Overall, this book probably demanded more concentrated reading than I was able to give it. While I did not lose the trail of the stories, I obviously was not so enamored of them that I let some other things go by undone.
It was a fantastic concept of a futuristic world–yet set in a completely contemporary setting of Japan, 1980s. At least one section was, plus a few underground worlds and some weird groups both above ground and below. The ongoing other world is completely different; safe–if one stays within its walls–due to the sacrifices made. Yet despite the idea that without the sense of self and memories there is no great happiness nor any great despair, there was for me much sadness. The self represented by an intelligent, articulate shadow that must be shed, is treated rather cruelly. The beasts outside of the walls are also there for the purpose of cleaning up after others by absorbing their minds and then in turn die and are destroyed. There are people in the Woods we never get to meet yet we know their lives are miserable. The Caretaker, one who lives on the edge of the Woods but not allowed into the city, is not a happy camper. If the narrator himself has created this world, I’m sure I don’t know why.
Murakami has skillfully created a very detailed weave of narrative, yet he hasn’t taken his characters into full bloom, not even allowing them names. There is a sense of danger in both worlds, from the inklings and the semiotics in one, though we only meet that danger once when the narrator is beaten and his apartment trashed by two men. The inklings, though we read of their powers, are only a whispered rumble close by. In the other world, the Woods are the threat. We really don’t go into them deep enough to face any danger.
After I finished this book, I read again the back cover blurb which claims the story is “hilariously funny.” I’m afraid I didn’t get that part either. Perhaps some of it is due to the fact that I’m reading this book our of its era. It just didn’t appeal, but then, I’m not a huge sci fi fan, which this book can possibly qualify as, and perhaps it is my own fault for not reading and getting into it more expeditiously.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology