📕 Kafka On The Shore

A masterpiece by Haruki Murakami that intertwines magical realism and contemporary literature. Here, I’ll share the elements that captivated me, and those that left me puzzled.

---

About the book

Author:	Haruki Murakami
Year of release:	2002
Genre:	Fiction, Magical Realism, Fantasy, Japan, Contemporary, Literature, Novel
Pages:	467
Average WPM:	420
Date Started/Finished:	17 to 31 August-2022
Time took:	5.88 Hours

What I Liked About It and What I didn’t

• What I liked
  • The story was unique
• What I didn’t like
  • The alternative story that was going on the side didn’t make much sense

How I Discovered It

My sister asked me to read it, though she didn’t read it herself 👍

Summary + Notes

---

The Boy Named Crow

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions,” Crow says.

You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm

Chapter 1

I’ve built a wall around me, never letting anybody inside and trying not to venture outside myself. Who could like somebody like that?

Chapter 5

“Kafka Tamura,” she muses. “Weird name. Easy to remember, though.” I nod. Becoming a different person might be hard, but taking on a different name is a cinch.

• All heading to school. Not me, though. I’m alone, going in the opposite direction. We’re on different tracks in more ways than one.

“According to Aristophanes in Plato’s Symposium, in the ancient world of myth there were three types of people,” Oshima says. “Have you heard about this?” “No.” “In ancient times people weren’t just male or female, but one of three types: male/male, male/female, or female/female. In other words, each person was made out of the components of two people.

Chapter 6

Sometimes when I try the cat is on his guard and runs away without saying a word. When all I ever said was hello.” “I can well imagine. There’re all sorts of cats—just like there’re all sorts of people.” “That’s exactly right. Nakata feels the same way. There are all kinds of people in the world, and all kinds of cats.”

Chapter 7

• I stare at this ceaseless, rushing crowd and imagine a time a hundred years from now. In a hundred years everybody here—me included—will have disappeared from the face of the earth and turned into ashes or dust. A weird thought, but everything in front of me starts to seem unreal, like a gust of wind could blow it all away.

• “‘In the Penal Colony,’” Oshima says. “I love that story. Only Kafka could have written that.”

• “I think what Kafka does is give a purely mechanical explanation of that complex machine in the story, as sort of a substitute for explaining the situation we’re in. What I mean is…” I have to give it some more thought. “What I mean is, that’s his own device for explaining the kind of lives we lead. Not by talking about our situation, but by talking about the details of the machine.”

I wasn’t just giving some general theory of Kafka’s fiction, I was talking about something very real. Kafka’s complex, mysterious execution device wasn’t some metaphor or allegory—it’s actually here, all around me. But I don’t think anybody would get that.

Chapter 13

That’s why I like to listen to Schubert while I’m driving. Like I said, it’s because all the performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I’m driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of—that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally, I find that encouraging

Chapter 15

His handwriting’s pretty easy to spot: It’s all a question of imagination. Our responsibility begins with the power to imagine. It’s just like Yeats said: In dreams begin responsibilities. Flip this around and you could say that where there’s no power to imagine, no responsibility can arise. Just like we see with Eichmann.

You might control yourself now, and not masturbate, but they’ll get you in the end, as a wet dream.

Chapter 17

“Speaking of contradictions,” Oshima suddenly says, “when I first met you I felt a kind of contradiction in you. You’re seeking something, but at the same time running away for all you’re worth.” “What is it I’m seeking?” Oshima shakes his head. He glances in the rearview mirror and frowns. “I have no idea. I’m just saying I got that impression.”

• “From my own experience, when someone is trying very hard to get something, they don’t. And when they’re running away from something as hard as they can, it usually catches up with them. I’m generalizing, of course.”

• “The curse on Cassandra?”

I shake my head. “I have a feeling you’re about to come to a turning point.” “You’re right,” Oshima says. “That’s how stories happen—with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There’s only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness a story.

• “Kafka, in everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.”

Chapter 19

• “In English there’s this expression red herring. Something that’s very interesting but leads you astray from the main topic. I’m afraid I haven’t looked into why they use that kind of expression, though.”

• “Actually what I’m doing is shifting the analogy,” Oshima says. “One of the most effective methods of argument, according to Aristotle. The citizens of ancient Athens enjoyed using this kind of intellectual trick very much. It’s a shame, though, that at the time women weren’t included in the definition of ‘citizen.’”

• “‘Cause if you take every single person who lacks much imagination seriously, there’s no end to it,”

Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe. Of course it’s important to know what’s right and what’s wrong. Individual errors in judgment can usually be corrected. As long as you have the courage to admit mistakes, things can be turned around. But intolerant, narrow minds with no imagination are like parasites that transform the host, change form, and continue to thrive. They’re a lost cause, and I don’t want anyone like that coming in here.”

Chapter 26

“My grandpa always said asking a question is embarrassing for a moment, but not asking is embarrassing for a lifetime.”

Chapter 28

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

Chapter 30

“But I don’t have a character. Or any feelings. Shape I may take, converse I may, but neither god nor Buddha am I, rather an insensate being whose heart thus differs from that of man.” “What the—?” “A line from Ueda Akinari’s Tales of Moonlight and Rain. I doubt you’ve read it.”

Chapter 31

“At any rate, you—and your theory—are throwing a stone at a target that’s very far away. Do you understand that?” I nod. “I know. But metaphors can reduce the distance.” “We’re not metaphors.” “I know,” I say. “But metaphors help eliminate what separates you and me.” A faint smile comes to her as she looks up at me. “That’s the oddest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of, one you haven’t seen in a long time. It’s just a natural feeling. You’re not the person who discovered that feeling, so don’t go trying to patent it, okay?”

Chapter 32

His first-ever visit to a library had made him painfully aware of how little he knew. The amount of things he didn’t know about the world was infinite. The infinite, by definition, has no limits, and thinking about it gave him a mild migraine.

Chapter 33

“That backpack’s like your symbol of freedom,” he comments. “Guess so,” I say. “Having an object that symbolizes freedom might make a person happier than actually getting the freedom it represents.”

Chapter 36

“Pointless thinking is worse than no thinking at all.”

Chapter 37

Nobody can help you. That’s what love’s all about, Kafka. You’re the one having those wonderful feelings, but you have to go it alone as you wander through the dark. Your mind and body have to bear it all. All by yourself.

Chapter 39

Like an anchorless ship, time floats aimlessly across the broad sea.

Chapter 42

“Actually, I don’t have any memories either. I’m dumb, you see, so could you tell me what memories are like?” Miss Saeki stared at her hands on the desk, then looked up at Nakata again. “Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”

Chapter 49

“Every one of us is losing something precious to us,” he says after the phone stops ringing. “Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That’s part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads—at least that’s where I imagine it—there’s a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in a while, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you’ll live forever in your own private library.”

“I want you to remember me,” Miss Saeki says, and looks right into my eyes. “If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets.” Time weighs down on you like an old, ambiguous dream. You keep on moving, trying to slip through it. But even if you go to the ends of the earth, you won’t be able to escape it. Still, you have to go there—to the edge of the world. There’s something you can’t do unless you get there.