Since this is a book club, this entry will be less of a review and more of a series of discussion launch-pads, chock full of spoilers. So finish reading the book! Think of it like attending tutorial in university :P
- One of the first things that struck me was the alleged conflict between Calcutecs and Semiotecs. Now I don't know if this is deliberate or a by-product of translation, but the term 'Semiotecs' immediately brings my mind to semiotics -- the study of signs and symbols, including how meaning is constructed in language. One of Ferdinand de Saussure's basic linguistic premises is that all information that enters our brains comes to us through language -- be it text, body language, visual information or whatnot. The three major components of delivering information are the sign, signifier and signified. The sign is the object conveying information. A tree is a sign, a stop sign is a sign, a smiley emoticon is a sign, the word 'cat' is a sign. Each sign is constructed of a series of signifiers and contexts, elements that our brains link to specific meanings, or signifieds. For example, in a smiley emoticon, the symbols : and ) have their own meaning in language, but paired together in :) they mean something different. Thus, context changes meaning, and different collections of signifiers have different signifieds. One of the most contentious issues raised in de Saussurian semiotics is that the link between signifier and signified (symbol and meaning) is completely arbitrary. There is no connection, for example, between the letters C-A-T and the meaning it conjures up. There is nothing feline about C, A or T, nothing to do with fur and claws and snooty independence. As such, language is not only a collective body -- a series of meanings agreed upon by everybody who speaks it -- but a changing, flexible and decomposing force.
This decomposition is truly evident in the nature of the Professor's sound cancellation -- when his granddaughter is sound-removed, her language makes no sense to the Calcutec officer. What happens when very fabric of communication breaks down? When the agreed upon symbols and signifiers no longer function to relate the same signifieds?
At first the book seems to pit the logic of numbers against the arbitrary nature of written language, but as the lines between Calcutec and Semiotec are blurred (and later become completely superficial), what does that mean? Yes, numbers are recognizable as a language just as arbitrary as any other. But what does it say when numbers/language; destruction/preservation; force/manipulation are different sides of the same coin -- and, ultimately, the same mind?
- Another thing about signifieds and communication I found fascinating was the complete lack of proper names in the book. None of the characters have names. They are all identifiable (and thoroughly developed) by their relationships to the protagonist and their personality traits. "Big Boy and Junior", for instance, could easily be replaced by their names -- but this way, the reader receives a more complete signified without any of the normal textual signifiers. Which is perhaps more honest, I think, making meaning that exists beyond language (despite the irony of being in a printed book). Throughout text, signifieds grow in our understanding as more and more of the plot is revealed to us, but normally the signifiers would stay static. 'Jane' at the beginning of a text is the same 'Jane' at the end of the text. In HBW, these character tags expand and contract over time. The librarian becomes "my reference desk girlfriend"; the "Professor's granddaughter" becomes "the chubby pink girl" both before her relationship to her grandfather is established and after she has (forcibly) claimed her independence in the protagonist's broken apartment. These tags explain more than 'Jane' could.
This also highlights the contrasting limitations of the End of the World, where one is purely defined by one's profession. There is no wiggle room in identity there; just as 'Jane' summarizes the entirety of Jane's life and personality, 'Librarian' or 'Gatekeeper' does the same. It encompasses a varied personality and reduces it to a title.
(A process which is interesting in and of itself, as that is what the brain does when receiving information -- taking the myriad facets of experience and observation and managing it so that it becomes useful information. After all, we don't spend much time thinking "okay, smooth brown trunk plus 8 feet tall plus wide spread of branches plus green or red palmate leaves equals maple tree.")
- The book, I think, embraces a movement away from simple text and speech as a reliable signifier, forcing the reader to be more analytical in the way they process what's going on. Not everything as it seems, and the complications of communication (like the sound-removed granddaughter, the clouded history of the library books, the puzzles of communication in The End of the World) become commonplace. The failure of communication becomes more accurate -- and more interesting -- than proper communication.
- The lack of music, of art, of creativity in the End of the World is an interesting contrast to the Calcutec officer's life. I suppose it is impossible to know whether this is a by-product of the Professor's tinkering, the Calcutec's mind structure, or simply because in the deep hidden recesses of our minds there is no need for art, music, etc.
But suppose, theoretically, that the subconscious workings of the mind needs no art to regulate itself and keep its perfection. It even goes so far as to reject and prohibit art. Art will ruin its perfection. Does art, then, remind us of, or even facilitate, human imperfection, human struggle? Is that its value?
The Calcultec officer's conscious life is replete with art: classical music, Bob Dylan, old rock stars, Russian and French literature, wild west movies, fine whisky and delicious food. He relishes in these things as a counterpoint to his seemingly-mundane existence. Even his memories (or false-memories, like water-level rising in the underground temple) are conveyed through a filmic mode of communication.
Is this just a by-product of a mediatized world, or does art then become a way we filter experience?
- The Russian literature and American wild west films are particularly intriguing. Two of Japan's major cultural influences due to proximity and military influence. Their importance is probably (at least in part) because of Murakami's own post-war influences and the opening of Japan's cultural borders. But they also speak of the idea of the benevolent foreign universe: that somewhere outside this place is a world of culture and beauty and progress, and within this (cultural) prison, we can only catch glimpses.
As such, the End of the World could almost be a metaphor of pre-War Japan, closed off from the rest of the world. Idyllic, perhaps, but missing something. (Of course I've only had rudimentary study of Japanese history, so forgive my potential ridiculous statements :P)
- The metaphor of the shadow is an interesting one. One that I haven't quite puzzled through what it means. An integral part of us that we take for granted, whose burden we must bear at every choice. Youth, perhaps. First world status, perhaps. I'm not sure. It's a poignant metaphor nonetheless.
- The passage of time, and its emotional nuances, vary greatly between the two stories. Months pass for the Dreamreader, and Murakami is quick to impress upon his readers the changing seasons and their emotional weight. The sombre solitude and decline of winter feel crisp and deadly in comparison to soft, golden edge of fall. These passages read almost like protracted traditional Japanese haiku, which possesses kireji and kigo: the first, called the "cutting word", represents a turning point at the end of a line that lends structure and meaning; the latter is an (often indirect) allusion to the season in which the haiku occurs. Perhaps the titles of these chapters, less forthright that the chapter titles for the Hard Boiled Wonderland series, can be understood as the kireji.
Two weeks pass for the Calcutec officer, a much more abrupt and hard-boiled (haha) series of chases and escapes. Nearly every moment is documented, and he barely gets any sleep. The weight of the action here is made even heavier by the intellectual complications the Professor presents us with; much different than the moral obligations the Dreamreader bears.
- And, finally, my last question: what happens when you jump through the Whirlpool?
~Laine