Men Without Women: Stories

So disappointing to pay this kind of money for short stories. Murakami is one of my favorite authors, but the last few titles have been well below the standard for an author who is in the running annually for the Nobel prize in Literature

Interesting writer, I'm probably to old and American to properly comment on his writing. I struggled with the sheep quest in his first book but have stuck with him thru Hard-Boiled, Kafka, After Dark and IQ84. These stories don't disappoint. A fine writer, makes you think.

I guess I have a general problem with short stories. Murakami is great at setting great and mystical environments as part of his story telling. Short stories don't give him the opportunity to develop these environments. The stories are interesting and the narrative is classical Murakami but were not as emotive and thought provoking as his whole books offer.

I was hoping for stories about strong male individualism and got a lot of rambling complaining about women. It seems rather boring and directionless, which might be on purpose to imply that life without a woman is the same. I beg to differ.

I typically enjoy short stories and Murakami is right up my ally. I've read and enjoy most of his work, so that's my bias. Luckily not all these short stories... I wont spoil the read(s). The theme and title are apt. I would highly recommend.

As always perfect writing. Always worth the wait. The only author that I have read everything that has been translated. Always the same key incidents to look for - cats, jazz, young women, aimless love, love lost, male friendship, and drinking.

Just began reading this novel; however I love the author so I am biased in favor. I do not like the title at all and took a while to order the book. Sounds like men in prison or military service or some religious groups and I was turned off by it. I have just finished the first story and I loved it. I know the rest of the stories will be as good.

Murakami's latest collection of stories takes its title from Ernest Hemingway's famous collection. Sure, as if you didn't know already. Though Men Without Women for Hemingway typically signified plan A or at least a damn good beginning, Murakami is much more circumspect over the absence of the feminine. This collection limns that circumspection. I do think I'm beginning to adapt to Murakami's unique style of presenting his stories. The first story, Drive My Car, seemed very straight forward to me. A bit like Murakami lite. Yesterday ascends and raised the stakes with a peculiar triangle that never quite was, but will somehow always be. But the collection didn't really reach full tilt Murakami speed until Kino, the fifth story out of seven. This story pulled, compelled, puzzled, and intrigued me more than the others. The two that follow it, Samsa In Love & Men Without Women, descend back down the scales onto the other side of the sheet. Neither is quite as straight forward as the book's beginning entries, yet both carry the author's shadows in simpler aria form than the darkly brooding overture of Kino. Was this Murakami's intention? Probably.

High hopes were quickly dashed. I was expecting some really interesting introspection and perhaps even some poignancy about this potentially interesting topic sorted into short stories. Can't recommend this book at all.

“But the proposition that we can look into another person’s heart with perfect clarity strikes me as a fool’s game. I don’t care how well we think we should understand them, or how much we love them. All it can do is cause us pain. Examining your own heart, however, is another matter. I think it’s possible to see what’s in there if you work hard enough at it. So in the end maybe that’s the challenge: to look inside your own heart as perceptively and seriously as you can, and to make peace with what you find there. If we hope to truly see another person, we have to start by looking within ourselves.”

Haruki Murakami’s seven tales deal with loss in various forms. A man tries to understand his deceased wife by getting to know her last lover. Unable to have a full relationship with his girlfriend, a man asks his best friend to take her on a date to learn her secrets. Unrequited love proves to be a killer. Other stories deal with the loss of intimacy and connection, starting over after a betrayal, a Kafka-esque man who needs to navigate a strange new world alone, and a man pondering the “extremely high fatality rate” of his former lovers.

The magical realism vibe in “Kino,” my favorite of the stories, gives the short an added dimension.

This is a great collection of stories. I look forward to reading Murakami’s longer works.

This collection of Murakami’s short stories could easily have been subtitled, “Bereavement”. In each of the seven tales (some with carryover main characters), a man deals with the loss of a significant other in his life, be it through death, an acrimonious divorce, or for a reformed Casanova, a supposed casual fling to whom he loses his heart to, with disastrous consequences.

In the first story, “Drive My Car”, a late middle-aged stage actor in the winter of his career, finds an inexplicable connection with a taciturn young woman he employs to be his driver, and recounts his sad and dark past to her, perhaps coming to terms with it in the process, or most probably not. In “Scheherazade”, Habara, a man rehabilitating from an untold sickness at the similarly unhelpfully named “House”, trysts with his “support liaison”, a middle-aged housewife, who sends him his weekly groceries. But it is her stories (hence the nickname Habara gives her) which break off promptly at 4.30pm each time after their lovemaking that is the focus of this strange tale. It is akin to reading a story within a story which reveals as much about the character-narrator as it does the character in his tale. By the end of the story, she leaves Habara with her unfinished story which is supposedly autobiographical, and he realises it is not the sexual intimacy but her tales which he fears losing.

In the most surreal story of the collection, “Samsa in Love”, an alternative take and possibly continuation of Kafka’s famous story sees George Samsa restored to his human form (or possibly a cockroach taking on human form, we don’t know and Murakami’s not telling and perhaps that is the fun of it), and most touchingly, finding himself/itself attracted to a feisty young locksmith who is a hunchback, and we’re left wondering what’s in store for this otherworldly couple in a strangely abandoned house, with a strong military presence signifying war just outside the Samsa home. Perhaps the ambivalence is unsettling but that is also the beauty of Murakami’s writing, in the way it invites reflection, yet not necessarily offering closure, rather just presenting moments of repose that approximate the way we cope with the flux in our own lives.

Murakami’s clean and clear writing is once again captured by his seasoned translator, Philip Gabriel, and Ted Goossen, who was entrusted with the task of translating his first two novels only rather recently. Jay Rubin, who has translated many of Murakami’s works, was notably missing. Nonetheless, the translations work well, and though I don’t read Japanese, felt that the prose rang with a cadence I have come to associate with Murakami’s translated works.

Death, infidelity, inattention, inexperience, disinterest: these are just some of the ways a relationship can end. The men in this collection of Murakami short stories find themselves in these failed relationships, and most are resigned to never improving their plight. Some go so far as to blame the “crafty sailors” of the world for “carrying their women off to Marseilles or the Ivory Coast. And there’s nothing we can do about it.” This fatalism is paired with plenty of Murakami’s weird visions: the insect that took over The Metamorphosis’ Gregor Samsa’s body first experiences as man, a bar owner with an establishment cursed by snakes, a man confined to his home receiving visits from a woman telling stories of unrequited love. Like much of Murakami’s work, music is entwined throughout, particularly references to 60s rock (stories titled “Yesterday” and “Drive My Car”, and thoughts on the best music to listen to while driving) and jazz (spun on vinyl by the bar owner). His characters make twisted observations while questioning their life choices: “In a concentration camp, Pinot Noir, amateur piano performances, and sparkling conversation skills would be totally useless”. Like most Murakami stories, these moments of sharp wit are balanced by quiet observations like staying sane by “working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can”. Short stories like these give Murakami a lot of room to get weird without having to support a concept through a full novel.

As an internationally acclaimed author of some 20 bestselling works of fiction and nonfiction, covering everything from cutting-edge short stories to a memoir about his own life as an avocational triathlete, Japan’s Haruki Murakami seems to have a magical literary finesse, an effortless touch that always feels “just right.”

That elusive and subtle finesse often focuses and transports the reader with startling power in his short story mode. In this latest collection, MEN WITHOUT WOMEN (superbly translated by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen), even the mind-numbing tedium and enforced ordinariness of the characters’ lives are lifted, if only briefly, beyond the unremarkable contexts in which we encounter them.

Each of Murakami’s seven stories --- “Drive My Car,” “Yesterday,” “An Independent Organ,” “Scheherazade,” “Kino,” “Samsa in Love” and “Men Without Women” --- pushes insistently and imaginatively at the seemingly bland tone of the book’s collective title.

So just what are the words “men without women” supposed to mean anyway? Without exception, each of Murakami’s male characters has failed in some fundamental and life-limiting way to grasp what being with women really demands of them. In exploring each of these tales with their varied length, poignancy, tragic humor, resignation and unresolved details of self-awareness, I began formulating descriptive phrases to place between “without” and “women.”

For example, one could characterize the fatally infatuated Dr. Tokai in “An Independent Organ” as a man “without” the ability to recognize genuine love for “women,” or the title character in “Kino” as a man “without” the capacity to face personal pain caused by “women.” In each case, Murakami deftly targets the essence of “without” as it’s imperfectly experienced through a male social lens.

But there is never meant to be pristine clarity here, for the heart of every story rests in the flaws and occlusions of lives that don’t quite coincide with reality. In their isolation, whether physical, emotional, psychological, intellectual or even geographical, the characters in MEN WITHOUT WOMEN come to terms, often unwillingly, with their varied situations. And that’s the best one can say of their outcomes.

While Murakami delivers page after page of fluid yet rhythmic prose, unexpected left turns in imagery and elegant flashes of insight, he intentionally offers little in the way of substantial closing cadences. There is no real catharsis, no epiphany, no firmly resolved chord on which any of his characters can spring forward into another tonality of being. Still, MEN WITHOUT WOMEN manages to draw you from story to story with an inexplicable desire to grasp what lies at the core of each one.

Reviewed by Pauline Finch.

This collection of Murakami’s short stories could easily have been subtitled, “Bereavement”. In each of the seven tales (some with carryover main characters), a man deals with the loss of a significant other in his life, be it through death, an acrimonious divorce, or for a reformed Casanova, a supposed casual fling to whom he loses his heart to, with disastrous consequences.

In the first story, “Drive My Car”, a late middle-aged stage actor in the winter of his career, finds an inexplicable connection with a taciturn young woman he employs to be his driver, and recounts his sad and dark past to her, perhaps coming to terms with it in the process, or most probably not. In “Scheherazade”, Habara, a man rehabilitating from an untold sickness at the similarly unhelpfully named “House”, trysts with his “support liaison”, a middle-aged housewife, who sends him his weekly groceries. But it is her stories (hence the nickname Habara gives her) which break off promptly at 4.30pm each time after their lovemaking that is the focus of this strange tale. It is akin to reading a story within a story which reveals as much about the character-narrator as it does the character in his tale. By the end of the story, she leaves Habara with her unfinished story which is supposedly autobiographical, and he realises it is not the sexual intimacy but her tales which he fears losing.

In the most surreal story of the collection, “Samsa in Love”, an alternative take and possibly continuation of Kafka’s famous story sees George Samsa restored to his human form (or possibly a cockroach taking on human form, we don’t know and Murakami’s not telling and perhaps that is the fun of it), and most touchingly, finding himself/itself attracted to a feisty young locksmith who is a hunchback, and we’re left wondering what’s in store for this otherworldly couple in a strangely abandoned house, with a strong military presence signifying war just outside the Samsa home. Perhaps the ambivalence is unsettling but that is also the beauty of Murakami’s writing, in the way it invites reflection, yet not necessarily offering closure, rather just presenting moments of repose that approximate the way we cope with the flux in our own lives.

Murakami’s clean and clear writing is once again captured by his seasoned translator, Philip Gabriel, and Ted Goossen, who was entrusted with the task of translating his first two novels only rather recently. Jay Rubin, who has translated many of Murakami’s works, was notably missing. Nonetheless, the translations work well, and though I don’t read Japanese, felt that the prose rang with a cadence I have come to associate with Murakami’s translated works.

Death, infidelity, inattention, inexperience, disinterest: these are just some of the ways a relationship can end. The men in this collection of Murakami short stories find themselves in these failed relationships, and most are resigned to never improving their plight. Some go so far as to blame the “crafty sailors” of the world for “carrying their women off to Marseilles or the Ivory Coast. And there’s nothing we can do about it.” This fatalism is paired with plenty of Murakami’s weird visions: the insect that took over The Metamorphosis’ Gregor Samsa’s body first experiences as man, a bar owner with an establishment cursed by snakes, a man confined to his home receiving visits from a woman telling stories of unrequited love. Like much of Murakami’s work, music is entwined throughout, particularly references to 60s rock (stories titled “Yesterday” and “Drive My Car”, and thoughts on the best music to listen to while driving) and jazz (spun on vinyl by the bar owner). His characters make twisted observations while questioning their life choices: “In a concentration camp, Pinot Noir, amateur piano performances, and sparkling conversation skills would be totally useless”. Like most Murakami stories, these moments of sharp wit are balanced by quiet observations like staying sane by “working on the little things as dutifully and honestly as we can”. Short stories like these give Murakami a lot of room to get weird without having to support a concept through a full novel.

As an internationally acclaimed author of some 20 bestselling works of fiction and nonfiction, covering everything from cutting-edge short stories to a memoir about his own life as an avocational triathlete, Japan’s Haruki Murakami seems to have a magical literary finesse, an effortless touch that always feels “just right.”

That elusive and subtle finesse often focuses and transports the reader with startling power in his short story mode. In this latest collection, MEN WITHOUT WOMEN (superbly translated by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen), even the mind-numbing tedium and enforced ordinariness of the characters’ lives are lifted, if only briefly, beyond the unremarkable contexts in which we encounter them.

Each of Murakami’s seven stories --- “Drive My Car,” “Yesterday,” “An Independent Organ,” “Scheherazade,” “Kino,” “Samsa in Love” and “Men Without Women” --- pushes insistently and imaginatively at the seemingly bland tone of the book’s collective title.

So just what are the words “men without women” supposed to mean anyway? Without exception, each of Murakami’s male characters has failed in some fundamental and life-limiting way to grasp what being with women really demands of them. In exploring each of these tales with their varied length, poignancy, tragic humor, resignation and unresolved details of self-awareness, I began formulating descriptive phrases to place between “without” and “women.”

For example, one could characterize the fatally infatuated Dr. Tokai in “An Independent Organ” as a man “without” the ability to recognize genuine love for “women,” or the title character in “Kino” as a man “without” the capacity to face personal pain caused by “women.” In each case, Murakami deftly targets the essence of “without” as it’s imperfectly experienced through a male social lens.

But there is never meant to be pristine clarity here, for the heart of every story rests in the flaws and occlusions of lives that don’t quite coincide with reality. In their isolation, whether physical, emotional, psychological, intellectual or even geographical, the characters in MEN WITHOUT WOMEN come to terms, often unwillingly, with their varied situations. And that’s the best one can say of their outcomes.

While Murakami delivers page after page of fluid yet rhythmic prose, unexpected left turns in imagery and elegant flashes of insight, he intentionally offers little in the way of substantial closing cadences. There is no real catharsis, no epiphany, no firmly resolved chord on which any of his characters can spring forward into another tonality of being. Still, MEN WITHOUT WOMEN manages to draw you from story to story with an inexplicable desire to grasp what lies at the core of each one.

Reviewed by Pauline Finch.

Who are men without women? Haruki Murakami believes you already know: ”You are a pastel-colored Persian carpet, and loneliness is a Bordeaux wine stain that won’t come out.”

The state of being Men Without Women is dark, melancholy, unsettling and even existential. These story gems all examine that unnatural state, with revelatory, beautifully-crafted narratives that seep into the mind and hold it captive.

Take, for example, the first story, Drive My Car. A theatrical actor—a widower—named Kafuku is forced to hire a mostly silent and unattractive chauffer, whose very stalwartness makes her a receptacle for Kafuku’s revelations about the unfaithfulness of his departed wife. This pitch-perfect story belongs in future anthologies.

In many cases—as in the one above—women need not be attractive or even charismatic to be valued. In An Independent Organ, Dr. Tokai, a confirmed bachelor and plastic surgeon, finally falls victim to unrequited love. Brilliantly, poignantly, Haruki Murakami describes his unraveling as he wrestles with the quintessential existential question: “Who in the world am I?”

In Kino, the eponymous title character a bar owner, is emotionally shut down after his wife’s betrayal. Then a stray cat makes the bar her erstwhile home, followed soon after by a mysterious customer named Kamita—“god’s field.” But who is Kamita, really, and what lesson is he about to impart?

And then there’s Scherezade, focused on an isolated man named Habara, whose one respite is bi-weekly visits by a woman whose job it is to get him groceries and other sundries, and eventually shares his bed. Like the mythical Scherezade, she dazzles him with stories about breaking into homes and leaving something of herself behind, ensnaring Habara into a web of connection.

I believe Haruki Murakami is a brilliant writer but before this, I have only read his novels, never his short stories. These are stunning stories and reaffirm the deep respect I have for this versatile, imaginative author.

While Murakami's works often entail a sense of deliberateness (things rarely happen in a hurry in Murakami World), it feels like there is a sense of urgency motivating the man himself. In a sudden flurry of activity, Murakami came out with two new novels (Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki, Killing Commendatore) and a new collection of short stories (Men without Women) in a short period of time (additionally, "The Strange Library" also recently entered the body of works translated into English). Whereas Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki in many ways represents a more refined version of the third person style and more proactive protagonist that Murakami has been experimenting with since Kafka on the Shore, Men without Women represents as much a refinement of existing themes as an extension into a relatively new direction: the role of others--and, particularly those that have left a strong emotional/romantic bond--and, even more importantly, the loss of them, on an individual's identity. While this theme has arguably been present in Murakami's works from the very beginning--Murakami's protagonists always seem to be on a quest to locate "lost" women--I would argue that many of those works are ultimately more focused on the protagonist finding him or herself ... while this issue of losing/finding/re-establishing one's identity, of course, is still an important angle, the loss of an other (a woman, specifically) is more than a means to an end in this collection of stories, and instead the focus of attention. To this end, it feels a little bit of an experiment of sorts, just as After Dark was an exercise in perspective, but I would argue this work is largely much more successful than that prior "experiment".

That said, I thought Murakami succeeded in some stories more than others. I thought "Independent Organ", "Scheherazade", "Samsa in Love" (a memorable retelling of Kafka's Metamorphosis that hauntingly resonates in these disorienting times), and "Kino" (my personal favorite) were easily the most successful, and I would not be surprised if one of them (especially Scheherazade or Kino) eventually becomes the genesis of a novel, much as Norwegian Wood and Wind-Up Bird started as short stories. "Drive My Car" and "Yesterday" were fine, but not particularly memorable for me; the titular work "Men without Women" was the weakest story in my estimation. To be honest, it felt as much a epilogue as it did a "short story".

In the end, I thought these tales were what you would expect from Murakami's "long short stories": not as much depth as the novels, but much more "closure" in the plot lines (at least as Murakami goes). To borrow Murakami's turn of phrase, it was his way of 'working on the little things as dutifully and honestly' as he could. I'll be curious where Murakami goes next: I've enjoyed what I've read of Killing Commendatore so far, and I'm sure it will be translated into English soon.

Murakami produces a wonderful piece of literature delving into the complexities of love and loneliness through vivid short stories. Each story gives the reader a chance to experience different levels of feelings, awareness, and perspectives that men journey through in life. It's often easy to judge a man who isn't in a traditional relationship or has been divorced, and not see the entire picture of why they are in that predicament. In one story, Murakami illustrates why men may not want to be in a relationship because of addiction. Not addiction to a substance, but addiction to a particular person who in essence can act like a drug not through just sexual satisfaction, but because they are offering intriguing and exciting truth into their own lives. The men want more of the mystery, unknown, and danger behind the women, and the men get trapped into an ongoing relationship of pillow talk which never ends in marital commitment, but a mental escapade that can be discarded like a cigarette when the fling is over.

You walk away from the book with a better understanding for your own situation, and why your own relationship is where it is, and what can make it more intriguing.

Wonderful book!

JUST finished it. These stories feel more like novellas or possibly even pieces of novels that never got completed. Most of them last long enough for you to forget an ending will come soon, so it’s easy to get lost in them.
And they’re just really fun, strange and touching little pieces about what can happen to men in the absence of rhe women they love, good or bad. For these reasons and more I think I like this little volume more than any of the previous collections of Murakami’s short stories.
Wait for paperback? Nah.

The seven short stories in Haruki Murakami’s collection titled, Men Without Women, provide readers with a variety of perspectives on male alienation. Each story offers a close look at interesting characters and the ways they live in the world. I love Murakami’s humor and the ways in which he calls attention to details that we can easily overlook. Readers who enjoy Murakami, literary fiction, and especially short stories, are those most likely to enjoy this finely written collection.

Rating: Four-star (I like it)

I've read everything Murakami's written, typically with delight, and often teach his stories to my college students. That said, this is not a good book. His style is here, that is true, but the imaginative power is so limited. Most troubling--and perhaps this is a function of the times--it is much much harder to overlook the casual misogyny sprinkled throughout these stories as it is not balanced with more nuanced depictions, women with more dimension. This felt like a very muted, limited and more problematic version of the Murakami I enjoy

What a splendid collection -- concentrating, in many ways, the essence of Murakami: emotion, desire, abstraction, mystery, all wrapped in the mundane. I enjoyed every page. He is a master at drawing us in, then deepening and bewitching a tale. If anyone wants to understand the appeal of Murakami's entire oeuvre in a mere 50 pages, read "Kino." Not to be missed!

Truly, I want to like Murakami fiction, but it just did not resonate with me emotionally. The characters are fascinating, the setting contemporary but somehow no emotional undertow. Nothing compelling that pulls you back in, that makes to yearn for a story, instead, there is just intellectual curiosity. The stories feel precise and surgical, like wielding a scalpel.

I've always enjoyed reading Murakami. His latest book, "Men Without Women," is entertaining and smart—seven stories that explore heartbreak and loneliness, usually from the vantage of a male narrator. I give five stars to the first five stories which, while more-or-less realistic, display Murakami's trademark whimsey and originality. But the quality of the last two stories dips considerably—more surreal, but also much less successful, and which I'd give one or two stars.

While these stories are intriguing each in their own way, there seems to lack depth. When I first read Murakami, he blew me away with his metaphysical, surreal stories. The Rat Series seems to have been his peak, and I feel he's slowly drifting toward a different genre, a genre more calming, sustained, reality-like, devoid of any major fantastical happenings like fish falling from the sky or an emerging sheepman. Granted these stories revolve around a certain theme, Men Without Women, to me they don't really stand out like they did with his other short stories collections such as the Elephant Vanishes and Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. Certainly not something to read first in the Murakami collection.

These stories are all strange, moving and at times bizarre. I enjoyed them and felt pulled in quickly by them all. But overall it left me wanting more. Like I'd only heard half of the song. Enjoyable but with a sense of longing.

Haruki Murakami's novels evoke thoughtfulness and emotions.

Never a boring moment in his reads. A great story teller and is capable of pulling off strange stories which can transport you to another dimension.

Great read!

Shallow and uninspired. The last story in the collection is one of the worst pieces of published fiction I have ever read. There are some good stories mixed in there, but as a whole there's none of the trademark Murakami subtly and that would normally draw me in. Instead its sappy and pitiful. By the end I just wanted it to be over pronto.

I love both Murakami and short stories, so what could be better than a collection of his short stories? This one intrigued me because it’s built around a theme. As usual, his English translators (there were multiple for this volume) worked hard to keep English readers from feeling as if we’d missed out on nuances.

(NO SERIOUS SPOILERS, PROMISE!) This probably isn’t his best work, but I did love one little gem called “Kino,” about a man whose wife upended their life together with an affair, so he packed up and left to open a little bar. It was an atmospheric short story with some heavy mystery, and it reverberated with me because I also once commenced a brand-new life after the end of a long-term relationship. At the time, I viewed it as a period of intense anguish and self-loathing, but now I try to reflect on it as a major turning point, an important crossroads. Most people go through the exact same thing at some point in life, but Murakami makes the transforms the mundane into magical rebirth by walking us through some healing steps and adding some magical elements.

Honestly, the other stories felt rather bland to me. I’ve read some reviews highlighting troubling views on women present in this collection, but I read them as traits of his invented characters and (hopefully) not the views of the author.

Like I said, not his best work. I think “Kino” stands out as a special part of this otherwise B-minus collection. It didn’t make me dislike the author, and I still want to read him. If this had been the first Murakami book I’d read, I probably wouldn’t love him as much as I do.