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Ryū Murakami Books

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Piercing

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Audition

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Tokyo Decadence

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“There were little girls who would snuggle up to any grown man and try to guide his hand inside their underwear, and there were kids who compulsively bit their own arms. Kids who would suddenly start twitching and banging their heads against a wall, not even stopping when the blood ran down their faces. Kids who waddled around oblivious to the stinking load in their own pants. Watching children like this, it was all too easy to see why their parents beat them. It was only natural to hate such kids, to ignore them and shower only your other children with love. Who wouldn't? But of course that wasn't the way it really worked. Such behaviors weren't the reasons parents abused children, but the results of abuse. Children are powerless. No matter how viciously they're beaten, children were powerless to do anything about it. Even if Mother hit them with a shoehorn or the hose of a vacuum cleaner or the handle of a kitchen knife, or strangled them or poured boiling water on them, they couldn't escape her; they couldn't even truly despise her. Children would struggle desperately to feel love for their parents. Rather than hate a parent, in fact, they'd choose to hate themselves. Love and violence became so intertwined for them that when they grew up and got into relationships, only hysteria could set their hearts at ease. Kindness, gentleness - anything along those lines just caused tension, since there was no telling when it would turn to overt hostility.”

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Author:Ryū Murakami
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“These young men, in other words, represented a variety of types, but one thing they had in common was that they'd all given up on committing positively to anything in life. This was not their fault, however. The blame lay with a certain ubiquitous spirit of the times, transmitted to them by their respective mothers. And perhaps it goes without saying that this "spirit of the times" was in fact an oppressive value system based primarily upon the absolute certainty that nothing in this world was ever going to change.”

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Book:Popular Hits of the Showa Era
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“I changed my personality just like that. I became modest and reserved, even a little withdrawn, and after that there were lots of people who wanted to be my friend. not that we necessarily stayed friends very long, but still, I made the change because I realised something: that the sex you have with a man at your own suggestion is just never that good. After all, if you have to ask for sex, it means that the man isn't really into it, right? And guys are never sweet or gentle or thoughtful in bed if they're not really into it. There's nothing cute about their faces when they come, either, and you end up wondering what's the point of rubbing your flesh and organs together like that, having this thing flopping around inside you. It makes you feel even lonelier than if you were alone. And then, after he comes, the man makes an even worse face. What am I doing with a slut like this? That's what the expression on his face says.”

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Book:Piercing
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“When I went on anyway, my body began to grow cold, and I thought I was dead. Face pale, my dead self sat down on a bench and began to turn toward my real self, who was watching this hallucination on the screen of the night. My dead self came nearer, just as if it might want to shake hands with my real self. That's when I panicked and tried to run. But my dead self pursued me and finally caught me, entered me and controlled me. I'd felt then just the way I felt now. I felt as if a hole had opened in my head from which consciousness and memory leaked out and in their place the rash crowded in, and a cold like spoiled roast chicken. But that time before, shaking and clinging to the damp bench, I'd told myself, Hey, take a good look, isn't the world still under your feet? I'm on this ground, and on this same ground are trees and grass and ants carrying sand to their nests, little girls chasing rolling balls, and puppies running.”

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Book:Almost Transparent Blue
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“After listening to a lot of these stories, I began to think that American loneliness is a completely different creature from anything we experience in this country, and it made me glad I was born Japanese. The type of loneliness where you need to keep struggling to accept a situation is fundamentally different from the sort you know you'll get through if you just hang in there.”

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Book:In the Miso Soup
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“..sex wasn’t just about two people getting naked and tangled up together. A lot of other things were involved, things that make you feel so good you forget who you are, and things that feel so creepy you literally get goose bumps, and things you hold so dear you’re afraid to go to sleep, and things that make you so happy you want to bounce up and down—layer after layer of things like that, all mixed up into a sticky mess with the blood and sweat and love juice.”

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Book:Popular Hits of the Showa Era
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“But why is it that if you imagine a baby who smells of milk, for example, you can't help smiling? Why is there such an agreement around the world about what is or isn't a foul smell? Who decided what smells bad? Is it impossible that somewhere in this world there are people who, if they sat next to a homeless fellow they'd get the urge to snuggle up to him, but if they sat next to a baby they'd get an urge to kill it?”

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Book:In the Miso Soup
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“They needed a reason why a little kid would commit murder, someone or something to point the finger at, and I think they were relieved when they hit upon horror movies as the culprit. But there's no reason a child commits murder, just as there's no reason a child gets lost. What would it be - because his parents weren't watching him? That's not a reason, it's just a step in the process.”

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Book:In the Miso Soup
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“Every time he studied this instrument, with its slender, gleaming steel rod that tapered down to such needle-like sharpness, he wondered why it was necessary to have things like this in the world. If it were truly only for chopping ice, you'd think a completely different design might do. The people who produce and sell things like this don't understand, he thought. They don't realize that some of us break out in a cold sweat at just a glimpse of that shiny, pointed tip.”

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Book:Piercing
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“Los recuerdos no son como las palabras; son suaves y viscosos. Están cubiertos de un limo pegajoso, igual que un pene tras el acto sexual, o la vagina durante la menstruación, y tienen la forma de renacuajos o culebrillas de agua. Cuando estos recuerdos durmientes despiertan, empiezan por retorcerse, después nadan, primero despacio, poco a poco más rápido, hasta la superficie. Y una vez que llegan ahí, tus sentidos se cierran. La primera oleada te da en los labios, después en la palma de las manos, en los dedos del pie, en las axilas. Algunos recuerdos se escapan por los poros de la piel y merodean por tu cuerpo como una niebla, esperando a que lleguen los demás y se les unan. Cuando ya están todos ahí, se juntan para formar una imagen, y es como si se encendiera una pantalla de televisor ante tus ojos.”

RecuerdosPalabras
Book:Piercing
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“¿Quién no imagina cosas que le causan ansiedad? Tal vez sin llegar a estos extremos, como tener que dar un discurso en una boda, por ejemplo, a mucha gente le da pánico cagarla o que les ridiculicen o se rían de ellos. O accidentalmente puedes tomar contacto visual con un psicópata en el tren y pensar ¿Y si se baja detrás de mí y me sigue a casa? Gracias a la imaginación, hay un sinfín de cosas en el mundo que pueden desencadenar ansiedad. Normalmente, claro, te puedes liberar de esos miedos enfrentándote a ellos o contándoselos a alguien. Normalmente.”

Ansiedad
Book:Piercing
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