1q84

Paperback | January 22, 2013

byHaruki Murakami

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The year is 1984. Aomame is riding in a taxi on the expressway, in a hurry to carry out an assignment. Her work is not the kind that can be discussed in public. When they get tied up in traffic, the taxi driver suggests a bizarre ''proposal'' to her. Having no other choice she agrees, but as a result of her actions she starts to feel as though she is gradually becoming detached from the real world. She has been on a top secret mission, and her next job leads her to encounter the superhuman founder of a religious cult. Meanwhile, Tengo is leading a nondescript life but wishes to become a writer. He inadvertently becomes involved in a strange disturbance that develops over a literary prize. While Aomame and Tengo impact on each other in various ways, at times by accident and at times intentionally, they come closer and closer to meeting. Eventually the two of them notice that they are indispensable to each other. Is it possible for them to ever meet in the real world?

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From the Publisher

The year is 1984. Aomame is riding in a taxi on the expressway, in a hurry to carry out an assignment. Her work is not the kind that can be discussed in public. When they get tied up in traffic, the taxi driver suggests a bizarre 'proposal' to her. Having no other choice she agrees, but as a result of her actions she starts to feel as though she is gradually becoming detached from the real world. ...

HARUKI MURAKAMI was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into more than forty languages, and the most recent of his many international honors is the Jerusalem Prize, whose previous recipients include J.M. Coetzee, Milan Kundera, and V.S. Naipaul.

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Format:PaperbackDimensions:1184 pages, 7.99 × 5.14 × 1.92 inPublished:January 22, 2013Publisher:Doubleday CanadaLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:0385678029

ISBN - 13:9780385678025

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Reviews

Rated 5 out of 5 by from A haunting and dream-like novel. Murakami's best yet! After reading three novels of the sensational Japanese author, this by far tops them all. Our story alternates between the lives of two characters whose strange and secluded lives are gradually tied together by the events stirred up by a secretive religious cult, simply referred to as 'Sakagake'. Aomame is headed to for a 'appointment' while caught in traffic on the expressway and takes the advice of the unusual cab driver of a more efficient way to reach her destination which throws her into the surreal world that she calls 1Q84. Meanwhile, an aspiring novelist named Tengo is persuaded by his editor to rewrite an unbelievably alluring and powerful story written by a seventeen year-old who goes by the pseudonym Fuka-Eri and finds his world turned upside down as a result. I picked this book up from a sale I had at work, having no clue who Murakami was and didn't touch it until five months after. Immediately I was amazed by his incredible vivacity for bringing out all the details and descriptions of the surroundings. From every glance that a character gave to the description of a plant sitting in the corner of the room, I could see it so clearly as if it were a movie and the camera were panning each character with precise timing. Like any great Japanese artist in any given medium, the craftsmanship towards the story contains so many elements expressed with great subtlety that one cannot simply pinpoint it's genre as mystery, fantasy, nor romance. One thing is certain and it is the presence of a dreamy, surrealistic world that leaks from the pages and seduces you with it's fragance of the unknown, spiritual quality found in the undercurrent it's progressive, and often, redundant story-telling. I even woke up one night in a terrible sweat, petrified by visions of the 'Little People' watching me through my walls, under my bed, and in the closet which I normally leave a jar open. I greatly admire Haruki Murakami for this novel as it is ultimately, more than anything else, a response towards the Tokyo subway Serin attack of 1995 which was co-ordinated by a religious movement called Aum Shinrikyo. Shocked by the news, he took a trip to Japan and interviewed some of the victims from the attack. Their experience has been conveyed through the novel very cleverly so that all readers alike, Japanese or not, would resonate deeply. If you don't like passages with great details, please commit yourself to getting through the first 30 pages or so. You'll be left thinking about the novel for years to come.
Date published: 2015-03-27
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Highly Recommendable At first, I was not hooked onto the book. The first few pages were just not clicking in my head and I couldn't actually make sense of anything that was happening. So I took a little break and a month later, I decided to tackle it again. This book is wonderfully written. I spent a couple hours each day reading it and I love every bit of it. As mind boggling as it seems in the beginning, the story really picks up and I'm glad I gave this another chance. It is worth the read.
Date published: 2014-07-26
Rated 2 out of 5 by from Not a page turner for me :( This is the first book from this author that i have read and it was not a page turner for me.I wanted to quit the book a few times , however i plug through it.The idea was interesting  thusly it  is what drew me to the book, however it was long and felt drawn out.The  characters were a little flat and emotionless at times.I do want to give credit to a new idea , outside the box thinking and a bit of intriuge! Those few things kept me reading till the end.
Date published: 2014-01-07
Rated 5 out of 5 by from Great Read Murakami san is a genius. I got this book for christmas last year and had it read by my birthday in January, I couldn't put it down. The characters are well flushed out, part love story, part mystery, part sci fi, part fantasy. Have read everything else this author has written and been pleased with everything so far
Date published: 2013-06-23

Extra Content

Read from the Book

Chapter 1AomameDon't Let Appearances Fool YouThe taxi's radio was tuned to a classical FM broadcast. Janácek's Sinfonietta-probably not the ideal music to hear in a taxi caught in traffic. The middle-aged driver didn't seem to be listening very closely, either. With his mouth clamped shut, he stared straight ahead at the endless line of cars stretching out on the elevated expressway, like a veteran fisherman standing in the bow of his boat, reading the ominous confluence of two currents. Aomame settled into the broad back seat, closed her eyes, and listened to the music.How many people could recognize Janácek's Sinfonietta after hearing just the first few bars? Probably somewhere between "very few" and "almost none." But for some reason, Aomame was one of the few who could.Janácek composed his little symphony in 1926. He originally wrote the opening as a fanfare for a gymnastics festival. Aomame imagined 1926 Czechoslovakia: The First World War had ended, and the country was freed from the long rule of the Hapsburg Dynasty. As they enjoyed the peaceful respite visiting central Europe, people drank Pilsner beer in cafés and manufactured handsome light machine guns. Two years earlier, in utter obscurity, Franz Kafka had left the world behind. Soon Hitler would come out of nowhere and gobble up this beautiful little country in the blink of an eye, but at the time no one knew what hardships lay in store for them. This may be the most important proposition revealed by history: "At the time, no one knew what was coming." Listening to Janácek's music, Aomame imagined the carefree winds sweeping across the plains of Bohemia and thought about the vicissitudes of history.In 1926 Japan's Taisho Emperor died, and the era name was changed to Showa. It was the beginning of a terrible, dark time in this country, too. The short interlude of modernism and democracy was ending, giving way to fascism.Aomame loved history as much as she loved sports. She rarely read fiction, but history books could keep her occupied for hours. What she liked about history was the way all its facts were linked with particular dates and places. She did not find it especially difficult to remember historical dates. Even if she did not learn them by rote memorization, once she grasped the relationship of an event to its time and to the events preceding and following it, the date would come to her automatically. In both middle school and high school, she had always gotten the top grade on history exams. It puzzled her to hear someone say he had trouble learning dates. How could something so simple be a problem for anyone?"Aomame" was her real name. Her grandfather on her father's side came from some little mountain town or village in Fukushima Prefecture, where there were supposedly a number of people who bore the name, written with exactly the same characters as the word for "green peas" and pronounced with the same four syllables, "Ah-oh-mah-meh." She had never been to the place, however. Her father had cut his ties with his family before her birth, just as her mother had done with her own family, so she had never met any of her grandparents. She didn't travel much, but on those rare occasions when she stayed in an unfamiliar city or town, she would always open the hotel's phone book to see if there were any Aomames in the area. She had never found a single one, and whenever she tried and failed, she felt like a lonely castaway on the open sea.Telling people her name was always a bother. As soon as the name left her lips, the other person looked puzzled or confused."Miss Aomame?""Yes. Just like 'green peas.'"Employers required her to have business cards printed, which only made things worse. People would stare at the card as if she had thrust a letter at them bearing bad news. When she announced her name on the telephone, she would often hear suppressed laughter. In waiting rooms at the doctor's or at public offices, people would look up at the sound of her name, curious to see what someone called "Green Peas" could look like.Some people would get the name of the plant wrong and call her "Eda- mame" or "Soramame," whereupon she would gently correct them: "No, I'm not soybeans or fava beans, just green peas. Pretty close, though. Aomame." How many times in her thirty years had she heard the same remarks, the same feeble jokes about her name? My life might have been totally different if I hadn't been born with this name. If I had had an ordinary name like Sato or Tanaka or Suzuki, I could have lived a slightly more relaxed life or looked at people with somewhat more forgiving eyes. Perhaps.Eyes closed, Aomame listened to the music, allowing the lovely unison of the brasses to sink into her brain. Just then it occurred to her that the sound quality was too good for a radio in a taxicab. Despite the rather low volume at which it was playing, the sound had true depth, and the overtones were clearly audible. She opened her eyes and leaned forward to study the dashboard stereo. The jet-black device shone with a proud gloss. She couldn't make out its brand name, but it was obviously high end, with lots of knobs and switches, the green numerals of the station readout clear against the black panel. This was not the kind of stereo you expected to see in an ordinary fleet cab.She looked around at the cab's interior. She had been too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice until now, but this was no ordinary taxi. The high quality of the trim was evident, and the seat was especially comfortable. Above all, it was quiet. The car probably had extra sound insulation to keep noise out, like a soundproofed music studio. The driver probably owned his own cab. Many such owner-drivers would spare no expense on the upkeep of their automobiles. Moving only her eyes, Aomame searched for the driver's registration card, without success. This did not seem to be an illegal unlicensed cab, though. It had a standard taxi meter, which was ticking off the proper fare. 2,150 yen so far. Still, the registration card showing the driver's name was nowhere to be found."What a nice car," Aomame said, speaking to the driver's back. "So quiet. What kind is it?""Toyota Crown Royal Saloon," the driver replied succinctly."The music sounds great in here.""It's a very quiet car. That's one reason I chose it. Toyota has some of the best sound-insulating technology in the world."Aomame nodded and leaned back in her seat. There was something about the driver's way of speaking that bothered her, as though he were leaving something important unsaid. For example (and this is just one example), his remark on Toyota's impeccable sound insulation might be taken to mean that some other Toyota feature was less than impeccable. And each time he finished a sentence, there was a tiny but meaningful lump of silence left behind. This lump floated there, enclosed in the car's restricted space like an imaginary miniature cloud, giving Aomame a strangely unsettled feeling."It certainly is a quiet car," Aomame declared, as if to sweep the little cloud away. "And the stereo looks especially fine.""Decisiveness was key when I bought it," the driver said, like a retired staff officer explaining a past military success. "I have to spend so much time in here, I want the best sound available. And-"Aomame waited for what was to follow, but nothing followed. She closed her eyes again and concentrated on the music. She knew nothing about Janácek as a person, but she was quite sure that he never imagined that in 1984 someone would be listening to his composition in a hushed Toyota Crown Royal Saloon on the gridlocked elevated Metropolitan Expressway in Tokyo.Why, though, Aomame wondered, had she instantly recognized the piece to be Janácek's Sinfonietta? And how did she know it had been composed in 1926? She was not a classical music fan, and she had no personal recollections involving Janácek, yet the moment she heard the opening bars, all her knowledge of the piece came to her by reflex, like a flock of birds swooping through an open window. The music gave her an odd, wrenching kind of feeling. There was no pain or unpleasantness involved, just a sensation that all the elements of her body were being physically wrung out. Aomame had no idea what was going on. Could Sinfonietta actually be giving me this weird feeling?"Janácek," Aomame said half-consciously, though after the word emerged from her lips, she wanted to take it back."What's that, ma'am?""Janácek. The man who wrote this music.""Never heard of him.""Czech composer.""-Well-well," the driver said, seemingly impressed."Do you own this cab?" Aomame asked, hoping to change the subject."I do," the driver answered. After a brief pause, he added, "It's all mine. My second one.""Very comfortable seats.""Thank you, ma'am." Turning his head slightly in her direction, he asked, "By the way, are you in a hurry?""I have to meet someone in Shibuya. That's why I asked you to take the expressway.""What time is your meeting?""Four thirty," Aomame said."Well, it's already three forty-five. You'll never make it.""Is the backup that bad?""Looks like a major accident up ahead. This is no ordinary traffic jam. We've hardly moved for quite a while."She wondered why the driver was not listening to traffic reports. The expressway had been brought to a standstill. He should be listening to updates on the taxi drivers' special radio station."You can tell it's an accident without hearing a traffic report?" Aomame asked."You can't trust them," he said with a hollow ring to his voice. "They're half lies. The Expressway Corporation only releases reports that suit its agenda. If you really want to know what's happening here and now, you've got to use your own eyes and your own judgment.""And your judgment tells you that we'll be stuck here?""For quite a while," the driver said with a nod. "I can guarantee you that. When it backs up solid like this, the expressway is sheer hell. Is your meeting an important one?"Aomame gave it some thought. "Yes, very. I have to see a client.""That's a shame. You're probably not going to make it."The driver shook his head a few times as if trying to ease a stiff neck. The wrinkles on the back of his neck moved like some kind of ancient creature. Half-consciously watching the movement, Aomame found herself thinking of the sharp object in the bottom of her shoulder bag. A touch of sweat came to her palms."What do you think I should do?" she asked."There's nothing you can do up here on the expressway--not until we get to the next exit. If we were down on the city streets, you could just step out of the cab and take the subway.""What is the next exit?""Ikejiri. We might not get there before the sun goes down, though."Before the sun goes down? Aomame imagined herself locked in this cab until sunset. The Janácek was still playing. Muted strings came to the foreground as if to soothe her heightened anxiety. That earlier wrenching sensation had largely subsided. What could that have been?Aomame had caught the cab near Kinuta and told the driver to take the elevated expressway from Yohga. The flow of traffic had been smooth at first, but suddenly backed up just before Sangenjaya, after which they had hardly moved. The outbound lanes were moving fine. Only the side headed toward downtown Tokyo was tragically jammed. Inbound Expressway Number 3 would not normally back up at three in the afternoon, which was why Aomame had directed the driver to take it."Time charges don't add up on the expressway," the driver said, speaking toward his rearview mirror. "So don't let the fare worry you. I suppose you need to get to your meeting, though?""Yes, of course. But there's nothing I can do about it, is there?"He glanced at her in the mirror. He was wearing pale sunglasses. The way the light was shining in, Aomame could not make out his expression."Well, in fact, there might be a way. You could take the subway to Shibuya from here, but you'd have to do something a little...extreme.""Something extreme?""It's not something I can openly advise you to do."Aomame said nothing. She waited for more with narrowed eyes."Look over there. See that turnout just ahead?" he asked, pointing. "See? Near that Esso sign."Aomame strained to see through the windshield until she focused on a space to the left of the two-lane roadway where broken-down cars could pull off. The elevated roadway had no shoulder but instead had emergency turnouts at regular intervals. Aomame saw that the turnout was outfitted with a yellow emergency phone box for contacting the Metropolitan Expressway Public Corporation office. The turnout itself was empty at the moment. On top of a building beyond the oncoming lanes there was a big billboard advertising Esso gasoline with a smiling tiger holding a gas hose."To tell you the truth, there's a stairway leading from the turnout down to street level. It's for drivers who have to abandon their cars in a fire or earthquake and climb down to the street. Usually only maintenance workers use it. If you were to climb down that stairway, you'd be near a Tokyu Line station. From there, it's nothing to Shibuya.""I had no idea these Metropolitan Expressways had emergency stairs," Aomame said."Not many people do.""But wouldn't I get in trouble using it without permission when there's no real emergency?"The driver paused a moment. Then he said, "I wonder. I don't know all the rules of the Corporation, but you wouldn't be hurting anybody. They'd probably look the other way, don't you think? Anyway, they don't have people watching every exit. The Metropolitan Expressway Public Corporation is famous for having a huge staff but nobody really doing any work.""What kind of stairway is it?""Hmm, kind of like a fire escape. You know, like the ones you see on the backs of old buildings. It's not especially dangerous or anything. It's maybe three stories high, and you just climb down. There's a barrier at the opening, but it's not very high. Anybody who wanted to could get over it easily.""Have you ever used one of these stairways?"Instead of replying, the driver directed a faint smile toward his rearview mirror, a smile that could be read any number of ways.