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Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Murakami’s latest thrills, despite lackluster ending

Perhaps more than any other contemporary literary writer, Haruki Murakami divides audiences with his tangled prose and frustratingly inactive protagonists. This is the writer who spent much of the 900-plus pages of “1Q84” describing the process of cooking, stretching and cleaning a gun. There is no one quite like Japan’s most famous “butter-stinker” in the current literary climate – a writer with more akin to Kurt Vonnegut and Raymond Chandler than Kenzaburo Oe and Yasunari Kawabata.

If you’re a fan of Murakami, his latest novel will sate your appetite. If not, it’s best to look elsewhere for your literary thrills.

Count me among the first camp, a reader captivated at first by the depths of “The Wind-up Bird Chronicle” and puzzled by the magic realism in “Kafka on the Shore.” “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” is considerably shorter – and shallower – than those works, but the well-trod themes of Murakami are on display once again.

The titular protagonist is vintage Murakami. An engineer who designs train stations, Tsukuru Tazaki loves classical music and is desperately searching for an identity, much like Kafka, Tengo (“1Q84”) and Toru (“The Wind-up Bird Chronicle”) before him.

“Because I have no sense of self. I have no personality, no brilliant color. I have nothing to offer. That’s always been my problem.”

-Tsukuru Tazaki

Tsukuru’s world is thrown into disarray by the abandonment of four high school friends, all of whom have colors in their names. A self-described “empty vessel,” Tsukuru is heartbroken and despondent following the unexplained shunning by the four people he cares for most in the world. Much of the plot of the novel is propelled by Tsukuru seeking an explanation for this cataclysmic event in his life, but the resolution of the mystery is neither satisfying nor profound, and leaves more questions than answers.

The perspective- switching narration that propelled the reader through “1Q84” is absent in the most recent novel, leading to a more meandering lamentation on loneliness. Also gone is the cultural significance present in flashback sequences of “The Wind-up Bird Chronicle.” As a result, the novel is on-par with some of Murakami’s lesser works of fiction, as Tsukuru is not particularly distinguishable from the author’s other milquetoast narrators, and the signature Murakami magical realism takes a backseat to Tsukuru’s pragmatic mind.

The supporting characters possess a characteristic impishness that defines Murakami’s bit players. Tsukuru’s love interest is a coy, capable woman who spends much of her time eating delicacies. Of the four friends Tsukuru seeks out, the most interesting is Eri, who has fled Japan for Norway with a kindly husband and two plump children. Her affection for Tsukuru gives the reader a glimpse of what might have been had the narrator realized his sexual nature sooner, but mostly their conversation serves to answer plot questions and establish an interesting sort of jealousy for Eri that humanizes her much more than the other characters.

Perhaps most jarring is the lackluster ending. When Tsukuru seems on the verge of finding a serviceable identity, the novel just ends. Murakami is also known for his somewhat maddening conclusions that leave the reader guessing. But with “‘Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki,” it seems the author simply ran out of ideas. While there are certainly worse ways to be introduced to Murakami, who is very close to being the finest writer of a generation, one of his longer masterworks (particularly “The Wind-up Bird Chronicle”) would be a better way to glimpse the author’s genius.

Kip Hill is a public safety reporter for the Spokesman-Review who spent the better part of his education with his nose in a novel. He earned his master’s degree in English literature before pursuing journalism.