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A review by screamdogreads
In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami
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."