Sep
6
Murakami Interview, Part 3
Filed Under On Writing, Fiction |
The interview below follows Part 1 & Part 2 of the intensive interview conducted by Jin Young Lee, in Hawaii, for the January 2007 edition of GQ Korea. My flawed translation, once again. (Two more parts to follow this one; I told you it was long!)
…
Lee: What do you do with all that money you actually earned from your popular books
Murakami: Freedom. I buy freedom and my time. Those are the most valuable and expensive things in life. Since I don’t have to worry about making money, I gained freedom, which I can use to concentrate solely on writing. My freedom is most important to me.
L: I’m sure additional stress is attached to such a gain of freedom. It is a happy thing to be an author who sells a lot of copies, to be read so easily by so many people, but doesn’t that happiness also become a source of stress for you Isn’t there a literary prejudice against such a “popular” writer?
M: Prejudices are only opinions. I don’t care for them. I only want to carry out a serious story through the lightest prose and easiest vocabulary achievable. Say that a writer has created a work in which complex prose has been achieved through a dizzyingly difficult language, but the story is empty. That’s a real tragedy; there’s nothing more tragic than that in the world. There is no rule that says you can create a literary masterpiece only through writing difficult prose.
L: How do you handle all those criticisms concerning you as a writer?
M: I became stronger. Imagine that you have become famous suddenly. In order to survive, you must become stronger. People who start out by saying that you are an internationally great writer, so on and so forth, ultimately end up using you. It’s like riding a rollercoaster. When Norwegian Wood sold like hotcakes everywhere, I became depressed. Such a heavy burden on me. As you know, it’s a publishing truism everywhere in the world that critics hate writers of bestsellers.
L: But even Goethe once said that a writer who cannot expect one million readers to read his work should not even attempt a single word. Was Goethe wrong?
M: Of course he’s wrong. According to my standards, at least. Even if the number of my readers is very small, I’d still write as I do now. Because I need to express myself, however I can. I can’t stop. It’s my destiny; I write because I have to.
L: Then, is there a book that you wrote, even with the knowledge that it won’t sell so well? Like a film director who makes a movie, despite anticipating its commercial failure?
M: I never wrote to write a bestseller, but at the same time, there isn’t a novel I wrote, pushing ahead like a bulldozer, thinking that I’d be the only reader of it. How would I put it… I’d say my readers are in a certain way addicted to my style of writing. They are loyal readers. That’s why I know that they will put up with reading my next novel, even if it’s just so-so. Although they probably wouldn’t buy my book if it’s really bad, I at least have confidence in myself that what I write won’t be that bad.
L: Where is your final destination, as a writer?
M: My goal is to write a book like Brothers Karamazov.
L: What aspects of that novel are you talking about? Its complex and varied characters and structure?
M: Sure. But that’s not everything. There is an entire universe contained in Brothers Karamazov. So many different facts of life, life systems, world-view, stories… these are all in that novel. There is always something to learn, no matter how many times you read it.
L: It’s already well known how much you admire The Great Gatsby, too. But there are many readers who read Fitzgerald’s novel learning of your preference, who ended up not liking it. What do you like so much about The Great Gatsby
M: That’s a difficult question. How shall I put it… The Great Gatsby is like a textbook for me. I learned how to structure a story, how to move characters and create dialog, how to shape prose, all through that book. I read it countless of times, and I still read it. I always learn something from it when I read it. Fitzgerald’s choice of words is excellent, his prose impeccable, and the story itself is marvelous.
L: You finally translated The Great Gatsby, after preparing for years and years.
M: Yes. I was thirty-four years old at the time. I promised myself to translate The Great Gatsby as best as I can, before I turned sixty. I still have a few years to go until I reach sixty, but I finished the translation of The Great Gatsby last October. I heard that in ten days of publication, 140,000 copies were sold. I think there were many readers who were waiting for the translation.
L: How would you criticize your translation of The Great Gatsby, objectively speaking
M: I think I did well. There are five or six translations of The Great Gatsby in Japan, but my version is probably the best one.
L: Where does such confidence spring from?
M: There’s no need to think about it. It’s a fact. As I was translating, I carefully thought about which Japanese words or phrases would substitute well for the original Fitzgerald version. It was an excruciating process, but fun at the same time.
L: In addition to writers like F. Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler, Richard Brautigan and Kurt Vonnegut, is there a Japanese writer you like to read?
M: Kenzaburo Oe. I don’t read many works by Japanese authors, but I like Oe’s work. Since I was young, I preferred the western literature. I was especially addicted to Russian literature, and after I learned English, novels written in English.
L: Is there a writer working today that you can compare to the writers mentioned above?
M: Mm. Not yet, as far as I know. There are writers I like, but I haven’t found a writer that made me say “I’d like to write this way” upon reading the work, as I had when I was young.
L: Once, in an essay, you wrote that a student of writing sent you her manuscript for your feedback. You said that you agreed to read it because she promised a bowl of unagi-don (eel-rice). Can anyone expect your feedback/criticism if he or she promises you free unagi-don?
M: Did I really say that? These days, I tend to not criticize anyone’s manuscript. I politely refuse when I receive such requests. Besides the point of being of actual help to the writer or not, I personally don’t like to criticize, item by item. But if a fabulously beautiful woman came to me and said “Please read my manuscript,” how can I tell her no? (Laughs)
L: Fine. If a pretty woman came to you and asked, “How can I become a great writer like you?” What would you say to her?
M: Let’s see… I believe that in order to be a great novelist, what’s involved is not a matter of ability, but a matter of instinct. I never thought to myself that I was born with the ability to write. In me, there is only that instinct which forces me to write. Only if you have such an instinct, you will feel the desire to write, its compulsion. Like fate.
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