The Places Where We Live: Reality and Illusion in 1Q84 and The Red Scarf

At least in its translation, 1Q84 can sound a little stilted, as if a seventh-grader was trying to sound like an adult, but despite this shortcoming and its prodigious length, this novel examines issues central to the state of man and human nature that make it a valuable possible tool for use in the English classroom. Like so much other literature, 1Q84 has the reader befriend characters who are lost, characters who are neither virtuous nor villainous and, through the course of the work, the novel humanizes them by pitting them against an other-worldly atmosphere in contrast to which they stand out – much as readers stand out against the elements of their worlds that they don’t inhabit comfortably. Even though the harsh sun of their hostile world rises up on their dream of peace and tranquility, the protagonists project enough control over their future to be able to rein in the negative and, through pure faith of will, hold fast to the calm moon (p. 375). In this way, they harmoniously coexist within their stylized universe, which is really just a metaphor for their discomfort.

In a happier version of confluence between the real and the alternate, the mouse taxicab driver in Anne Villeneuve The Red Scarf goes on a perfectly down-to-earth errand for a rider only to find that he had been part of an elaborate magic trick from the start. In this book, magic is a friendly alternate force, that element that puts disparate elements of our life together, that gives lost scarves meaning and our days a healthy glow. In The Red Scarf as in 1Q84, the real and the otherworldly work hand in hand. In The Red Scarf, they are benevolent partners, carrying Turpin on an adventure that is both earthy and magical. In 1Q84, the characters fight against a dark force, and it is only the quiet good in them that eventually prevails to make the world they want to inhabit a reality.

Use in the classroom. In both works, the alternate world forces represent the confluence between what people perceive as able to be controlled and what they perceive as outside of that range. Even though, as mentioned above, each work treats this relationship differently, its central access to general states of uneasiness in the human experience makes each of them broadly appealing to a wide range of readers. The theme of the illusory (out of our control) and the real (within our control) can be applied to ideas about race and ethnicity, culture, physical ability, gender identity and other topics of interest to readers and to our culture at large. For this reason, these themes are widely applicable to reader experiences and, therefore, apt for use within the classroom.

Additionally, as one recent study shows, there is a general benefit to reading literary fiction in that it expands readers’ ability to “identify and understand others’ subjective states” (Kidd, 2013, p. 377). The characters and plots in the two works chosen here certainly allow for this benefit.

Personal & Textual Response

As alluded to above, 1Q84 is a novel in which good people without special distinction are stuck in a marred world. To me, the particular elements that signified this relationship were the descriptions of the characters’ physical flaws. Early on, we are introduced, separately, to two women: Aomame and Fuka-Eri. We are told that they are both beautiful and yet they both have deformities. In Aomame’s case it is a “misshapen left ear,” which is “significantly…bigger and malformed,” than the right (p. 13-14). In Fuka-Eri, it is her “expression,” which is “strangely unbalanced – perhaps because there was a slight difference in the depth of the left and right eyes” (p. 57).

As the American writer Flannery O’Connor has written, the human deformity is symbolic of human flaws (Simpson, 2005). Even more alarming than characters who have physical deformities, however, are characters who have none (Simpson, p. 68). In that sense, these two women are simply human. They are not so perfect as to be suspicious and, no matter how mysterious they seem, their physical imbalance is always there to remind us that they are flesh-and-blood, that they belong to a world that is more real and calm than the one they are inhabiting. Like the displaced portion of each of us, their deformities are camouflaged, hidden behind hair, exposed only occasionally and by accident, or so subtle that they are merely a reminder of imperfection (Murakami, 2011, p.18, p.57).

This metaphor extends throughout 1Q84 and we get the impression that, like the physical flaws of the nanny in the children’s fantasy film Nanny McPhee (2005), the physical flaws of these characters dissolve as their world improves. Dissolve or melt into matching it and become indistinguishable from the rest of it, not worth mentioning any more – at home. In this way, I viewed 1Q84 as a metaphor: those elements in us which don’t fit with our environment and our experience stand out, they cause a jarring, they need to be covered up or hidden. Once there is no longer a disconnect between us and our lives, emotionally, the physical pains and scars that represented that discomfort are erased as well.

In The Red Scarf, a small taxicab-driver mouse goes on an errand to return a scarf left behind by one of his riders. By the end of the picture book, it is clear that the scarf was left there intentionally and that it played a part in an elaborate magic act that required the simplicity of everyday motives to pull it off.

Turpin the driver and his scarf go on a bit of journey after entering the circus tent wherein the mysterious rider disappeared after leaving the cab. They are chased by a unicyclist, eaten by a lion and spit out again, run up a latter to a high tight-rope and, featured as the stars of a magic act. As so often happens in literary works, it is the last portions of the story that are most illustrative of its core qualities.

In The Red Scarf, Turpin is always painted as benevolent. He leaves his scarf and follows who he thinks is its owner into his workplace, the circus tent, but it isn’t until he follows the monkeys up the high ladder to the tightrope that his true good nature shines through. Perhaps because I myself fear heights, I consider any act involving heights more dangerous and therefore more meaningful than work on flat ground. Therefore, when Turpin ventured onto the tight rope to get the scarf, I knew he was truly good and would go to any height to maintain hold of and protect his former rider’s property. It is therefore highly gratifying to find that, in the next moment, he has fallen, yes, but he has fallen into a magic box and has become part of a magic act. When he emerges from the box, intact and holding the scarf, he is rewarded with stardom and applause. Finally, the small mouse with the big will to do what’s right gets a reward.

This small picture book teaches several straightforward lessons if we look at it through the lens of the child reader: 1.) Do what is right and you will be rewarded. 2.) Stay brave and there will be a payoff. But the very first impression upon completing the book for this adult reader was that two worlds converge for a benevolent dance: an ordinary scarf that leads to an adventure which makes the beginning of the journey, in retrospect, not so ordinary. The book speaks to the mysterious way in which meaning is built in human life. It makes explicit the idea that ordinary events feed into a fuller orchestration. Or that our perception of these events builds this meaning. Of course, in a book like this, “our perception” is represented by a deliberate, fantastical storyline.

Critical Response

In Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir Eat, Pray Love (2007), the writer quotes a woman she met once, “almost one hundred years old” (p. 50,) who tells her that people “all through history,” have only ever fought over two questions: “How much do you love me and Who’s in charge?” (p. 50).

I feel that the main characters in 1Q84 struggle with the latter question in individually and as a group. The reader has the sense that Aomame and Tango are bound by circumstance. Aomame is a talented assassin, with skills only she possesses, but even so, in her first murder of the book, we see that she is powerless against her own will (p. 43). “This was an easier death than you deserved,” she thinks to herself after she is done, “Unfortunately, however, the choice was not mine” (p. 44). She is beautiful, accomplished and tidy. But she is not the master of her life.

Tango is similarly predisposed. He is a mathematics teacher who writes fiction on the days when he is off from teaching. Besides making the subject of writing an awkward protagonist in the story and the distinction between fact and fiction a permanent theme, Tango’s story also shows him to be a bit of a puppet in his own life. He is a good writer but, as his editor tells him, he is missing that “special something” that would make him a great writer, which would allow him to compete for prestigious national prizes (1Q84, p. 34). It is this absence of writing magic that, tellingly, involves him with the ghostwriting project that will change his life. But even this entrance into the remainder of his life is not done with a strong, personal will in motion. “I don’t have a decision,” he placidly tells his editor when asked about his decision to write or not to write with the promising young novelist (p. 56).

Throughout the book, the words of the opening epigraph, which quotes Billy Rose and E. Y. Harburg song, “It’s Only a Paper Moon” (1933) infuses the characters with the idea that illusion and reality intermix. More specifically, it points to what ends up to be their own conclusion as well: that reality is that which we mutually support within each other. The subjective experiences we chose to defend will be those we experience. When Tango and Aomame stare at the moon through their hotel window at the end of the novel, the reader is left with the impression that they are now in control of their destiny by being in control of their experiences. It’s “the same old familiar moon” (p. 932) but no longer threatening because, together, they are viewing it as they want to see it. It is paper when they want it to be paper. The world is thus under their control. They have grown up. It is no wonder, then, that Aomame thinks, “Whatever world we are in now…this is where we’ll remain, this world with one moon” (p. 932). One moon or not, the world is in their control since they have their perception with which to sculpt it.

The world in The Red Scarf is much less ominous than in 1Q84 and there is much less to combat there. Turpin the taxicab driver has only his mission to deliver the scarf to its owner to accomplish and his determination to maintain. Lots of obstacles obscure his way but he perseveres and, as we learn in the end, he perseveres because he was part of a master plan. The rider magician left his scarf in the taxicab in order that the set of events that followed can take place.

Even though it seems as if The Red Scarf may be about a scarf or maybe about its magician owner, it really is about the Turpin the driver or, more generally, about the human properties of goodwill, strength, and perseverance. The story seems to say: these properties are rewarded. What is magical about this story, however, is that the reward comes first. That is, with the reward in mind, the magician orchestrates a magic act that involves much more than the circus floor. It requires past and present, intention and planning to come together with faith in the actions of another person. It is a magic act of life not just of the circus. If we follow our instincts and hold tight, this magic act seems to say, we will become part of a performance that will seem much more full than we could have imagined. Instead of just delivering a scarf to a man, Turpin becomes the star of a performance.

In this way, even though it looks as if Turpin has little control over events in the story, in fact, he can be viewed as the reason why the magic act takes place. If Turpin’s sweet taxi-driving character is seen as having been observed by the magician who rode with him and who then set things in motion by leaving his scarf behind, it can be said that Turpin is at the center of the magical whirlwind. If we consider the idea that magician left the scarf behind by accident, instead, an even more delightful proposition is offered by the book: that the world works in circular, magical ways which have full meaning behind their motion before the move even begins. That is if you are good and true and moved by the need to serve and persevere.

Intertextual Response

It may seem as if a thousand-page novel about a heightened future-past world and a children’s book about a scarf would have nothing in common. In fact, there are large complements to the themes of these works. In both, characters seem to initially be adrift, at the mercy of their circumstances. In one, a taxi driver is pushed into a circus tent where he endures great peril outside of his control. In the other, a myriad of characters are found grappling with personal flaws and also swimming in life at the mercy of forces and directives not coming directly from them.

Without arguing that personal control is necessary or positive to human existence, we can nevertheless conclude, in both cases, that not having any control is painted by the narrators of these stories as at the very least confusing for the characters involved. It, therefore, comes as a pleasant respite when Turpin the taxi driver discovers that he has in fact been the star of an elaborate magic act and also when the main protagonists of 1Q84 discover that they are the magicians of their lives – they can turn harsh moons into paper moons and their lives are theirs to control.

One disconcerting element in The Red Scarf is that Turpin’s involvement in his adventure is so passive. Yes, there is a wonderful magical act in progress. Yes, he is deserving, honest, hard-working and determined. But he is oblivious. How can a story that is ready to give so much to a character for just returning lost property be made just as magical without stripping him of his intentionality. The answer is that it can’t but that it doesn’t need to. Turpin is not without dignity. Even though he does not know what scheme he is participating in, he does know his own mind and his own purpose. And this is enough. Arguably, it is this drive and strength of will that have endowed him with the merit for the secret glory he will soon experience.

Stories in which a benevolent protagonist chases a quest which in the end returns value to him are not unusual. What is special about The Red Scarf is the circular loop of the timing – which suggests that a very particular event that is dependent on many intricate happenstances was causally coded for my magic or by life a long while prior. Also unusual is the reliance on chance. The magic act relies on that Turpin will chase the scarf’s owner. Finally, The Red Scarf is different from other destined-hero stories because Turpin is a mouse taxi driver. He is not a boy especially born for a glorious destiny. He is just a driver.

1Q84 gives us a similar sense but in the reverse. In it, we feel as if the characters are chosen, because of some predestined history, to lead the way forward in a mysterious and murky world. But in 1Q84, the backward twist takes place. Tango and Aomame are not superheroes. And they haven’t even been chosen by a magician to ride the coattails of illusion into their moment’s glory. Instead, they deflate as heroes and remain simply people. And, as if so much of what is puffed up, they become stronger when stripped. They realize that every world is the world of their perceptions and stop being interested in changing it externally.

Conclusion

1Q84 and The Red Scarf ask questions about who is in charge and how the world works. Both stories have answers that are slightly mystical. In one, the happy conclusion is that the world works magically for the benefit of the pure-hearted is proposed. On the other, the idea that the world is malleable to our imagination is equally comforting. We are, apparently, quietly in charge through our character, pushing destiny in the right direction all the while lost and scrambling – suggests The Red Scarf. We are solidly in charge through our perception once we chose to embrace what we see and to hold hands with those who also see it – suggests 1Q84.

Because questions about identity, sociability, and isolation are so central to human reflection, much of what is explored in The Red Scarf and 1Q84 has value for readers. These texts can, therefore, be introduced into the classroom as tools for personal reflection and for cultural comparison. To the extent to which people’s own differences are a source of discomfort to them, 1Q84, especially, can be helpful in discussing reality and illusion in culture and our own sense about their power over us.

References

Bauer, L. (2002). Language, Culture, and Teaching: Critical Perspectives for a New Century. Teaching English as a Second or Foreign Language, 5.4. http://www.tesl-ej.org/wordpress/issues/volume5/ej20/ej20r9/?wscr=

Foote, S. Amateur Hour: Beginning in the Lecture Hall. Pedagogy: Critical Approaches to Teaching Literature, Language, Composition, and Culture, 10.3. 457-470. http://pedagogy.dukejournals.org/content/10/3/457.full.pdf+html

Gilbert, E. (2006). Eat Pray Love. Viking. Retrieved from http://books.google.com/

Jones, K. (Director), & Doran, L. (Producer). (2005). Nanny McPhee. United Kingdom: Studio Canal and Universal Pictures.

Kidd, D.C. & Castano, E. (2013). Reading Literary Fiction Improves Theory of Mind, 342.10. 377-380.

Murakami, H. (2011). 1Q84. New York: NY: Knopf Doubleday.

Simpson, M. (2005). Flannery O’Connor: A Biography. Greenwood Press. Retrieved from http://books.google.com/books

Villeneueve, A. (2010). The Red Scarf. Plattsburgh, NY: Tundra Books.