South of the Border, West of the Sun – Haruki Murakami

South of the Border, West of the Sun is a fantastic title. That accomplishment should be applauded. I am horrible at thinking up titles. After I finish a piece, I struggle for days with the title, often making last minute changes and never feeling quite satisfied. South of the Border, West of the Sun is evocative. What does the border divide? What lies south? What lies west? What is beyond the sun – darkness? And what is beyond the darkness?

Haruki Murakami accomplishes other things, too. His portrayal of young romance, with all its sweetness and awkwardness and raging hormones, is well done. No heart break, we’re shown, is quite like the first, and sometimes those broken hearts aren’t fully felt until years later. Murakami’s protagonist, Hajime, is well-wrought, both sensitive and self-centered. He hurts his teenage girlfriend and then later on his wife, choosing passion over the companionship that they provide. Yet when faced with a life alone, he chooses companionship. Anything to save himself from the darkness.

But what is this darkness exactly? Death, we find out. But why does Hajime have such a strong fear of death? Why, at the age of thirty-seven, does he feel its fast approach?

In the last ten pages, Murakami lays out all the novel’s themes. Yet his message lacks the depth that his characters deserve. We never learn the mystery of Shimamoto; the suspense never pays off. We know that Hajime has been saved by his wife, and he will not be alone, even as he feels the great darkness spreading around him. But why this darkness is such a threat and what true significance lies in what he has just experienced, we never know. And I don’t think Murakami knows either.