Novelist as a Vocation (2015) by Haruki Murakami & the Unknown Lands of a Writer

Novelist as a Vocation (2015) by Haruki Murakami is a wonderful and insightful exploration on what it’s like and what it means to be a novelist.

Translated from the Japanese by Philip Gabriel and Ted Goossen, Murakami uses a collection of eleven deeply personal essays along with a Foreword and Notes to the slim total of 208 pages.

The book was first published in Japanese in Tokyo, Japan by Switch Publishing Co., Ltd. in 2015, and later re-published in English by Harvill Secker in 2022 — so in terms of the author’s life and his personal timeline as a writer, this particular non-fiction book and its content primarily finishes in 2015.

As most educated readers will already know, the Japanese writer Haruki Murakami is the famed author of highly acclaimed international books such as Hear the Wind Sing (1979), Pinball, 1973 (1980) — these two (rather short) books were re-published in one volume as Wind/Pinball (2015) — Norwegian Wood (1987), Kafka on the Shore (2002), 1Q84 (2009), Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage (2013), and Killing Commendatore (2017).

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He’s also written some insightful non-fiction books such as Murakami T: The T–Shirts I Love (2021), and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: A Memoir (2007).

Murakami, a huge fan of Raymond Carver, makes a great attempt to explain what it is that novelists do, what novelists are seeking to achieve within and with their writing, and the difficult complexities of the craft.

“Novelists basically tell stories,” Murakami explains, “And telling stories, to put it another way, means delving deep down into your unconscious. To descend to the darkest realms of the mind. The broader the scale of the story, the deeper the novelist has to descend… From the midst of that subterranean darkness the novelist finds what he needs — the nourishment needed for the novel, in other words — and returns with it to the upper regions of consciousness. And there he transforms it into the writing, giving it form and meaning… There are no signposts, no maps. Some places are veritable mazes. It’s like an underground cave. If you don’t keep your wits about you, you’ll get lost, maybe unable ever to return to the surface. That darkness contains a mix of the collective unconscious and the individual unconscious, the ancient and the modern” (pgs 120-121).

On Values & Reality

Discussing why he thinks his books — being translated into over fifty languages — are extremely popular all around the world, Murakami suggests that a shift within any given country’s social & cultural characteristics and values would ultimately lead to a sort of neo-reality, one in which the country’s population would need new stories and new forms of storytelling to help them make sense of their rapidly changing society which suddenly creates new systems of reality.

One such example in the 1990s, which Murakami himself uses, is the dramatic shift in perception and reality after East Germany & West Germany were once again unified. Other dramatic social and cultural transformations might include Iran after its revolution in 1979, the Soviet Union (i.e., Russia) after the collapse of Communism in the early part of the 1990s, and Hong Kong after its failed attempt at a “non-communist democracy” in the 2010s. These examples all include major shifts in social values which eventually, and usually swiftly, form new realities.

“Aside from Asia, the first place my books really took off was in Russia and Eastern Europe,” explains Murakami, “and my impression is that this then spread into Western Europe. This was the middle of the 1990s. I was really surprised when I heard that about half of the top ten bestselling books in Russia at one time were mine… I get the feeling that if you compare sales of my books with a historical timeline there’s a tendency worldwide for my books to start being read widely after there is a major shake-up (or transformation) in the social foundations of a country. My books started selling rapidly in Russia and Eastern Europe after the seismic shift when communism collapsed… In the midst of that shift in values, the stories I presented suddenly seemed tinged with a new, natural reality. The wall separating East and West Berlin dramatically came down, and from around the time German reunification, it seems like my books gradually started to be read more in Germany. Maybe it’s just a coincidence… The reality of actual society and the reality of stories are inevitably connected at a fundamental level in people’s souls (or in their unconscious). In any age, when something major occurs and there’s a shift in social reality, there’s a related yearning for a shift in the reality of stories as well…

“Stories can exist as metaphors for reality, and people need to internalize new stories (and new systems of metaphor) in order to cope with an unfolding new reality. By successfully connecting these two systems, the system of actual society and the metaphoric system — by, to put it another way, allowing movement between the objective world and the subjective world so they mutually modify each other—people are able to accept an uncertain reality and maintain their sanity” (pgs 201-202).

On Novels & the Craft

“Novels well up naturally from within you,” explains Murakami, “not something you can casually, strategically change. You can’t do market research or something and then intentionally rework the content based on the results. If you did, a work born from such a shallow base won’t find many readers. Such a work might find a readership for a time, but the work and the author won’t last long and will soon be forgotten. Abraham Lincoln’s famous saying “You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time” can apply to novels, too. There are a lot of things in this world that are demonstrated over time that can only be demonstrated over time” (pgs 199-200).

The creative process and the results of that creative process need Time. The passing periods of months, years, decades further aid the novelist as an ally, and once the novelist embraces Time as such, then the craft can gradually age into art, much like raw grapes transforming into fine wine.

“There is a saying in Japanese,” writes Murakami, “‘When trees sink and rocks float.’ It refers to occurrences that contravene the norm; but in the world of the novel—or perhaps, more broadly, in the realm of art—such reversals take place all the time. Things the world sees as trivial can acquire weight over time, while other things broadly considered to be weighty can, quite suddenly, reveal themselves to be only hollow shells. The unending creative process cannot be perceived by the naked eye, but its power, aided by the passing of time, yields such drastic turnarounds on a regular basis… You only have to look. In the field of human endeavor, things that seem mundane at first glance can, if you persevere, give birth to an endless array of insights. All you need to do, as I said before, is retain your healthy writerly ambition. That is the key” (pg 86).

The first step for Murakami as he begins to write a new novel is to finish or set aside all other projects, big or small, before undertaking the task of writing a new book. He likes to get things organized in order to work primarily on the new book. Smaller projects, such as short stories and essays, of any kind are set aside so that Murakami can focus his time and energy only on his new novel.

“The first step in my novel-writing process is, metaphorically, to clean off my desk. My stance is that I will work on nothing but the novel until it is completed, so I need to prepare. If I happen to be writing a series of essays, for example, I have to break it off, at least for the time being. Unless something really extraordinary comes along, all new projects are turned down…

“It strikes me that, at the risk of exaggeration, long novels are my lifeblood, while short stories and novellas are more like practice pieces, important and useful steps toward the construction of longer works” (p 93).

Working on his novel, Murakami’s daily goal is to write at least “sixteen hundred English words”, which comes out to be about three computer pages in English (single spaced) or “ten Japanese manuscript pages” (p 95). Like Murakami, Matthew Harffy — another full-time novelist who has reached international success — has a similar daily goal of roughly two thousand English words. It’s evident that full-time writers need to be producing manuscript pages every day, whether they want to or not. Writing is a job and the work needs to be done.

Much like Hemingway, Murakami also prefers to start writing in the early mornings and to stop writing once he has met his quota so that he can save writing for the next day. Murakami explains that he wakes up “early each morning”, brews a hot pot of coffee, and works straight for about “four or five hours” (p 96).

Hemingway explained the reasoning behind this technique of waking early to write and stopping when there’s still stuff in the tank: “When I am working on a book or a story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write. You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. You have started at six in the morning, say, and may go on until noon or be through before that. When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love.”

Murakami also explains his reasoning: “On days where I want to write more, I still stop… when I don’t feel like writing, I force myself to somehow fulfill my quota. Why do I do it this way? Because it is especially important to maintain a steady pace when tackling a big project. That can’t work if you write a lot one day and nothing at all the next. So I punch in, write… and then punch out, as if I’m working on a time card” (p 95).

Murakami’s Five Stages of Writing

Murakami’s “Five Stages of Writing” are (i) the Writing Stage, (ii) the Pausing Stage, (iii) the Rewriting Stage, (iv) the Settling Stage, and (v) the Peer Review Stage.

The “Writing Stage” or the “Writing Period” can take anywhere from seven months to three years (Kafka on the Shore took from April to October to write the initial first draft). It greatly depends on the length and complexity of the book.

Next comes the “Pausing Stage” or the “Pausing Period” where Murakami takes a short break, an extended pause away from the manuscript, before the “Rewriting Stage” or “Rewriting Period” in the process of producing the novel. The Pausing Period usually lasts about “one week” for Murakami (p 97).

After that, he dives into rewriting and reworking the manuscript from beginning to end. Next, he’ll take another break, usually about one week, before starting the second rewrite from start to finish. Once he finishes the second rewrite, Murakami takes a third pause before beginning the third rewrite.

“No time is better spent than the time I spend rewriting, and nothing is more fun,” writes Murakami. “First, though, I take a short break (it depends on the situation, but usually about one week) before understanding the first rewrite. Then I start at the beginning and plow straight through to the end. At this stage, I make sweeping changes, leaving nothing untouched. No matter how long the novel is, or how complex its structure, I will have composed it without any fixed outline, not knowing how it will unfold or end, letting things take their course and improvising as I go along. This is by far the most fun way to write. As a result, though, the story is riddled with all sorts of contradictions and inconsistencies. Characters may radically change partway through. The timeline may become tangled. These glitches must be fixed if the novel is to flow smoothly in a comprehensible manner. In the process, some lengthy sections may have to be cut back, while other sections may have to be expanded. Entirely new episodes may have to be added…

“This rewrite usually takes a month or two. When I finish, I break for another week or so and then begin the second rewrite. As with the first rewrite, I start at the head and work my way through. The difference is that now I focus on the details of the manuscript, fine-tuning passages of natural description, for example, and adjusting the tone of dialogues. I check to ensure nothing in the plot is out of place, that hard-to-read sections are made easier, and that the story flows smoothly and naturally” (p 97).

“Once I have finished, I take another break,” explains Murakami, “and then plunge into the third rewrite. This time no cutting is involved. Instead, I tweak the novel” (p 98).

Next, comes the “Settling Stage” or the “Settling Period” where the manuscript is put away for an extended amount of time and the writer chooses not to think about the book — one could call it the “Do Nothing Stage” — usually until the book has been wiped clean, forgotten, from the writer’s mind. This allows the writer to settle and to later return to the manuscript after a long period of time with fresh eyes and a fresh perspective.

Murakami explains his writing process during his Settling Period:

“At this stage of the game, I take a longer break. For two weeks to a month, if possible, I stick the manuscript in my desk drawer and forget it… The time spent working on a long novel is important, to be sure, but time spent doing nothing is no less so. The same principle applies to a factory or a construction site: manufactured goods are left to settle before being shipped, and concrete is cured in the open air before being built upon. It is through this process that materials are allowed to set or dry out. The same thing holds true with novels. If you fail to let a novelist sit for a certain length of time, the parts won’t adhere, or will fail to dry and therefore be weakened.

“Once the novel has fully settled, it is time for another detailed and exhaustive run-through. Thanks to my time away, my impressions of the work will have changed quite a lot. Weaknesses I haven’t noticed before jump out at me. I can sense what has depth and what doesn’t. Just as the work has settled, so too has my state of mind” (pgs 98-99).

Once the Settling Period is over, however long that might be, Murakami’s manuscript is ready for the “Peer Review Period”, and the first “Peer Reader” is Murakami’s wife, Yoko Murakami (married 1971). She will read the manuscript and offer husband advice on how to make parts of the novel better, and then Haruki Murakami will begin rewriting and reworking various parts of the story that he decides need to be reworked after the conversations with his wife.

“Once the settling period is over and the subsequent rewrite completed,” explains Haruki Murakami, “I move on to the next step. By this point, the novel has assumed what will be more or less its final form, so I can show it to a first reader — namely, my wife. This is a natural extension of the writing process, a station on the line that leads from inception to completion. My wife’s opinions are something like standard tuning in music…

“She is thus the ‘fixed point’ in my editing process, the one who knows best how I write. We have been together for a long time, so that for the most part I understand the nuances of her thoughts and opinions and where they are coming from… and though the settling process may enable me to look at it more coolly, I am still emotionally wrapped up in the project, so it is very hard for me if someone says anything at all critical about it. I can become quite passionate. Harsh words are sometimes exchanged. I could never be so direct and honest with an editor — that’s the advantage, I guess, of getting feedback from someone close to you” (pgs 99-100).

At this point, Haruki Murakami seeks advice and feedback from additional outside Peer Review Readers, and if any part of the story needs clarification or reworked or tweaked a bit, Murakami will return to rewriting the scenes and parts of the book that need additional work.

“There is a rule that I follow, though, once another person has entered the scene,” explains Murakami. “Whether I agree or disagree with their comments, I rewrite every scene they have found fault with. From start to finish. In those cases where I find myself rejecting their comments, I may take the scene in an entirely different direction… After all, the idea that anything can be ‘perfectly written’ is a clear fallacy” (pgs 100-101).

This stage of the process will continue until Murakami is confident that the manuscript draft is ready to be given to the editor at the publishing company — which continues the Peer Review Stage of the writing process until publication.

“This time I don’t have to go through the manuscript from beginning to end. All I have to do is rewrite those problematic sections. After that, I ask my reader to revisit those parts, we discuss them, and if need be, I work on them some more…

“Once we have sorted things out to the best of our capability, I undertake another full rewrite to check and adjust the flow of the work. If fiddling around with small sections has disrupted the tone of the whole, I fix that. Then and only then do I formally present my manuscript to my editor. By this stage of the game my overheated brain has cooled enough to allow me to cope with his comments in an appropriately dispassionate way” (p 101).

Working closely with his editor, Murakami will continue through the Peer Review Stage at the designated publisher until the novel is ready for final publication and for mass consumption. The novels are often published in Japanese and in Japan first, and years later only are they translated and re-published into English.

To recap, Murakami’s Five Stages of Writing are (i) the Writing Stage, (ii) the Pausing Stage, (iii) the Rewriting Stage, (iv) the Settling Stage, and (v) the Peer Review Stage.

On Going & Living Abroad

“I took a lot of heat when I launched my career. ‘This can’t be called a novel,’ older critics fumed. ‘This isn’t literature!’ I found the constant attacks quite depressing, so I left Japan for a number of years and went to live abroad, where I could write what I wanted in peace, free of the constant static” (p 87).

In the late 1980s, “on the cusp of forty”, Murakami wanted to “carve out a new frontier” and after publishing Hard–Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World (1985), and just two years later, Murakami’s novel Norwegian Wood (1987), then a two-volume set, would go on to have a huge success by selling over two million copies in Japan (pgs 193, 196-197). Murakami left Japan and began writing his novels in cities such as Rome, Greece, London, New Jersey, Boston, and many others (pgs 196-197). He even wrote most of his highly-successful novel Kafka on the Shore (2002) “on the North Shore of the Hawaiian island of Kauai” (p 96).  

“My big decision,” explains Murakami, “to explore the possibilities abroad and leave Japan behind turned out to be the right one. Not only did the novel I wrote on this first trip, Norwegian Wood, happen to sell well (far better than expected), providing me with financial security, it also allowed me to establish a system of writing that I have been able to continue ever since. In a sense, I was lucky. But it was more than just luck. At the risk of sounding arrogant, things turned out the way they did because I was so determined, and also prepared to take the consequences” (p 95).

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After that, Murakami had a more comfortable position, a literary “calling card of sorts”, to seek out literary representation in New York City with the Amanda “Binky” Urban at the agency International Creative Management (ICM) and the publisher Alfred A. Knopf with the editor-in-chief Sonny Mehta and the editor Gary Fisketjon (p 193).

“All three of them were,” explains Murakami, “in order, Raymond Carver’s agent, his publisher, and chief editor. I don’t see this as mere coincidence” — likely because Murakami is the one who translated Ray Carver’s works into Japanese and “introduced him into Japan” — “Perhaps the late Ray Carver was leading me to them” (p 193).   

Raymond Carver’s (1938-1988) notable works include What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (1981), Where I’m Calling From: New and Selected Stories (1988), A New Path to the Waterfall (1989), and Call If You Need Me (2000).

Towards the end of the book, Murakami opens up and reflects on the reasons why he left Japan in the 1980s, and why he thinks the Japanese publishing industry, for the most part, and many literary gatekeepers seemed to reject him as a writer back then. After all, he was simply doing what he loved to do. He contemplates why many mainstream authors in Japan resented and despised him for being a novelist.

“Looking back on it now, I get the feeling this was the Japanese literary world (writers, critics, editors, etc.) at the time venting its frustration,” writes Murakami. “The result of the discontent and gloominess inside the literary industry toward the rapid decline in the presence and influence of the so-called mainstream (pure literature). In other words, a gradual paradigm shift was taking place. People in publishing, though, found this cultural meltdown lamentable and they couldn’t stand it. Many of them thought of my works, and my very existence, as ‘one of the causes that has hurt and destroyed the way things should be’ and, like white blood cells attacking a virus, tried to drive me out. That’s the feeling I got. For my part, I felt that if the likes of me could damage them, then the problem lay more with them than with me…

“I’m not really the type of personality who hates to lose, but when I’m not convinced by something I do tend to pursue it until I am. Also, if my work is centered more on foreign countries, then there will be less of a need to deal with the troublesome domestic literary industry. This possibility was another reason I decided to focus on doing my best abroad… To say that I was original, that I had my own special style — for me nothing could be higher praise” (pgs 198-199).

Murakami concludes his book with a sincere and insightful self-reflection about leaving Japan in the 1980s that is similar to how the American novelist C.G. Fewston feels about having left his America and Texas for Asia back in 2006. Murakami left Asia for America. Fewston left America for Asia. Decades apart, two writers crossing one another over the Pacific.

Like Fewston (who is also an expatriate novelist), Murakami explains the profound connection a writer feels for his homeland once the writer has had to leave, often for the sake and survival of their art and their desire to succeed as novelists — especially when the respective literary industries have blatantly and inexcusably rejected Fewston and Murakami out of the literary world’s own spite and discontent. Such is the life of being a novelist abroad.

“I’m not a particularly patriotic type (I see myself as having more cosmopolitan tendencies),” explains Murakami, “but like it or not, living abroad I became more conscious of myself as a Japanese writer. Others around me saw me this way, and I saw myself that way, too. And without knowing it, I developed a sense of fellowship with my countrymen. If you think about it, it’s kind of strange. I escape from the land of Japan, from the rigid framework of its society, and live abroad as an expatriate, only to find myself compelled to return to a relationship with that very land” (p 207).

Luke 4:24

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