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55 pages 1 hour read

Haruki Murakami

After Dark

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2004

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Symbols & Motifs

The Man with No Face

A particularly enigmatic figure, the Man with No Face represents several things in After Dark. First, he is emblematic of the Voyeurism and the Narrative Camera that pervades various places in the novel (in this case, Eri’s bedroom). He is directly opposed to the narrator—who claims to be nothing but a point of view—both literally and figuratively. He sits opposite to the perspective the narrative camera offers, at times forcing the camera to change its position to see what he is seeing. He also acts as a malevolent influence over Eri, while the narrator wishes her well, forcing the narrator to break its neutrality. As is typical in Murakami novels, it is unclear whether the Man with No Face is responsible for Eri’s unnatural sleep, or if he has anything to do with her being taken into the room depicted on the television.

The Man with No Face is symbolic of generalized violence. His outfit is reminiscent of Shirakawa in that it is generic, and he sits in an office reminiscent of Veritech—empty of identifiers, except for the same “VERITECH” pencil that Shirakawa fiddles with. The dangerous energy that threatens Eri is a reference to Shirakawa’s violent tendencies—his frequent visits to the Alphaville indicate his willingness to objectify women. The links between Shirakawa and the Man with No Face are an example of Synchronicity, but they also suggest a direct connection between Eri and Shirakawa; Murakami leaves it up to the reader to decide.

The Man also represents the symbolic violence done to Eri, by way of the eradication of her personality. Trying to escape from the office room, Eri reflects, “I’m a lump of flesh, a commercial asset” (139). Others have valued Eri’s beauty over her identity for her entire life, from childhood through her career. She has been dehumanized, existing only as a “product” to be consumed by the audience on the other side of the television screen. This corresponds to the anonymity provided by the Man with No Face’s mask, and the fact that he does not do anything but watch Eri throughout the night. In this way, he symbolizes her audience—perhaps even the narrative camera, and even “us” as “we” watch her sleep.

Light and Dark

The contrast between light and dark—specifically between day and night and the people accustomed to dwell therein—is an important motif in After Dark. The most populous city in the world at the time the novel was written, Tokyo is known to be relatively safe and clean for an urban metropolis. However, as with any large city, it has instances of violence and crime which, as Murakami demonstrates, emerge after dark. After Dark takes place in an amusement district, an area populated with bars, clubs, and love hotels. It is an area where people can conduct their business in secret, and where organized crime runs the show behind the scenes. Kaoru, a woman well-accustomed to life in “dark” Tokyo, warns Mari, “Between the time the last train leaves and the first train arrives, the place changes. It is not the same as in daytime” (70).

Tokyo at night attracts people who run against the grain from society. Kaoru is a large woman, whose stature, weathered features, and shockingly blonde hair garner her “weird” looks; her past as a pro wrestler is equally unconventional. Komugi has dyed red hair (which is often seen as rebellious and frowned upon in mainstream Japanese society) and uses vulgar language. Korogi’s name is a pseudonym; an undisclosed event in her past cut her off from normal life in “daytime” Tokyo, forcing her to go into hiding in “dark” Tokyo.

Other characters straddle the line between “light” and “dark” Tokyo, traversing both worlds. Takahashi is an odd, individualistic character who does not quite fit in with normal society. His jazz band practices all night, and he has a fondness for Western media and a penchant for telling long stories. He is sensitive to the forces that form society, and he plans to quit his band—his tie to nighttime Tokyo—to study law in an attempt to further his understanding of The Individual and the Collective. Shirakawa, a seemingly normal salaryman, appears to be at home in the daylight—but he uses the nighttime to let loose his carnal and violent desires, hiring and abusing sex workers. Mari, like Takahashi, doesn’t quite fit in with daytime Tokyo; she didn’t fit in at school and she doesn’t want a regular, steady job. Her discomfort with Eri’s deep sleep drives her to seek solace outside of her home, which is why she stays out all night. She is able to see a new aspect of herself reflected in the night dwellers; Takahashi, Kaoru, and Korogi help her recover her sense of self-worth, which had long been lost in the daylight.

Western Media

A common motif in Murakami’s fiction is references to Western media, particularly in the form of films and classical music; After Dark is no exception. The title is derived from Chris Fuller’s piece, “Five Spot After Dark,” a jazz standard. The song is another example of Synchronicity, tying Takahashi and Mari together. It is no surprise that Takahashi, a jazz musician, knows the piece, but he is astonished that Mari, a teenage girl, would know it. Takahashi and Mari both demonstrate a love for Western films throughout the novel. Takahashi references the 1970 film Love Story, starring Ryan O’Neal; he loses the point of why he brought it up, but the plot of the film—largely a rags-to-riches love story following a law student—reminds him of himself. He references it again later on when he thinks about a potential romantic future with Mari when she returns from China. The Alphaville, the name of Kaoru’s love hotel, also happens to be the title of one of Mari’s favorite films by Jean-Luc Goddard—another instance of Synchronicity. Murakami uses Alphaville to characterize the nature of love hotels. Mari explains, “[In] Alphaville, you’re not allowed to have deep feelings. So there’s nothing like love,” though “there is sex in Alphaville” (72). Kaoru reflects that these qualities make Alphaville an apt name for a love hotel, a place for “[s]ex that doesn’t need love or irony” (73).

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