MEN WITHOUT WOMEN by Haruki Murakami
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Ironically, this narration itself reaches the only uncertainty possible, by not reaching its deepest levels. A Zeno’s Paradox. A half eraser, ‘a half-read book’, ‘half-dry stockings’, halfway between metaphor and simile, between a normal ‘independent organ’ and a unicorn’s horn, between a squid and an ammonite, between a sailor’s dirge and a landward song, yes, between a man and woman. We ‘Men Without Women’ are perhaps creatures of the deep, ever only half alive. We men as sole orientation of self have now lost any compass we once had, as the narrator is unexpectedly told by a man’s voice on the telephone in the small hours that M, an unrequited love from schooldays, had killed herself — with Kino’s backdrop of Music later becoming like a Metaphor? No, the M was for Man himself. That Muzak of Self in the Space between Similes. Half-erased, then half of the remainder erased, then half of the new remainder erased, and so on, ad infinitum, null Immortalis.
The voice on the phone was his own, I guess. Having sailed half way round the world to find her without knowing he was looking for her!
An unreliable narrator. A deficient omniscience.
A lonely reader. Probably.