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versmonesprit's review against another edition
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A
0.25
Horror is a broad genre, so imagine my bewilderment at finding out In the Miso Soup does not, cannot fit into any of the niches, but is instead a major sin against papers, trees, ink, books, and readers: the author, the publisher, the average reader all try to gaslight you into thinking something must be going on for this book, when in fact absolutely nothing at all is — not characters, not narration, not plot, and not even horror. Ryū Murakami had the biggest target anyone could wish for, and still managed to miss by several miles.
There are several culprits.
The first, obviously, is the plot. There are three crime scenes in this book, and only one is “on-screen”. The only massacre readers get to witness falls comically short, for the reason that there is in fact an inexplicably super-natural hypnosis going on. Not only does this give the killer a convenient advantage and remove the tension of a chase, it also eliminates any exposition of fear and horror on the victims’ part. This unrealistic plot convenience is not an isolated incident either. Despite the book incessantly yapping about the author’s “cultural analysis” (though it’s impossible to call something that shallow as such) and unabashedly info-dumping, not once do we get any explanation as to how someone who had five bodies under his belt by the age of 12 could ever see the light of day again, let alone fly internationally with no fuss whatsoever. And as “Frank” info-dumps about his childhood, we get yet more cringy exaggeration that was clearly intended to be horrifying but instead makes it feel as if the book was written by a child — like how a very small child manages to bite his mother’s arm so hard and deep that it gushes blood into his mouth. In what universe?? You may be thinking, “Oh come on, you have to suspend your disbelief, this is fictional, and on top, a horror story.” Except serial killers are not supernatural horror, even when the author for whatever stupid, godforsaken reason chooses to involve “black magic” — oh yeah, there’s also that! How could I forget?! A boy, not even 12 yet, is incarcerated at a mental hospital, where he meets people who teach him black magic and how to cut throats without causing arterial spraying. Yeah. Yeah. We’re supposed to believe that. And maybe, just maybe, if black magic actually played any part in the book, this could’ve been forgivable. But no, we only get supernaturally powerful hypnosis, and that all glossed over (or even performed “off-screen” yet again) despite the book taking any semblance of an opportunity to go on and on and on and on about all sorts of irrelevant minutiae. The only things omitted from the book are the things that are vital to the plot 🙃 We will get info-dumped when it absolutely is not necessary to learn anything about the main characters’ childhoods, but oh no, we will not witness anything essential!
Speaking of all the torturous yapping, the way Ryū Murakami absolutely murders his own book (which is the only real horrifying thing going on for this allegedly horror book) is to repeat everything, every unimportant detail, every juvenile thought, at least thrice. You just read exactly what everyone did? Yeah here, read it again. And just to be sure, come on, read it again. And because Ryū Murakami is convinced you are the dumbest fucker to have ever plagued God’s green earth, read also the very mid breakdown of the few scenes, actions, dialogues that could have had some symbolic value. But no, you think it’s done? Haha, funny. We’re not. Here’s five more pages on that exact same thing. You don’t like that? Too fucking bad, this is all you’re getting up until the miserable “the real treasure is the friends we made along the way” ass ending! Talk about being anticlimactic — not even flight 370 crashed this hard! One moment you are finally (after 100+ pages, mind you 🙂) reading some horror element that comes way too abruptly to have any real effect, and the very next, you’re plunged into a whole bunch of crap where nothing happens other than an unending monologue about a murderous childhood, and an apology of horror films as if this is debate club. Because that’s a book! 😃
And congratulations, you are the valedictorian of clown school if you for one second believe there will be something to do with miso soup! Nope, it is just Japan. Let’s see if it makes more sense when put like this: “Frank” wishes he could have had miso soup with Kenji, but it’s alright, because Japan is a miso soup in which he now floats like a vegetable. Yeah no, still dumb as shit. I wish someone had poured boiling hot miso soup into my eyes so I wouldn’t have been able to read this utter crap of a book, but that’s life for you. We win some, we lose most. Here, the losses include far too many brain cells, I’m afraid.
There are several culprits.
The first, obviously, is the plot. There are three crime scenes in this book, and only one is “on-screen”. The only massacre readers get to witness falls comically short, for the reason that there is in fact an inexplicably super-natural hypnosis going on. Not only does this give the killer a convenient advantage and remove the tension of a chase, it also eliminates any exposition of fear and horror on the victims’ part. This unrealistic plot convenience is not an isolated incident either. Despite the book incessantly yapping about the author’s “cultural analysis” (though it’s impossible to call something that shallow as such) and unabashedly info-dumping, not once do we get any explanation as to how someone who had five bodies under his belt by the age of 12 could ever see the light of day again, let alone fly internationally with no fuss whatsoever. And as “Frank” info-dumps about his childhood, we get yet more cringy exaggeration that was clearly intended to be horrifying but instead makes it feel as if the book was written by a child — like how a very small child manages to bite his mother’s arm so hard and deep that it gushes blood into his mouth. In what universe?? You may be thinking, “Oh come on, you have to suspend your disbelief, this is fictional, and on top, a horror story.” Except serial killers are not supernatural horror, even when the author for whatever stupid, godforsaken reason chooses to involve “black magic” — oh yeah, there’s also that! How could I forget?! A boy, not even 12 yet, is incarcerated at a mental hospital, where he meets people who teach him black magic and how to cut throats without causing arterial spraying. Yeah. Yeah. We’re supposed to believe that. And maybe, just maybe, if black magic actually played any part in the book, this could’ve been forgivable. But no, we only get supernaturally powerful hypnosis, and that all glossed over (or even performed “off-screen” yet again) despite the book taking any semblance of an opportunity to go on and on and on and on about all sorts of irrelevant minutiae. The only things omitted from the book are the things that are vital to the plot 🙃 We will get info-dumped when it absolutely is not necessary to learn anything about the main characters’ childhoods, but oh no, we will not witness anything essential!
Speaking of all the torturous yapping, the way Ryū Murakami absolutely murders his own book (which is the only real horrifying thing going on for this allegedly horror book) is to repeat everything, every unimportant detail, every juvenile thought, at least thrice. You just read exactly what everyone did? Yeah here, read it again. And just to be sure, come on, read it again. And because Ryū Murakami is convinced you are the dumbest fucker to have ever plagued God’s green earth, read also the very mid breakdown of the few scenes, actions, dialogues that could have had some symbolic value. But no, you think it’s done? Haha, funny. We’re not. Here’s five more pages on that exact same thing. You don’t like that? Too fucking bad, this is all you’re getting up until the miserable “the real treasure is the friends we made along the way” ass ending! Talk about being anticlimactic — not even flight 370 crashed this hard! One moment you are finally (after 100+ pages, mind you 🙂) reading some horror element that comes way too abruptly to have any real effect, and the very next, you’re plunged into a whole bunch of crap where nothing happens other than an unending monologue about a murderous childhood, and an apology of horror films as if this is debate club. Because that’s a book! 😃
And congratulations, you are the valedictorian of clown school if you for one second believe there will be something to do with miso soup! Nope, it is just Japan. Let’s see if it makes more sense when put like this: “Frank” wishes he could have had miso soup with Kenji, but it’s alright, because Japan is a miso soup in which he now floats like a vegetable. Yeah no, still dumb as shit. I wish someone had poured boiling hot miso soup into my eyes so I wouldn’t have been able to read this utter crap of a book, but that’s life for you. We win some, we lose most. Here, the losses include far too many brain cells, I’m afraid.
lillybookland's review against another edition
I start this book without knowing anything about it except it's horror, I REGRET it. It's violent and brutal, and the ending is so unrealistic. there's no suspense, no mystery, no horror, just violent
skazhavets's review against another edition
4.0
Basically people who love horror movies are people with boring lives. They want to be stimulated, and they need to reassure themselves, because when a really scary movie is over, you're reassured to see that you're still alive and the world still exists as it did before. That's the real reason we have horror films-they act as shock absorbers-and if they disappeared altogether it would mean losing one of the few ways we have to ease the anxiety of the imagination.
I see myself as being like a virus. Did you know that only a tiny minority of viruses cause illness in humans? No one knows how many viruses there are, but their real role, when you get right down to it, is to aid in mutations, to create diversity among life forms. I’ve read a lot of books on the subject—when you don’t need much sleep you have a lot of time to read—and I can tell you that if it weren’t for viruses, mankind would never have evolved on this planet. Some viruses get right inside the DNA and change your genetic code, did you know that? And no one can say for sure that HIV, for example, won’t one day prove to have been rewriting our genetic code in a way that’s essential to our survival as a race. I’m a man who consciously commits murders and scares the hell out of people and makes them reconsider everything, so I’m definitely malignant, yet I think I play a necessary role in this world.
darniy's review against another edition
dark
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.0
Content Warnings
Graphic: Sexual violence, Murder, Violence, and Sexual assault
anitahacker's review against another edition
dark
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
2.0
jrice92's review against another edition
3.0
3.5 Stars for In the Miso Soup.
I really enjoyed this read so dont let the 3.5 stars put you off, this is a short punchy read in a horror/thriller genre mix, I've been really into Japanese horror recently and I wanted to try some slightly different reads.
Minor spoilers/plot points below (you've been warned)
In the Miso Soup follows a tout/tour guide called Kenji.
Kenji shows tourists (mainly Americans) around Japans version of the Red Light District showing the best clubs and pubs along with the more X rated stuff that i'm sure I dont need to spell out.
Kenji is hired by an American tourist called Frank (instantly seems odd) for three days, Frank wants to see all the spots, his story doesn't add up and he keeps tripping up on small white lies, making Kenji doubt how much Frank is saying is true. Then the bodies start piling up in all the spots Kenji and Frank visit.
I wont say much more other than this is an enjoyable read, I wouldn't say its a classic but I would recommend it to people who want to try something different especially people like me who are fascinated by Japan.
FYI
There is one very VERY graphic killing scene that I found difficult to read through, if your triggered by heavy violence this might not be for you.
I really enjoyed this read so dont let the 3.5 stars put you off, this is a short punchy read in a horror/thriller genre mix, I've been really into Japanese horror recently and I wanted to try some slightly different reads.
Minor spoilers/plot points below (you've been warned)
In the Miso Soup follows a tout/tour guide called Kenji.
Kenji shows tourists (mainly Americans) around Japans version of the Red Light District showing the best clubs and pubs along with the more X rated stuff that i'm sure I dont need to spell out.
Kenji is hired by an American tourist called Frank (instantly seems odd) for three days, Frank wants to see all the spots, his story doesn't add up and he keeps tripping up on small white lies, making Kenji doubt how much Frank is saying is true. Then the bodies start piling up in all the spots Kenji and Frank visit.
I wont say much more other than this is an enjoyable read, I wouldn't say its a classic but I would recommend it to people who want to try something different especially people like me who are fascinated by Japan.
FYI
There is one very VERY graphic killing scene that I found difficult to read through, if your triggered by heavy violence this might not be for you.
weirdly_reading's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
I am simply mesmerized by Ryu Murakami's writing. I am just as dragged into the history, as Kenji is into Frank's web of strangeness, lies, and half truths.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Gore, Violence, and Murder
Moderate: Mental illness
Minor: Sexual content
lunacarmona's review against another edition
challenging
dark
sad
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
screamdogreads's review against another edition
4.0
"I'd worked for nearly two hundred foreigners by now, most of them Americans, but I'd never seen a face quite like this one. It took me a while to pinpoint exactly what was so odd about it. The skin. It looked almost artificial, as if he'd been horribly burned and the doctors resurfaced his face with this fairly realistic man-made material."
In the Miso Soup is a vibrantly unsettling cult classic novel that delves deep into the seedy underworld of the tourism funded sex industry - it is at once meaningful and deliberate while also being purposefully hollow and detached from itself, it's akin to a sexually charged, quieter, much more intimate version of American Psycho. It's really rather unhinged and wild but, it's not without purpose, the violence hits us in short, shocking waves and yet, we're never full emerged in it, instead, forced to bear witness from afar to the grotesqueness that is this book.
It's so exceedingly perverse and brutal that experiencing it feels like injecting gasoline into your veins, this results in an intensely sensational reading experience. Yes, it's the tale of a serial killer on a rampage but told in a more quiet kind of manner. As a novel it's sickening and soaked through with gore but, it's also thought-provoking and challenging, in its brilliance, this novel manages somehow to cast a sympathetic light upon its killer. Creating such a dichotomy is a difficult thing so easily ruined, Murakami however, knocks it out of the park.
In the Miso Soup is a vibrantly unsettling cult classic novel that delves deep into the seedy underworld of the tourism funded sex industry - it is at once meaningful and deliberate while also being purposefully hollow and detached from itself, it's akin to a sexually charged, quieter, much more intimate version of American Psycho. It's really rather unhinged and wild but, it's not without purpose, the violence hits us in short, shocking waves and yet, we're never full emerged in it, instead, forced to bear witness from afar to the grotesqueness that is this book.
It's so exceedingly perverse and brutal that experiencing it feels like injecting gasoline into your veins, this results in an intensely sensational reading experience. Yes, it's the tale of a serial killer on a rampage but told in a more quiet kind of manner. As a novel it's sickening and soaked through with gore but, it's also thought-provoking and challenging, in its brilliance, this novel manages somehow to cast a sympathetic light upon its killer. Creating such a dichotomy is a difficult thing so easily ruined, Murakami however, knocks it out of the park.
"The images flicked through my mind like drug flashbacks, but unaccompanied by any real sense of revulsion or outrage. I remembered the sound of the guy's neck bones cracking, but all I could think was: So that's what it's like when you break somebody in two. Maybe my nerves still hadn't thawed out. I tried to feel sorry for the people who'd been killed but found to my horror, that I couldn't. I couldn't feel any sympathy for them at all."
The fact that this novel is told entirely in a nonchalant conversational style, and is built up of mostly narrative discussions adds such a sobering and uneasy feel to the story. There's an arresting vividity that's just shooting throughout the novel, it's a depraved and violent thing that folds such complex themes into its horror. Degeneracy, isolation, loneliness and corruption are so marvelously explored here. It's so brazen in its artfulness and intelligence. It really is delightful how fucked up this book is.
Being such a short and break-neck paced little novel, makes it entirely easy to devour in the space of a night. It's not even all in the length of the story, it's so damn enrapturing that putting the book down is a difficult task. There's this neon-noir dread laced through every single word. What begins as a sleazy, filthy and seductive pulp tale descends quickly into a maddening bloodbath of murder and psychopathic musings. It's a brilliant, pleasurable reading experience and also so grim and vile that even the most ardent of horror fans will feel their stomachs churning. It's a novel so absolutely worthy of its cult-like status.
"It's fun trying to build a castle on a moving train, you can like lose yourself or whatever and not have all these weird thoughts, because at the time I kept having this weird thought about poking some little girl's eyes with a pin or a toothpick or a hypodermic needle, something pointy like that, and it scared me to think about what if I really did it."