4장
The Meticulous Translator and the Literary Establishment
Jay Rubin, now retired from Harvard and living in Seattle, represents the academic counterpoint to Birnbaum's bohemian approach. Born in 1941 in Washington D.C. to a barber father and real estate broker mother, Rubin was drawn to Japanese literature at the University of Chicago, charmed by its seeming uselessness as a subject. His approach to translation emerged from scholarly training rather than multicultural immersion, shaped by rigorous academic methodology and a deep appreciation for linguistic precision. Throughout his career, Rubin maintained strong ties to academic institutions, publishing scholarly works on Japanese literature and culture alongside his translations.
Rubin first encountered Murakami's work in 1989 when asked to evaluate "Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World" for Vintage. Initially approaching the task with academic skepticism, thinking "it wouldn't hurt me to discover what kind of junk was being read out there," Rubin was amazed by Murakami's imagination. The novel's blend of surrealism and contemporary cultural references challenged his preconceptions about modern Japanese literature. Like Birnbaum, he particularly admired Murakami's humor and short fiction, finding in them a perfect balance of accessibility and literary sophistication. He wrote to Murakami requesting permission to translate some stories, sending sample translations of "The Second Bakery Attack" and "The Elephant Vanishes." Soon after, Murakami himself called, asking if Playboy could publish Rubin's translation, marking the beginning of their long-standing professional relationship.
When discussing his translators, Murakami often contrasts their styles: "Alfred is more free, Jay is more faithful to the original." Yet a closer examination of Rubin's translation of "The Second Bakery Attack" reveals significant departures from the Japanese original. The opening philosophical musings on free will are simplified to about half their original length, demonstrating that even the most "faithful" translator must make substantial interpretive decisions. Throughout the story, numerous details, descriptions, and difficult-to-translate metaphors are omitted, particularly those deeply rooted in Japanese cultural context. In the second half, where the couple attacks the bakery, small actions and internal monologues are trimmed, giving the English version a faster pace than the original. These changes reflect Rubin's careful consideration of how to maintain the story's impact for an English-speaking audience while preserving its essential meaning.
The story selection process for "The Elephant Vanishes" revealed stark differences between translators. Rubin and Birnbaum had "completely different" tastes with "no overlap between the stories we had translated or wanted to translate." While Birnbaum gravitated toward Murakami's more experimental pieces, Rubin often chose stories that showcased the author's literary craftsmanship and subtle character development. Their divergent approaches created a fascinating tension in how Murakami's work was presented to English readers-sometimes more experimental and freewheeling (Birnbaum), sometimes more measured and literary (Rubin). This diversity in translation styles ultimately enriched the English-language reception of Murakami's work, offering readers multiple interpretative windows into his fictional universe.
5장
The Transformation of Hard-Boiled Wonderland
Following the success of "A Wild Sheep Chase," Kodansha International faced the crucial decision of which Murakami book to publish next in America. "Norwegian Wood" seemed a natural choice, having been a massive bestseller in Japan with over 3.5 million copies sold by 1988. Despite initial plans to release it in the U.S. market, Luke "clearly objected" to publishing it at that stage. He found the book "too Japanese" with relationships that were "too young" and "too naive" for Western readers, and worried it might "squander his readership." Both Luke and Birnbaum disliked aspects of the novel-Birnbaum found its "soft focus sentimentality" unappealing and admitted his translation was "less than enthusiastic."
Instead, they chose "Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World," which both felt had greater potential to capture American readers' imagination with its parallel worlds and ambitious scope. For this novel, Birnbaum and Luke took their collaboration to a new level. Rather than editing a completed translation, they worked side by side throughout the process, often spending five to six hours a day, five days a week, reading passages aloud and refining the text on Birnbaum's computer at Luke's home in Kamakura.
A key challenge was establishing distinct voices for the novel's alternating chapters. In the Japanese original, Murakami differentiated the narrators through different first-person pronouns: the formal watashi for Hard-Boiled Wonderland chapters and the informal boku for End of the World chapters. Unable to replicate this distinction in English, Birnbaum and Luke brilliantly employed different tenses instead-past tense for Hard-Boiled Wonderland and present tense for the dreamlike End of the World sections. This solution was so effective that Jay Rubin later admitted he would be "hard pressed not to steal Alfred's brilliant use of past and present narratives" if he ever retranslated the book.
The most controversial aspect of their work on "Hard-Boiled Wonderland" involved significant cuts-approximately 100 pages from the original thousand-page Japanese text. Their most substantial edits involved the Girl in Pink character, removing entire scenes containing sexually explicit content-particularly exchanges where she makes aggressive sexual advances toward the protagonist. These cuts reflected the translators' concerns about Western readers' patience and their desire to keep the narrative "tight." Luke defended the decisions, saying certain passages seemed "preposterous" and might lead readers to dismiss the book or author. Critics like Professor Hosea Hirata found these deletions problematic, particularly objecting to changes in the Shadow's final speech that made him "more ethically authoritative."
Murakami himself expressed ambivalence about the changes. While acknowledging that "it's okay to take out certain parts" as long as the "narrative flow" isn't disrupted, he also admitted concern that Birnbaum might have "gone too far." The translation was published with the credit "translated and adapted by Alfred Birnbaum with the participation of the author," reflecting its departure from the original text.
6장
Breaking into The New Yorker and the American Literary Establishment
In September 1990, Murakami achieved what he considered "as incredible as walking on the moon" when The New Yorker published his story "TV People," translated by Alfred Birnbaum. This publication marked a pivotal moment in his international career, making him "happier than any literary prize could." In the American literary landscape, having stories in The New Yorker carried tremendous prestige, particularly for foreign writers seeking to establish themselves in the English-speaking world. His status as a "New Yorker author" was cemented when he was included in a 1994 Richard Avedon photo feature alongside literary luminaries like John Updike, Ann Beattie, and William Maxwell - a visual declaration of his arrival in America's literary elite.
The editing process at The New Yorker, particularly under Linda Asher's guidance, revealed fascinating insights into the cultural translation of Japanese literature for American audiences. The editing of "The Windup Bird and Tuesday's Women" serves as a prime example of this transformation. Sexual content underwent significant modification: phrases like "C'mon, now think about touching me" were softened to "C'mon, now think about stroking me," while more explicit references were either toned down or eliminated entirely. The editorial changes extended beyond mere content censorship - they reflected deeper cultural adaptations. The substitution of T.S. Eliot for Allen Ginsberg as a literary reference demonstrated a conscious shift toward more established canonical figures. Character names were altered to avoid unintended real-world associations, and the addition of "Tokyo" in opening paragraphs satisfied The New Yorker's editorial policy of early geographical orientation, a practice particularly important for international fiction.
In early 1991, Haruki and Yoko Murakami's arrival at Princeton University marked another significant step in his American journey. This opportunity, orchestrated by Elmer Luke through Martin Collcutt, then director of Princeton's East Asian studies department, was particularly meaningful given Murakami's deep admiration for F. Scott Fitzgerald, who had attended the university. Princeton's serene academic environment proved ideal for Murakami's writing process. He particularly appreciated the campus's running paths, calling it the "perfect place for jogging" - a crucial element of his creative routine. During this period, he worked intensively on what would eventually become two separate novels: the ambitious "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" and the more intimate "South of the Border, West of the Sun."
Princeton's strategic location, less than two hours from Manhattan, combined with Murakami's minimal teaching responsibilities, allowed him to cultivate essential publishing relationships. A pivotal meeting occurred on November 1, 1991, when Murakami traveled to Manhattan to meet Sonny Mehta, the legendary head of Knopf. Their dinner at one of Mehta's preferred Indian restaurants became a turning point in Murakami's career, despite his being so nervous about meeting "a giant of the publishing industry" that he barely registered the meal's taste. The meeting proved extraordinarily successful - by dessert, Mehta had already expressed interest in publishing Murakami's work, and within a month, had offered to publish his short stories. For Murakami, this represented more than just another publishing deal; it meant access to "this extremely powerful hub" of global publishing, and he felt he was "finally standing at the start line" of his true international career. This partnership with Knopf would prove instrumental in establishing Murakami's enduring presence in the English-speaking literary world.
7장
The Changing of the Guard and The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
By fall 1992, all of Murakami's previously written novels had been published or were forthcoming in English, marking a significant milestone in his international career. During his Princeton residency, Murakami completed two new novels, but he was particularly confident about "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," considering it his most ambitious work to date. His enthusiasm was such that he pushed for its English translation even before the Japanese serialization in Shincho magazine had concluded - an unusual move that demonstrated his growing awareness of his international readership.
This period marked a crucial transition in Murakami's translation team. Alfred Birnbaum, who had been instrumental in bringing Murakami's early works to English readers, began stepping back from translation work. The situation was multifaceted: Birnbaum was pursuing an MA in Burmese studies and had expressed feelings of creative exhaustion after years of intensive translation work. Meanwhile, Jay Rubin, who had previously translated shorter works, was eager to tackle more substantial projects. This transition coincided with what Murakami himself identified as a significant evolution in his writing style around 1990. His prose had become "more meticulous" and structurally complex, making Birnbaum's characteristically free-flowing translation style potentially less suitable for his new direction.
Rubin's translation of "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" was a monumental undertaking that spanned nearly five years. The resulting 290,000-word manuscript presented a significant challenge for Knopf, who had set a target of 125,000 words for optimal market "salability." Anticipating editorial concerns, Rubin proactively prepared two versions: a complete translation and one carefully abridged by 25,000 words. The publisher's choice of the shorter version placed Murakami in a delicate position. As a newly signed Knopf author, he felt constrained in his ability to object, later commenting with resignation, "When they said it was too long I told myself it couldn't be helped." Rubin's abridgment process focused primarily on streamlining Book Two, removing certain chapters and reorganizing material to create what he believed was a "tighter and cleaner" narrative flow. Unlike the highly collaborative editing process that had characterized "Hard-Boiled Wonderland," Rubin worked independently on these cuts, which Knopf accepted without revision.
The book's physical presentation received extraordinary attention through Chip Kidd's innovative cover design. His wind-up toy bird concept became what he considered "the most ambitious and intricate design" he had ever attempted for a work of fiction. The striking cover utilized a bold color palette of yellow, orange, and blue, featuring an arresting bird's eye on the front and an ingenious wind-up key mechanism on the back. Despite the design's significant impact on production costs, publisher Sonny Mehta's approval demonstrated Knopf's substantial investment in the book's success.
"The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" proved to be Murakami's definitive breakthrough in both American and British markets. Critics widely recognized it as a turning point in his career, with influential reviewer Jamie James declaring it "a bold and generous book" that established Murakami as "a major figure in world literature." The hardcover edition achieved impressive sales of 14,000-20,000 copies, garnering prestigious recognition as both an Editors' Choice and Notable Book of the Year. Perhaps most significantly, as Fisketjon observed, the novel created an unprecedented phenomenon in publishing: each of Murakami's books in Vintage paperback consistently sold more copies year after year, with readers actively seeking out his entire body of work, establishing a pattern of sustained growth that would define his international career.
8장
The Global Literary Phenomenon and the Question of Authenticity
"The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" marked Murakami's decisive breakthrough in the UK market, transforming him from a cult figure into a mainstream literary sensation. Christopher MacLehose's Harvill Press made a bold move by acquiring the rights through Gary Fisketjon, printing an unprecedented 60,000 copies - a number that reflected their confidence in Murakami's potential appeal to British readers. The critical reception was immediately and overwhelmingly favorable, with major publications like The Guardian and The Times Literary Supplement praising its imaginative depth and narrative complexity. This reception cemented Murakami's commercial success in Britain, leading Harvill Press to develop an aggressive publication strategy for his other works, creating a distinctive paperback series with uniform design that gained prominent bookstore placement and became instantly recognizable to readers.
The success of "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" fundamentally transformed Murakami's global standing, establishing him as one of the most significant contemporary writers. Each subsequent book built upon this foundation, with readers eagerly seeking out his entire catalog, from early works like "Hear the Wind Sing" to later masterpieces like "Kafka on the Shore." This phenomenon continues today with remarkable consistency - when a new Murakami book appears, sales of his entire backlist increase by as much as 40%. His work particularly resonated with other writers, including Roland Kelts, David Mitchell, and Junot Diaz, who found it revolutionary in its blend of Western and Eastern sensibilities. Mitchell praised it as Murakami's "masterpiece" and "a cocktail of quirkiness, emotional nuance, longing and metaphysical magic, mixed to perfection," while Diaz observed it vaulted Murakami "into the stratosphere of 'serious' writers," inspiring a generation of authors to experiment with magical realism and genre-bending narratives.
Yet this unprecedented success raises profound questions about authenticity and the nature of translation in world literature. When translator Jay Rubin claims, "When you read Haruki Murakami, you're reading me, at least ninety-five per cent of the time," he highlights the often invisible but crucial role translators play in an author's international reception. The Murakami that international readers encounter is fundamentally shaped by decisions made by his translators, editors, and publishers - from Alfred Birnbaum's substantial cuts to "Hard-Boiled Wonderland" to Rubin's careful abridgment of "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle," which removed nearly 25,000 words from the original Japanese text. These changes extend from Luke's strategic positioning of Murakami's work in the American market to Chip Kidd's iconic cover designs, which have become nearly as famous as the books themselves.
Unlike most translators who retain copyright of their translations, Murakami holds the translation rights to his English editions - Birnbaum sold his rights to Murakami at the author's specific request. This unusual arrangement leaves open the possibility of new translations replacing earlier work, something Murakami has expressed increasing interest in, believing more faithful translations would better serve his work now that he has an established readership. However, Knopf has been reluctant to replace what they consider "classics" in their current form, creating an ongoing tension between artistic integrity and commercial success.
The story of Murakami's global rise reveals the complex, collaborative nature of international literary success, involving networks of publishers, translators, designers, and marketing teams. It reminds us that when we read translated literature, we're experiencing not just an author's vision but the creative decisions of many individuals who shape how that vision crosses linguistic and cultural boundaries. For Murakami's millions of readers worldwide, the books they love are not simply translations but transformations-unique literary objects that exist somewhere between cultures, between languages, and between the many hands that helped create them. This transformation process has sparked ongoing debates about fidelity versus accessibility in translation, and about who ultimately "owns" a translated work - debates that continue to influence how world literature is produced and consumed.
