Men Without Women by Haruki Murakami #TranslatedBooks

“It’s quite easy to become Men Without Women. You love a woman deeply, and then she goes off somewhere. That’s all it takes.”

For reasons best understood by the ‘better’ half of the species, women are even in today’s age considered inferior, conniving, manipulative and sensuous beings, without whom men cannot survive. While this may appear paradoxical in nature, on careful reflection it showcases a further dehumanisation of women. Their existence is effectively distilled into a symbol in the lives of men. A symbol for men used in an interchangeable, unmemorable, placeholder manner. The absence or loss of that symbol creates a vacuum that leads to angst, stemming more from frustration at being left alone rather than genuine sorrow.

Very rarely does one find books that can be summed up by its title; “Men Without Women” is one of them. Consisting of a collection of seven short stories, this work revolves around men who have lost women in their lives to the embrace of other men or death. Originally written in Japanese, five stories initially were translated to English in 2014 and published in ‘The New Yorker’. It was only in 2017 that the entire collection was published as a book. 

Each story attempts to expose an unexplored side of despair and loneliness, but most of them often come across as narratives steeped in self-pity, seeking solidarity and unconditional sympathy. All of them play their part in creating, as a whole, a typical Murakami book replete with his classic symbols – a bar, whose only customers drink whiskey to disguise their loneliness and sway to the floating notes of jazz, a disappearing cat, Kafka and the Beetle’s songs. Yet when taken apart, none of the stories stand out as extraordinary, and fail to meet the standard set by Murakami himself. Known for his dreamy narrative style infused with magical realism, “Men Without Women” fails to transport the reader into an ethereal realm, instead firmly planting them in a society that reeks of insecurity, insincerity and apathy.

The essential premise of the work is definitely intriguing. We really hoped that Murakami would have had some truly profound insights on this idea, but we were mistaken. Giving voice to the ‘abandoned’ man is a welcome change from all the usual stereotypes of women garnering sympathy for being ‘discarded’ in a patriarchal world. This book, however, is not groundbreaking in that regard, and has a narrow focus laced with uncomfortable sexist and misogynistic undertones. Reading women characters written by heterosexual men is something we are a little skeptical about, and sadly the portrayal of women in this book left us feeling quite uneasy. Murakami’s books often portray a general archetype of women –  the manic pixie dream girl or the stone cold, emotionless vixen. No one is expecting a feminist perspective in Murakami’s writing, but a combination of Janus-faced men and his angelic/demonic perspective of women, together make “Men Without Women” highly problematic. At best, these portrayals are embarrassing to read, at worst they are enough to make you abandon this book.

Taking a look at the seven stories individually, we found the first three stories to be actually quite interesting, giving us reason enough to continue delving into the book. The third story, named ‘An Independent Organ’ was a lot more mature compared to the previous ones, as it explored the tale of a man smitten by a woman who doesn’t love him as intensely as he does. The protagonist reckons that women have an ‘independent organ’ which allows them to lie without a guilty conscience, and frankly only so much derogation of women can be excused by good writing. The remainder of the stories are not half as memorable; some of them like ‘Scheherazade’ and ‘Kino’ are well-written and compelling, however lack the immersion that is Murakami’s signature. The former story in particular took on a more meandering style, trying to evoke emotions in a little too forced manner. The sixth story ‘Samsa in Love’ is a homage to Kafka’s ‘Metamorphosis’ and Murakami does justice to it and includes his own twist. The final titular story ‘Men Without Women’ was one of the biggest letdowns; written in a flat, stream-of-consciousness style, we couldn’t bear to finish this story out of boredom. 

One aspect that is consistent with all of Murakami’s works, is his writing. His flair for language and his ability to weave together the real with the surreal is what compelled us to read as much of the book as we could. We were, however, disappointed with the obvious lack of emotional depth of all the characters. The narratives get repetitive and tedious to read, and the male protagonists are almost identical with only minor tweaks in names and ages. While it’s entirely possible to feel compassion for these characters, for us it was uninspiring and unrelatable. 

Murakami, for us, has always belonged to that category where you expect the unexpected. “Men Without Women” was no different, except this time, the unexpected left us with disappointment, particularly since we are aware of what the author is capable of. Nevertheless, it can definitely prove to be an interesting read for those beginning their journey into the colourful world of Murakami.