Sputnik Sweetheart (2006)

By Haruki Murakami
I don’t suppose you’re really supposed to know precisely what’s going on in any of Murakami’s novels, but just once, I’d like to know FOR SURE what happened. I nearly had this one nailed, but then in the last couple of pages he threw in a metaphysical curveball (or something) and my brain missed. The confusion is part of the charm of Murakami’s writing, but every so often I have a sneaking suspicion that the author has no idea what’s going on either and so purposely leaves everything vague and uncertain at the end, correctly assuming that the reader will assume that they are an idiot if they don’t get it.

Sputnik Sweetheart is narrated by K, who loves Sumire, who unfortunately for K falls in love with Miu, who in turn isn’t really capable of loving anyone. (Read the book to find out why). In other words, unrequited love double jeopardy. I’ve read three of Murakami’s books now, and I think I see a recurring theme – people who somehow manage to split their personality between this world and some other place (e.g. ‘the other side’). What this other place is supposed to be I’m never to sure about, and in Sputnik Sweetheart I couldn’t even tell on which side the narrator ended up.

There’s certainly no other author I can think of that writes quite like this, so if you haven’t read any of Murakami’s novels this one might be a good place to start. I liked this book, but didn’t love it – I think I liked Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World better, but it was a while ago that I read that now. Overall I felt more satisfied with Sputnik Sweetheart than I did with Kafka on the Shore, but I really loved Kafka up to a certain point, the point where reality started shifting sideways and my damn left brain refused to go with the flow.

Rating: 6.5 out of 10

The Master and Margarita (2006)

By Mikhail Bulgakov
I wanted this book to be one of my favourite books of all time, but it isn’t – which isn’t to say I didn’t like it; it was enormous fun!! Just look at the rating I gave it!! I did enjoy it, but it didn’t move me, I guess. (So eat a prune…).

The Devil arrives in Moscow (during Stalin’s era) in the guise of a Mr Woland, professor of black magic, with an entourage that includes a kind of rubbery-looking man named Koroviev, a man with a fang named Azazello, a nude witch called Hella (her character is not terribly developed, unfortunately) and a large walking talking living cat, Behemoth. (I became quite fond of Behemoth, but it might have just been because he was a cat). They proceed to cause havoc, especially amongst the local literary elite, many of whom are of course athiests, and pompous to boot, and could be said to get their just desserts.

It’s all a bit like a “Carry on Satan” film until the character of Margarita appears, who decides to see if she can use Woland to find her lost lover, an unnamed man (the “Master”) who has checked himself into the local asylum without telling her. He has written a novel about Pontius Pilate, known of course for having Jesus executed, which Margarita thinks is a work of genious (she might be biased, of course) and Woland finds it of interest because of course he was there at the time. The story of Pontius Pilate is woven throughout the whole story, I think with the aim of showing him redeemed at the end of the novel, but I’m not quite sure about that. I confess I was a bit mystified by the whole Pontius bit, which is perhaps another reasons why this book wasn’t a fave.

Rating: 8 out of 10

The Passion (2004)

By Jeanette Winterson
After reading a few of Winterson’s books now (Sexing the Cherry, Oranges are not the only fruit, Art Objects, the Lighthousekeeper and this one) I profess to being a fan, particularly after her visit to the Adelaide Festival’s Writers’ Week. She said that week that she wasn’t into the whole self-help thing, but by golly if she wanted to start a cult she could do it by snapping her fingers, we were hanging on her every word.

OK so I had a revelation while reading this book; I think I’ve figured out that love is the great theme of all Winterson’s books. (Took me a while, didn’t it?). Love is what it’s all about for Winterson; I suspect of her of being a hopeless romantic at heart. Life seems more of an intellectual experience for writers like Vonnegut and Burroughs, which is not to imply that love and other human emotions play no part in their writing (nor that Winterson’s writing is not intellectual); they’re just more cynical about the whole thing.

I really enjoyed The Passion, a novel set during the time of Napoleon’s empire. The first section especially was compelling, about French peasant Henri who becomes a cook for Napoleon, and who essentially hero-worships the emperor. Partly it is the historical element that makes it fascinating, but Winterson is such a beautiful writer than any enjoyment of her books has to come from the language as well.

The other main character of the story is Villanelle, daughter of a Venetian boatman, an employee of the casino. She falls passionately in love with another woman, who is married. Henri and Villanelle meet when both are sent on Napoleon’s march through Russia, in the section called “The Zero Winter”. Both of their hearts are damaged; Henri’s as he realises Napoleon is not worth his idolatry; Villanelle’s because she literally doesn’t have one - her lover has stolen it. (An odd bit of magical realism thrown in which didn’t quite work for me). As she says, though, it is a blessing – the zero winter is no place for a heart.

You know, sometimes I wonder if war and pain and suffering are worthwhile after all because of the stories and art and film that it has caused people to create. It can’t possibly be – rather this probably indicates something a little unpleasant about humans; to quote Vonnegut in Bluebeard: “what Pollock did lacked that greatest of all crowd pleasers, which was human sacrifice”.

Rating: 9 out of 10