Murakami in Mexico: The Midas Touch
Verónica Flores (Mexico)

I discovered The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle in 2001, when I was working as the Editor in Chief of Tusquets Editores México. Haruki Murakami soon awakened the interest of Mexican readers — with each new publication there were more of them—, but also of literary critics with polarized opinions about his work. Criticism would either worship the penmanship and unique literary worldbuilding of the Japanese author or would diminish his writing by calling it “easy reading”; although, they could not be more wrong. The truth is that, throughout 681 pages, we could perceive, and almost feel, a close —perhaps familiar— view of contemporary Japan.

Aside from its complex structure and extraordinary character construction, the emotions that arise from reading a great book are impossible to forget. They plant a seed in the readers mind which provokes them to think about what they read for a very long time, as if a string were pulled from their minds in order to transport them to these peculiar worlds each time they can. Murakami has left a unique imprint in the world’s literature through works filled with profound reflections, poetic metaphors, and universes of his own making. His novels, short stories, and essays frame every subject from love and loyalty, to war and history. Besides, some of his work approaches subjects such as psychoanalysis and the human existence from a very peculiar world view.

At the beginning of the year 2000, the books that were translated into Spanish and published by Tusquets Editores, were printed exclusively in Spain and then shipped to Mexico, which implied a high importation cost and time delays. This had to change to keep up with the readers’ demands. In the case of Mexico, this shift occurred due to the success and rise in sales that required to find a way to offer more books in a faster manner. The radical turn happened due to a sales analysis conducted by the commercial department in which it was determined that, in order to avoid stock breakage and be able to generate longsellers and bestsellers as well, it was necessary to print local editions rather than import the books from Barcelona. This measure was applied both in Mexico and Argentina.

However, the number of copies that needed to be printed was an equation that had to be solved as a team; even though I was the only person who had read the novel through the translation samples sent from Spain. This was a privilege I always had, and while it was wonderful, it was also frustrating not being able to share that excitement with anyone else until the book was finally printed. That is why I will always remember the confused and shocked look on everyone’s faces when I suggested a first print of 25,000 copies for The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The commercial department knew that this was an author with large sales, but this would be the first time in Mexico that a book would be published with a first print this big. Evidently, this was not an easy meeting, but, in the end, it sparked the complicity of a magnificent editorial team. The conclusion was simple: The copies would sell without a great risk of devolutions. I can also remember the running joke that came from our coworkers in Barcelona to show their support and remind us to be brave, bold, and to work as a team (the editorial department, as well as the commercial, press, and marketing ones) to achieve success and set a precedent for future works: “Go get them; they are few and they are cowards!”. To everyone’s surprise —mine included— that first print was sold- out in just a couple of months.

Murakami set the standard for simultaneous launches in Spain, Mexico, and Argentina to ensure a proper distribution in all Hispanic countries. It might sound like an easy change, but the task of arranging simultaneous launches between three countries implies a whole restructuring behind the scenes. It is not just about printing the books, but it also requires the implementation of marketing strategies for bookstores and working with the main national newspapers and literary magazines. Not to mention the potential inconvenience of arranging press campaigns without the presence of the author.

The release of Dance, Dance, Dance in a bookstore at the south of Mexico City was an unforgettable event. The stage was concealed, and when the cover was revealed, the readers applauded with a noticeable excitement while they shared amongst each other their opinions on other works of Murakami which they had previously read. After the cover reveal, there was a cocktail where we gifted everyone a small notebook with the cover of the novel and all of the author’s favorite blues songs were played. As I walked amid guests, I was lucky to listen to some of the most fascinating experiences. Some of them recalled how, after reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle for the first time, they were too scared to answer any phone call. What if they were abducted into that world created by Murakami? After a couple of days, that fear wore out, but the feeling, the experience of “devouring” a book of over 900 pages in just a couple of days, was something they could never forget. From another group of readers, I heard that they tried, hypnotized by the author’s words, to reach out and touch a wall, thinking they might go through it and into the world he so vividly created.

It was thanks to the readers who kept requesting bookstores to restock Murakami’s novels that the printing numbers increased. If there is any credit due to Tusquets Editores and Beatriz de Moura’s privileged eye, it is because she decided, as the founder of the publishing house, to publish authors that were already successful in their countries by commissioning translations made directly from the original language, rather than from English. Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen was the first novel translated directly from Japanese into Spanish by Lourdes Porta in 1990. This astonishing first novel about grief and the love for cooking ended up winning several awards and being translated into multiple languages. I can still recall those moments in which the characters eat and lose that extreme tension they carry; they relax and obtain, without noticing, a human touch.

With Tokyo Blues, Murakami became an author that anyone could find in any Mexican bookstore. He left a print in them. Every “New Releases” table had his books, and every bookstore would display his novels in special piles and pyramids to attract readers, a privilege that only a few authors can have.

As I finish these lines, I replay the memory of how the cover for 1Q84 came to be. After a couple of unsuccessful trials had been made in Spain, one day in Mexico, at the Guadalajara International Book Fair, Beatriz de Moura saw a young man’s t-shirt and came to a halt. The t-shirt was black and had a print of letters and numbers that appeared to be washed out. I took a picture of it, and she sent it to the design team in Spain. That picture was the inspiration for a cover with nothing but the title as the main focus.

I cannot describe my experience in any way that is not as a privilege. That is what reading Murakami’s work has been to me. I got to read him in translation advances, I got to suggest the number of copies that should be printed based on those advances, and, together with every department of Tusquets Editores, I got to turn every launch into a selling success. Now, as a reader, I get to follow every “Murakamian” world, for in them the mundane becomes unusual, and practically impossible to explain. The Japanese author transforms the ordinary in life into a connection with our reality or with a different, more mysterious one. There, where reality and illusion, the authentic and the apparent, the dreams and vigils all lay, that is where nothing is what it seems. I succumb to his literary boldness and philosophical enigmas.

(Founder and Director, VF Agencia Literaria)