Book Review: The City and Its Uncertain Walls

Haruki Murakami’s latest novel, The City and Its Uncertain Walls, is perhaps his most accessible work to date. While still brimming with his signature blend of magical realism and surreal elements, this novel feels like a more restrained and introspective iteration of the themes he has explored throughout his career. Longtime readers may appreciate its familiar dreamlike quality, but newcomers might find it an easier entry point into Murakami’s world compared to some of his more labyrinthine works like 1Q84 or The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

One of the most notable aspects of this novel is it's departure from some of Murakami’s historically problematic tropes. His usual objectification of women and fetishization of certain body parts that have been criticized in his previous works have been significantly toned down. While this shift is refreshing, the novel is not without its flaws. The pacing, particularly in the latter half, feels uneven. Parts 2 and 3 seemed hastily constructed, as if they were added as an afterthought rather than as carefully woven parts of the story.

A prime example of this is the plotline involving the Yellow Submarine Boy. While intriguing at first, his role ultimately feels more like a convenient plot device than a meaningful addition to the narrative. His inclusion seemed to be primarily a mechanism to guide the protagonist back into the walled city, but beyond that, his significance feels shallow. This jarring transition is especially frustrating because it follows Koyasu’s deeply emotional backstory, in which we learn about the tragic loss of his family. The emotional weight of that revelation is undercut by this abrupt shift in focus, leaving the reader feeling disconnected.

Comparing this novel to Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, it’s clear that Murakami has taken a different approach to his dual-world storytelling. In Hard-Boiled Wonderland, the alternating narrators and converging plotlines provided a compelling structure that kept the reader engaged while allowing each narrative arc to develop its own momentum. The City and Its Uncertain Walls, in contrast, feels more fragmented, with less cohesion between its narrative strands. The result is a novel that, while thematically rich, sometimes struggles to maintain its pacing and focus.

At its core, however, this novel appears to be a reflection on modern societal divisions. Murakami seems to have taken his original walled city short story and expanded it into an allegory for the increasingly insular and divided world we live in today. The protagonist’s journey mirrors the psychological and emotional responses many of us experienced during the COVID-19 pandemic and the rise of political populism—tempted by the comfort of self-isolation yet ultimately recognizing its unsustainability.

By the novel’s conclusion, Murakami delivers a poignant message: escapism, no matter how alluring, is only a temporary refuge. True healing and growth require facing reality, processing emotions, and forging genuine connections with the world and the people around us. While The City and Its Uncertain Walls may not reach the heights of Murakami’s best works, it remains a thought-provoking exploration of solitude, memory, and the importance of human connection.