“Bir süre önce otobana çıktım.”
“Niye, ne oldu?”
“Arabayı sürerken, keşke böyle sonsuza kadar devam edebilsem; ne güzel olurdu diye düşündüm. İnanır mısınız bir an için devam edebilecekmiş gibi de oldum. Fakat şimdi o anki ruh halimi hatırladıkça tüylerim ürperiyor. Öyle değil mi? Bu dileğin gerçekleştiğini ve ne kadar sürerseniz sürün, nereye kadar giderseniz gidin, sonsuza kadar varış noktasındaki gişeye ulaşamadığınız bir düşünsenize.”
“Merak etmeyin. Nasıl olsa yarım günde benzininiz biter.”

//

Kitaptan nerdeyse nefret etme kıvamına gelmiş bir okur bitse de gitsek telaşıyla oturduğu kitabın başından iç çekerek kalkıyor “bu neydi şimdi?!” diye gözü uzaklara dalıyorsa muhtemelen Kobo Abe kitabı okumuştur, tecrübeyle sabit.

Allah affetsin ama bir noktadan sonra anlamadım kitabı muhtemelen.
Metaforların tamamı bana geçti mi hiç emin değilim bu nedenle böyle bir puan veriyor ve okuduğum onca Kobo Abe kitabının bana verdiği yetkiye dayanarak şunu söylemek istiyorum; kendisini özlediğiniz zaman değil, öylesine bir günde hiç değil, yalnızca zihninizin metaforları kaldıracağı gün okuyunuz.

Kobo Abe külliyatında sonlara itelenebilir gibi. Ama ben sona bıraktım da n’oldu tartışma konusu.
Ay ne bileyim yaaa.
Kobo Abe böyle biri işte. Sudan çıkmış balığa çevirdi yine bizi, Allah razı olsun.

The blurb on the back cover of my Tuttle edition says it all: "Told in the form, and with the suspense of a mystery novel, The Ruined Map is a melodrama of the mind." Except for the suspense part. I found it to be a tedious read. I had started it a couple of years ago when I bought the book, but then I couldn't get very far. I started it again recently and forced myself through the entire book. It's not that it's a bad book; in fact it does have some interesting aspects and parts of it were a good read. One of the aspects that I did enjoy was the descriptions of Tokyo in the 1960s, still developing, with new areas being built and being connected to the city's gas network. The descriptions of the city's underbelly were vivid in a nightmarish way. But on the whole it didn't hold my interest throughout. First I suspected the translation, but then realized it wasn't that. Partly it was the long paragraphs (the longest I noted was four full pages) and the descriptions of things and thoughts that would get too detailed, but it wasn't fully that either. A rather strange book. The atmosphere, I suspect, will stay with me for a long while.

Well written but I didn't find it as interesting as other works by him.

this book is good if you want like a postmodern existentialist read into what life means. if you want like an actual plot, this book/this genre is probably not for you

no one ASKED for a research paper on this book but im alive and im YOUR problem now (i wrote this for a japanese mystery literature class, the formatting's kinda off but i tried my best)

Abe Kōbō’s 1969 novel The Ruined Map reflects his disillusionment with societal norms and identities that are produced when adhering to the status quo through drawing on his experiences and deconstructing detective fiction and performative behavior. Abe explains that life only has meaning once we shed our societally prescribed roles to find out who we truly are.

Unlike other authors who grew up within the systems of social and national identity constructed by mainland Japan, Abe did not share the same history; while born in Tokyo in 1924, he spent most of his life in Japanese occupied Manchuria and subsequently Hokkaido during the second Sino-Japanese war. Abe’s observations of Manchuria, in particular, were the source of inspiration for the backdrop of this novel– a rapidly moving densely populated environment with very little sense of community and an overwhelming sense of isolation. The Ruined Map is littered with mentions of detached urban sprawl, one where the narrator has no mastery over the land and its equally detached inhabitants. This upbringing lends Abe the critical ability to look at Japan from the outside and pick apart its social order and subsequent influence it has on the human condition. Such objectivism is evident in the naming, or lack thereof, of both the setting and the narrator– without any specific references, Abe is able to better focus the story on what it means to live, not what it means to live in the context of a specific locale with a history and a constructed identity.

“The geographical defamiliarization is particularly striking in a novel that draws heavily upon the genre conventions of hard-boiled detective fiction, with its reliance on realistic or “actual seeming” places, people, and organizations.” This is particularly interesting given the set-up of the novel; The Ruined Map has all of the makings of a classic detective fiction until it suddenly doesn’t. The novel is set up as a thriller, with the story unfolding chronologically, and operates under the classic rules of “fair play.” The readers are given the same clues available to the detective, that too in excruciating detail, as the classic set up to allow for them to partake in solving the mystery alongside the detective. The detective himself is known to be analytic in nature, expounding a multitude of potential theories regarding the husband’s disappearance with each miniscule clue.

In this novel, common archetypes of detective fiction serve as an extension of the order, the stability within society. One could argue that detective fiction as a generic formula also seeks to uphold society; detectives in golden age detective fiction certainly do nothing but go after criminals who act against the status quo, thereby re-stabilizing society with the capture of the criminal. Similarly, the hard-boiled archetype that the narrator represents also maintains the status quo by allowing for the detective to play the role of “a martyr to the social system, existing on the fringe of society” while still capturing any beings who threaten the norm. While the detective certainly falls into this narrative well, with his constant abandoning of his now estranged wife to pursue “the truth”, this too is spun on its head. “There were too many blank spaces on the map[,]” says the narrator, “[t]herefore, I had no obligation to fill them in. I was no guardian of the law.” As the role of the detective disintegrates, along with it goes the narrator’s flimsy sense of identity. The fragmentation of classic detective tropes render it, and the order associated with it, meaningless. Each clue that the narrator agonizes over leads nowhere, whether they lead to dead ends or are just false leads brought about by a compulsive liar. When clues, assumed to be the objective details on the map that leads to the client’s husband, no longer have meaning then so, too, is the map muddled.

Abe continues his social commentary in this novel as he points out how the performative nature of society allows for incomplete and, at best, flimsy constructions of identity to occur. The narrator consistently modifies his behavior to best suit those who he’s interacting with and their expectations of him. In the bank, the narrator reminds himself that “[t]here is no need to act out a snake for someone whose afraid of them.” He also wonders if he should’ve researched the role his client wanted him to play before meeting her for the first time. While he consistently switches through false constructs, there is no proper character building that lends the reader to understand who the narrator really is. This commentary closely resembles Abe’s stance on the flimsy nature of social and national identity that he was witness to post WWII, where there was the destruction of a social order that held little meaning or place for him, and a subsequent construction of an equally incomprehensible social order. The inevitable “truths” of social identity and nationalism only hold meaning because we ascribe them meaning, not because they are inherently meaningful.

Abe continues to expresses his general distaste for social order and stability through his depictions of minor characters; the more people buy into meaningless norms, the more they fade into the backdrop of the “human filing cabinet.” A notable example is when the narrator imagines assaulting his client Haru as she walks outside in a white fur coat and heels, performing the role of a woman. As the narrator tries to create the sequence in his mind, he is instead left with black hole where her body is. Another instance when Haru once again performs womanhood is when she applies makeup and subsequently becomes transparent to the narrator. This relegation of people into the backdrop as they are closely tied to societal expectations occurs a multitude of times– when are we given names for Nemuro’s boss or the narrator’s wife? Upholding the social structure thus erases the identity of these people, and their actions and identities rendered meaningless.

This trend of namelessness continues in case of both the narrator and the client’s brother. At the beginning of the novel, the narrator decides against chastising a boy who runs in front of his car because he doesn’t want to engage in the potential social cues that could follow (the women chastising him and potentially making him take responsibility for any injuries sustained by the boy.) He also ignores a sign that forbids him from entering a neighborhood, another deviation from the status quo. But even then, all of his actions are calculated to not stick out, thus living up to a societal standard in and of itself. The narrator, thus, stands at the cusp of society at the beginning of the novel. The client’s brother, in contrast, acts as a foil to the narrator; while the brother is also involved in a separate investigation of Nemuro’s disappearance, and is also noted to assume many roles among his many meetings with the narrator, he is also implied to be engaging in many immoral actions. But he too reinforces the social norms as he upholds a patriarchal stance onto himself and his sister in the investigation process– only he should be allowed to investigate because only he can handle the map laden with beasts.

The two characters who are named are those who don’t adhere to the social order: Tashiro and the missing Nemuro. Tashiro is a social outcast by virtue of being a compulsive liar. Even so, appears to be trying to construct meaning for himself in his life through his lies, as he indicates that perhaps if someone else were to believe in his lies, they then would become his truth. Nemuro, on the other hand, is consistently described in the novel as being a model husband and worker. But, as the novel progresses, the narrator begins blurring the lines between his map and Nemuro’s map, and begins to understand the stifling nature of the life Nemuro led and why he left.

Those who are truly free in society are ones who are not shackled by the ever fluctuating and unforgiving social order. For some, this comes at the cost of their own life, as exemplified by Tashiro, whose pursuit of meaning in his life is of no avail. For others, it comes at leaving everything behind. For the missing Nemuro, this is done by walking away from his constructed identity and his life. For the narrator, this is done by becoming an amnesiac and being freed from the weight and expectations of this world. Only then, when he cannot remember what societal and personal pressures forced him to conform, can he start naming things and ascribing meaning into his life again.


additional references:
Cahill, Devon A., "The Work of Abe Kobo in the 1960s The Struggle for Identity in Modernity;
Japan, the West, and Beyond" (2009). Theses. 72.
Iles, Timothy. Abe Kōbō: An Exploration of his Prose, Drama and Theatre. Fucecchio (Firenze),
Italy: European Press Academic Publishing, (2000).
Seaman, Amanda C. "Oases of Discontent: Suburban Space in Takahashi Takako and Abe
Kōbō." U.S.-Japan Women's Journal, no. 43 (2012): 48-62.

"When you're driving, you never want to think of stopping. You want the moment to go on forever just as it is. But when it's over, you shudder at a state like that, with no end. There's a big difference between driving and thinking about driving."

I have read only one single book of Kobo Abe before this one which is The Box Man. I have liked that one, I have felt the sorrows and wounds of that character, he was easily understandable because I was a teenager and probably I was feeling an outsider just like him. However, I don't think that crime novels just like this one and the ones of Auster really suit me. First of all, it seems to me that the hired detectives don't have the traits of somebody who would have issues with finding their inner person, but plain relationship problems. It is surprising for me to discover and analyse their character because they seem like mere detectives to me and suddenly their character's depth is so suffocating that I wonder where was that person before that I haven't seen him? Therefore, I don't think that the characters in these kind of novels are described enough so as to give enough hints towards their real being which is most of the times overshadowed by loooong long phrases full of suppositions. I enjoy their obsession and I think this is the only trait that makes me think of them as wanderers, still, their obsession begins to fade and then at once irrupts at the end of the novel which is the climax. Second of all, I am not pleased with the climax. After a few blows and the recognition of a truly troubled detective, he is unexpectedly in a kind of difficult situation that makes you question the gravity of the case itself which, until then, doesn't prove to be so important after all. Moreover, the case seems to be solely a way to drive the detective mad, not to solve it in any way. That burden that brings the detective on the verge of madness was always there and after some new clues, which you actually must have the courage and imagination to link, the detective finally loses his identity. In that hurricane of emotions, I can not honestly understand a thing. I know that he is a lost soul by now and that I, as a reader, I have to think, very fucking hard, what anything has to do with anything. You have no idea, until reading this book, how hard it is to actually solve the problem, that is probably the reason for which I think this is only a crime novel, not a detective novel. The crime exists, but only to highlight the detective's inner self which blooms when every trace of his is lost and when he is completely devoided of any ways to solve the mystery, until then the mystery is there but the characters are too enthralled by their own self to care. All in all, I am not trying to convince anyone to read or not to read this. Maybe some people will find the real mystery in this and be pleased with it, maybe some people will understand better the character of this type of odd detective, but I couldn't so... enjoy the book whichever side you are on! :)

Completely baffling and not in a good way

Video review https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RS9rD...

Հավատս չի գալիս,որ արդեն 4-րդ վեպն եմ կարդում Աբեից (իսկապես` ինչքան լավը պետք է լինի,որ ուզենաս բոլոր վեպերը,նովելները կարդաս): Մի հիմնական բան կա,որ իր բոլոր գործերում հանդիպում է.Մարդու օտարացումը հասարակությունից` ժամանակակից տեխնոլոգիական առաջընթացի ժամանակաշրջանում:Ինքը էնպես է խորանում ամեն դետալի մեջ,որ կարծես դու զգաս էդ ամեն ինչը ու դու մտածես:Որպես մարդ,իր մասին կարելի է ասել,որ շատ խորաթափանց է եղել,շատ հետաքրքիր անձնավորություն (իդեպ հետաքրքիր լինելը շատ դժվար է,պետք է բավականաչափ խելք ու նրբանկատություն ունենաս դրա համար) : Իսկ Աբեն նույնիսկ բժշկագետի կոչում է ստացել Ճապոնիայում,արժանացել է Ակուտագավայի հատուկ մրցանակի` <<Ավազուտների կինը>> նովելի համար:Ինքը մի իսկական հոգեբան,հետախույզ է,մարդու ներաշխարհը ուսումնասիրող:
Մի խոսքով` շատ սիրեցի

Niet zo goed als the woman in the dunes maar toch gewoon 5 keiharde sterren voor meneer Abe die zijn karakters weer op het scherpst van de snede laat dansen waardoor de lezer zich wederom verplaatst naar het welbekende puntje van de stoel.

3.5, dude is a bad detective

"La urbe: el infinito cerrado; el laberinto donde nadie se pierde; el mapa exclusivamente tuyo en el cual todas las cuadras están numeradas de la misma manera. Por lo tanto no te puedes perder
aún cuando te extravíes por el camino."

Nuevamente leo un libro de mi escritor japonés preferido: Kobo Abe. Si bien reconozco que no leo asiduamente literatura japonesa (además de Abe, sólo he leído “El marino que perdió la gracia del mar” de Yukio Mishima y “Crónica del pájaro que da cuerda al mundo” de Haruki Murakami), cada vez que me encuentro con un libro de este excelente escritor, apodado “el Kafka japonés”, me entusiasmo porque sé que va a ser una lectura agradable.
Luego de leer libros suyos como “Los cuentos siniestros”, tal vez el más kafkiano de todos, así también como “El rostro ajeno” y “Encuentros secretos” le tocó el turno a “El mapa calcinado” y nuevamente me he sumergido en esos mundos ficcionarios que sólo él puede construir.
El argumento del libro es netamente del género policial negro en el cual un detective sin nombre tiene que investigar el caso de un empresario desaparecido, el señor Nemuro, pero para el cual tiene muy pocos datos con qué iniciar dicha investigación. Tan pocos como los testigos y la evidencia con la que cuenta, lo cual dificulta en gran medida su accionar detectivesco.
Sólo tiene la información que le brinda la bucólica y misteriosa esposa del desaparecido, así también como el cuñado de Nemuro, un personaje de características demasiado extrañas y un empleado subalterno del empresario, llamado Tashiro. También posee una deteriorada caja de fósforos de distintos colores, con un número de teléfono anotado en ella y nada más.
Tiene que moverse a ciegas, buscar a tientas y poner mucho esfuerzo, tiempo, dinero y nervios para poder llegar a alguna pista que le aclare el panorama. Tan sólo conoce un bar, el Tsubaki, en donde vieron por última vez a Nemuro y su intuición. El resto es misterio.
Este detective es altamente analítico y metódico. Trata de poner en juego todas las herramientas posibles, pero con escaso éxito.
Una característica de la narrativa de Abe es la detalladísima (exagerada) descripción que hace del ambiente, las cosas, las actitudes y las personas con la que se cruza. Todo es explicado en primera persona como si fuera una de esas novelas propias del Realismo del siglo XIX que satura un poco, porque “adorna” la escena, pero no avanza con la historia. De todos modos es un detalle que se soporta, puesto que la atención por parte del lector está en el caso investigado.
Creo que “El mapa calcinado” es la menos kafkiana de todas las novelas de Abe, más allá de la complejidad y la inaccesibilidad a la que está sujeta el detective. No está este rasgo tan marcado como en “Encuentros secretos” en donde sí nos encontramos con un personaje realmente perdido y sujeto a extrañísimas condiciones, inmerso dentro de un mundo de leyes que por momento son de naturaleza casi onírica.
Aquí la imposibilidad surge de las pocas pistas y de las personas esquivas pero hay algo que sí debo reconocer: en un momento, casi sobre el tramo final de la historia, Kobo Abe emplea una técnica muy conocida en los relatos de Julio Cortázar, aplicando una cinta de Moebius y de buenas a primeras, todo se da vuelta.
El narrador sigue contando en primera persona lo que le sucede, pero parece ya no ser el mismo que ocupó gran parte del libro, pero algo ha cambiado: comienza a contar algo que al principio parece inconexo pero que tiene que ver con el caso investigado.
Pero, ¿qué es?, ¿por qué este brusco cambio? Y el final: ¿por quién está narrado de esa manera?
Lo dejo a criterio de aquel que quiera leer esta gran novela del genial Kobo Abe para que intente descubrir al igual que el narrador cuál es el paradero del desaparecido señor Nemuro.
Buena suerte.

This is my fifth Abe book. Generally I'm intrigued with his books which have a very surreal feel to them.

The Ruined Map starts off in a standard pulp crime novel format. Anything but surreal. Not being a real fan of the genre, I was sceptical. Not my Abe. On the other hand it was quite readable so I continued.

The unnamed detective searching for a missing husband slowly wanders ever deeper into a labyrinthine, darkened world where he loses more and more confidence in himself and the world around him.

The ending is a twist of identity wherein both the narrator and the reader must question what has been described. What has actually happened and who is missing? Who is searching? How can anyone just disappear?
Abe show's exactly how. Cool.

Good story.