the finale: A fully costumed and instrumentally outfitted go-round of karaoke; A herd of late 30-something women known as The Midori Society, a faction of divorced or otherwise single women united by the same last name, although not related.
One of the boys commits a random act of fatal violence against one of the women, and the other women find a clue to the killer's identity at the crime scene. They kill him back while he's mid-stream in public urination. A junior college girl -- who is the butt of most of the story's humor because of the grim effect she has on people who encounter her ("It seemed as if even her voice were sprinkled with disease dust ...") -- witnesses the second crime and soon Team A and Team B are trying to off each other in new, exciting, bigger and badder ways.
One of Murakami's trademarks is the barf-inducing death scene where a throat is slit and spills blood the color of soy sauce or a crazed fiance goes Pampered Chef on a guy's Achilles Tendon. There is so much back-and-forth death and retaliatory death in this book that he dulls the descriptions, only once really going crazy on the way a bullet hole can rip into a face ("twisting the face like a wrung rag"). He seems to replace it with humorous set-ups to the deed: The women meeting with a military specialist. The men renting a helicopter.
So the premise is good. The story is a little random and frequently veers into a silliness that doesn't seem to translate. But there are these two-to-three sentence gushes, quintessential Murakami, that make "Hits of the Showa Era" worth reading. After you're already a fan, though.
However, if I wasn't a Murakami-sseur, I'm not sure his most-recently translated to English novella "Popular Hits of the Showa Era" would inspire the sort of supple roots, oaky after taste-style of fandom I've developed. In fact, I'm not sure I'd bother following his career. Luckily, I count his novel "In the Miso Soup" among my favorite books of all time and was appropriately stunned at the first sentence of "Coin Locker Babies" so I know how to sift out the moments of gold in this sort of crudely-drawn semblance of a story well enough to consider it a fine read.
The story stars two dueling factions: A herd of 20-something misfit boys who hang out on Saturday nights and watch the neighbor lady get naked, have Rock/Paper/Scissors contests and then jet off for the finale: A fully costumed and instrumentally outfitted go-round of karaoke; A herd of late 30-something women known as The Midori Society, a faction of divorced or otherwise single women united by the same last name, although not related.
One of the boys commits a random act of fatal violence against one of the women, and the other women find a clue to the killer's identity at the crime scene. They kill him back while he's mid-stream in public urination. A junior college girl -- who is the butt of most of the story's humor because of the grim effect she has on people who encounter her ("It seemed as if even her voice were sprinkled with disease dust ...") -- witnesses the second crime and soon Team A and Team B are trying to off each other in new, exciting, bigger and badder ways.
One of Murakami's trademarks is the barf-inducing death scene where a throat is slit and spills blood the color of soy sauce or a crazed fiance goes Pampered Chef on a guy's Achilles Tendon. There is so much back-and-forth death and retaliatory death in this book that he dulls the descriptions, only once really going crazy on the way a bullet hole can rip into a face ("twisting the face like a wrung rag"). He seems to replace it with humorous set-ups to the deed: The women meeting with a military specialist. The men renting a helicopter.
So the premise is good. The story is a little random and frequently veers into a silliness that doesn't seem to translate. But there are these two-to-three sentence gushes, quintessential Murakami, that make "Hits of the Showa Era" worth reading. After you're already a fan, though.
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