Tanti passaggi promettenti che però non sono sfocati in nulla.

C'è la giovane Mari che ogni tanto ha l'irrefrebibile impulso di passare tutta la notte fuori (il perché ci viene spiegato e sinceramente la capisco). In una di questi notti si imbatte in un ex compagno di scuola della sorella (modella bellissimissima e impegnatissima). I due iniziano una conversazione (nonostante le risposte fredde e laconiche di Mari).
Non c'è nessuna odissea come scritto nella trama ( )

After dark, the city is a different woman. She sheds off her daytime attire, emerging uninhibited, transformed. For the dark hours court extremes. The night’s shadows hide the blackest of crimes but also random acts of kindness, nascent friendships and loves. The night brings hedonist pleasure to some, hard work to others. And as the mystics teach us, the night, whether real or metaphorical, can bring cleansing and growth.

While the rest sleep, those who stay awake form an ill-assorted family of sinners and saints, heroes and villains, hunters and prey. The diverse cast which peoples Murakami’s brief novel “After Dark” seems to be a cross-section of this community of outcasts, whom we accompany on the streets of Tokyo over one eventful night. There’s Mari Asai, a timid student who kills the early hours reading in a Denny’s. There’s Takahashi, a jazz trombonist who’s doing his last gig. There’s retired female wrestler Kaoru and her fellow employees at the Alphaville “love hotel”. There’s also a Chinese female prostitute battered by an improbable assailant, the suave office worker Shirakawa. And, in a typically Murakamesque (Murakamian?) touch there’s also Mari’s sister Eri, an attractive young woman who has decided to “go to sleep”, and who lies in bed in a sort of suspended animation, a cross between a latter-day Snow White and Sleeping Beauty.

What struck me about this book (which I read in an Italian translation by Antonietta Pastore) is how “cinematic” it is, in the sense that it often reads like a film script. There are swathes of dialogue, reported in direct speech. Much of the rest of the text consists of minute descriptions of sights and sounds. Often Murakami consciously evokes the perspective of a video camera, zooming in and out of scene. We can also hear the soundtrack to this imaginary movie – the title itself refers one of Takahashi’s favourite songs, Curtis Fuller’s “Five Spot After Dark”, but there several other musical references, from the Japanese hip-hop playing in the 24/7 supermarket to the Scarlatti and Bach which Shirakawa works and exercises to in a deserted office block. (Incidentally, one reader has helpfully built an After Dark playlist on Spotify).

I can’t say I’ve read many of Murakami’s works - this is only my third after Norwegian Wood and Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage. However, as I’ve said elsewhere, Murakami always leaves me somewhat perplexed. His books go down so easily and enjoyably, like a glass of sparkling wine. At times, even as they describe a city I’ve never been to, and a life I’ve never lived, they seem to speak directly to me, as if they knew my secrets. On the other hand, other passages seem trite, the dialogue artificial (why do Murakami’s conversations end up sounding like a counselling session?) I honestly can’t fathom him, just as most of his characters can’t seem to fathom themselves. ( )

Afterdark offenbart die wahre Tragik im Werk von Murakami Haruki. Die Geschichte plätschert so vor sich hin, wird allerdings immer wieder von surrealen Einbettungen unterbrochen. Hier bin ich mir sicher, dass diese Einbettungen einst eine Kurzgeschichte wahren und auf Anraten des Verlages hat Murakami einen Roman daraus gemacht (nicht unüblich in Japan).
So wartet man dann immer wieder, bis diese Einbettungen auftauchen, denn sie sind spannend, mystisch und genau das, was das ganze Buch eigentlich sein möchte, unterhaltsam. In der Übergeordneten Geschichte gesellen sich dann noch die üblichen Murakami Buzzwords dazu, so dass man ohne Weiteres ein Murakami Haruki-Buzzword-Bingo zusammen bekommt. ( )

Tokyo, une nuit. Une jeune fille dort, une autre lit dans un fast-food, une prostituée se fait agresser… images banales mais qui glissent légèrement vers le fantastique. Une écriture cinématographique, très visuelle, qui n’est pas sans rappeler les tableaux de Edward Hopper (d’ailleurs nommément cité), et qui donne au lecteur le rôle de voyeur. Un roman envoûtant et fascinant, à lire de préférence de nuit en écoutant du jazz, ou du Bach. ( )

Murakami's ability to set vivid scenes always takes me by surprise, especially when it incorporates elements of surrealism into the narration. As with the rest of Murakami's novels, the characters seem a bit rehashed and they all sound the same. But, that's okay, because I like the characters. This dropped to a 3 from a 5 because of the high level of dissatisfaction that came over me once I finished it. Can't explain it. ( )