Asian Studies Review, 2013

Vol. 37, No. 1, 62–79, http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10357823.2012.760528

Resistance and Negotiation:

“Herbivorous Men” and Murakami
Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity

CHIKAKO NIHEI*

The University of Sydney

Abstract: In recent years, both Japanese and Western media have devoted a
great deal of attention to a new type of Japanese man, so-called sōshoku-kei
danshi (“herbivorous men”), as an example of a new, “softened” masculinity. In
this paper, I draw a parallel between the growing number of “herbivores” and
the increasing popularity of Japanese contemporary author Murakami Haruki,
and in particular of the young male protagonists of his novels. Apart from the
apparent similarities in the personalities of Murakami’s characters and the herbi-
vores, a significant commonality can be found in their way of relating to their
representation, especially their rebellious image constructed by society. Through
an analysis of the formation of such an image, we will find that their popularity
is closely associated with the history of Japanese masculinity, and more impor-
tantly with their astute distancing from society and their complicity with the capi-
talist system. In this article I examine Murakami’s and the herbivores’ ways of
positioning themselves in Japanese society in order to provide a more nuanced
understanding of both types of men.
Keywords: sōshoku-kei danshi, herbivorous men, Murakami Haruki, Japanese
masculinity, gender

Introduction
In recent years, Japanese media have devoted a great deal of attention to the evolution
of Japanese men. This supposedly new type of Japanese man is called the sōshoku-kei
danshi, literally meaning “herbivorous man” or “grass-eating man”. The term was first

*Correspondence Address: cnih5410@uni.sydney.edu.au

Ó 2013 Asian Studies Association of Australia

 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 63

coined by freelance writer Fukasawa Maki in her 2006 article in a series of essays pub-
lished in Nikkei Business Online1 and has been acknowledged more broadly since
2008. The term sōshoku-kei danshi generally denotes young men who, resisting tradi-
tional standards of masculinity, are less ambitious in their workplace, willing to save
money rather than buy brand items or cars, and more likely to share an interest in fash-
ion and sweets with their girlfriends than to pursue sex. The term became so popular
that it was one of the nominated most popular words of the year (ryūkōgo taishō) in
2009.2
This development has prompted a growing number of publications that attempt to
explain and analyse the phenomenon. An impressive number of Japanese books have
the terms sōshoku (herbivore), sōshoku-kei (herbivorous) and sōshoku-kei danshi (her-
bivorous men) in their titles; these include business books, love guides both for these
men and for women who want to start relationships with them, self-development texts,
historical texts, and comics. Directing attention to their interest in eating sweets and
cooking, specific products have been promoted to cater to their tastes. The Western
media, too, have celebrated the emergence of the new type of Japanese young men,
focusing on their rejection of traditional gender roles.3
In Japan, the rise in popularity of sōshoku-kei danshi has invited criticism of men’s
loss of conventional Japanese masculinity, especially from the earlier generation that
idealises “carnivore-type” masculinity. The herbivores’ differences from the older gen-
eration have been regarded as a sign of their ignorance of traditional Japanese values.
Their unwillingness to hold ambitious dreams is often taken as a symptom of some-
thing akin to anemia and desperate meekness, and problematised as an example of
current anxieties about Japan’s “hopeless youth” (dame na wakamono) (Morioka, 2011,
p. 25).
More recently, supportive views of sōshoku-kei danshi have emerged, defending their
less ambitious attitude and encouraging people to have a better understanding of them.
Consequently, Japanese society is now more sōshoku-kei-danshi-friendly, and there are
a number of idealised representations of these young men in the media.
Another figure who is as popular and controversial as the sōshoku-kei danshi in
Japan today is bestselling novelist Murakami Haruki, whose considerable popularity
both inside and outside Japan has prompted the so-called “Murakami Haruki phenome-
non”. His characters have been discussed in the context of the rise of the sōshoku-kei
danshi, with readers identifying the characters’ passive and detached personalities in
online forums and personal blogs.4 The recent release of the movie of Norwegian Wood
(2010) by Tran Anh Hung, based on the author’s novel of the same title, reinforced the
interpretation of the protagonist of the story as a “herbivorous man”.
The most significant commonality between the sōshoku-kei danshi and Murakami’s
protagonist, however, appears in their way of rejecting traditional values, which ques-
tions a common view that sōshoku-kei danshi are new, another issue to be considered
in this paper. The sōshoku-kei danshi are also interesting counterparts to Murakami
Haruki himself in terms of their negotiation skills as they situate themselves in Japa-
nese society. Upon closer analysis, we discover that their growing popularity is predi-
cated upon their media-constructed image as rebels. In this sense, they are complicit
with the media to a certain degree, and this complicity further questions their supposed
rebelliousness.
64 Chikako Nihei

In this paper, I will first recapitulate the development of Japanese masculinity in the
postwar period, which is necessary to understand why the current generation of young
men, commonly categorised as sōshoku-kei danshi, end up being described as new and
rebellious. Then I will compare the media’s representation of the herbivores and their
own complicity with this constructed image with similar operations performed by
Murakami Haruki, both in the representation of his characters and in the construction
of his own public image as a writer. Rather than merely demonstrating their similarities,
my aim is to gain a more nuanced understanding of both types of men and of their
suggestion of a new way of interacting with society.

Postwar Japanese Masculinity

The construction of Japanese masculinity in the postwar period is closely associated
with national economic growth. Known as the kigyō senshi (corporate warrior), the
urban, white-collar, middle-class salaryman, who supposedly propelled Japan’s indus-
trial growth of the 1950s and 1960s, has embodied national masculinity. As the driving
force behind the country’s economic success, rapid industrialisation and urbanisation,
the salaryman came to be regarded as the postwar “archetypal citizen”, replacing the
earlier ideal of military masculinity, and was instrumental in positioning the nation in
the global context (Dasgupta, 2003, pp. 118-19).
This salaryman masculinity is a “gendered construct” (Dasgupta, 2003, p. 119, italics
in original) in that it depends on the relationship with his sengyō shufu (full-time
housewife) counterpart, and demands, as an essential part of normative masculinity, the
male gender role of “provider” or “breadwinner” (daikokubashira) as husband and
father (Dasgupta, 2003, pp. 122-23). This promotion of the homogeneous family
system based on the salaryman and his sengyō shufu wife was known as the Kazoku
no 55nen taisei (1955 Family System) after the Japanese political system, the 55nen
taisei (1955 System). The salaryman as breadwinner was important in the formation of
the corporate nation, an efficient system for industrial growth (Okamoto and Sasano,
2001, p. 19).
The salaryman discourse was so culturally privileged and pervasive that it created a
standard of masculine performance both in public and in private. In the workplace, a
man was expected “to display qualities of loyalty, diligence, dedication and self-sacri-
fice” (Dasgupta, 2003, p. 113), and in return he received guaranteed lifetime employ-
ment, and automatic promotion and salary increases (Dasgupta, 2003, p. 119). Other
practices of everyday life such as fashion, shopping, behaviour, diet, leisure, home life,
public life, and even the salaryman’s verbal and bodily expressions were similarly
prescribed (Dasgupta, 2003, p. 123).
The salaryman-based discourse has been challenged since the 1990s and the subse-
quent “lost decade” (ushinawareta jūnen). With the bursting of the Bubble Economy, a
number of companies carried out corporate restructuring. Permanent employment and
automatic promotion and salary increases were no longer guaranteed. Thus, the effi-
ciency of the conventional archetypal citizen came to be questioned. In the 1990s,
men’s conventional lifestyles and social attitudes were also questioned through the
growing promotion of gender equality after the enactment of the Danjo koyō kikai kintō
hō (Law for Equal Employment for Men and Women) in 1985, and the encouragement
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 65

of men’s involvement in childcare that followed (Taga, 2005, p. 156). Furthermore, the
increase in the average lifespan led to a rise in “retirement-age divorce”, whereby a
wife refuses to look after her newly “dependent” husband, who finds himself isolated
from communication networks and ignorant of housework after his retirement (Taga,
2005, p. 157, referring to Ito, 1996, pp. 55-74).
As Itō Kimio anticipated in the late 1980s, the 1990s turned out to be “the era of
men’s problems” (Ito, 1996, p. 28). Increases in the rate of salaryman karōshi (death
from overwork), suicide from severe pressure from their heavy tax burden, and the
acknowledgment of the suppression of individuality in the workplace brought to the
fore a perception that men were suffering from their own distinctive form of oppres-
sion. These developments encouraged the establishment of the study group for men’s
liberation (Menzuribu kenkyūkai) in 1991, and more attention began to be paid to the
fragility of manliness (otoko rashisa) (Taga, 2001) and “men’s calamity” (dansei junan)
(Ichikawa, 1992). Men’s studies (dansei-gaku) developed and strengthened in a context
separate from feminism and gender studies (Shibuya, 2001, pp. 451-53), focusing atten-
tion in a wider range of disciplines on the layered structure of masculinity (Ito, 1996;
Taga, 2001; 2005; Connell, 1995).
With the decline of traditional salaryman values, from the late 1990s, a new type of
salaryman emerged. He was more efficient in the workplace and stylish in appearance
(Dasgupta, 2010), but the belief that masculinity is embodied in a man’s role as a
breadwinner remained fundamentally unchanged, and the new social contradictions led
to the salaryman being described more frequently in terms of anxiety and insecurity
(Dasgupta, 2005).5

Sōshoku-kei Danshi Studies

The corporate employment of less traditionally masculine men has created the category
of sōshoku-kei salaryman, demonstrating a more layered concept of Japanese masculin-
ity. According to the two most prolific journalists on the theme of sōshoku-kei danshi,
Fukasawa Maki (2009) and Ushikubo Megumi (2008), sōshoku-kei danshi were born
in the 1970s and after, and are now in their thirties or late twenties; they are gentle, are
strongly concerned with their appearance, and care about fashion, hairstyles and cos-
metics, as well as other supposedly feminine hobbies such as eating sweets and cook-
ing. They are never aggressive in love and sex, which is what Fukasawa focused on
when she coined the term sōshoku-kei danshi, meaning that they are not interested in
“flesh” like the “carnivores” (2009, p. 50). While some consider that they are “herbivo-
rous” in the sense that they are shy and would not try to “hunt” girls like the “carni-
vores” (Morioka, 2008), the common understanding is that they appeal to women
because they are kind and stylish. Women also appreciate their common interests, such
as fashion and cooking.
In the workplace, the herbivores are characterised by their lesser ambition and their
tendency to avoid competition and risk; rather than expecting promotion or changing
their jobs for a better position, they prefer to stay where they are, emphasising security.
Thinking highly of their own needs and interests, they are concerned about saving
money, with little desire to buy a car or brand items as status symbols, and disagreeing
with the idea that men should pay for women. Some consider this a stingy aspect of
their character, while others see it as signifying an attempt to have an equal relationship
66 Chikako Nihei

with women. They are also said to be on very friendly terms with their parents and
often stay in their hometown instead of leaving for big cities to follow ambitious
dreams.
The public understanding that sōshoku-kei danshi attempt to treat women equally is
interesting, considering that the traditional salaryman was a “gendered construct” in
which the male role as provider was essential. Since sōshoku-kei danshi are usually
identified as heterosexual, their interaction with women is still necessary to show their
male identity; however, refusing to depend on women to justify their masculinity, they
are seen as challenging the conventional salaryman values and suggesting a new type
of gender roles in their relationships with women.6
Today’s young men’s lack of ambition in the workplace also challenges the tradi-
tional notion of the salaryman as “corporate warrior”. Disagreeing with the idea of
devoting themselves to their company to an extreme degree, they respect their own
interests and concerns. Their resistance to salaryman values can also be seen in their
refusal of the traditional means of communication in the workplace through drinking.
As Aoyama (2003, p. 155) notes, “[t]he significance of drinking in the construction of
Japanese masculinity is, as it is in many other cultures, indisputable”; drinking has been
an essential part of Japanese business practice. Employees and their bosses often go
out after work and break the ice by drinking to excess. This so-called nomi-nikēshon
(drinking communication) is instrumental in supporting salaryman bonding. Today,
however, young men, unwilling to waste money or to drink to intoxication, do not
accept this type of communication (Ushikubo, 2008, pp. 114-17). Even if they go out
with their co-workers, they often order non-alcoholic beverages or cocktails rather than
beer, which is the signature drink of salarymen and strongly encouraged as the first
drink of the night, with the call of toriaezu bīru (First of all, beer).7

Japanese Public Opinion on Herbivores

The most vocal critics of the current trends in social behaviour for young men are from
their parents’ generation, the so-called baby boomers, who experienced the counter-cul-
ture movements in the 1960s and the Bubble Economy in the late 1980s and early
1990s, and contributed to the formation of the image of the salaryman as a corporate
warrior. They often complain that today’s young men ignore Japanese traditional mas-
culinity and that the spirit of Nihon danji (Japanese men) is now in danger. They
express anxiety about Japan’s future if it is in the hands of what they describe as
“weakening” and “feminised” men (Fukasawa, 2009; Ushikubo, 2008; Watanabe,
2011). Thus, in the minds of the older generation, today’s young men are strongly asso-
ciated with such ideas as “escaping”, “refusing” and “resisting”.
More recently, the media have started to celebrate this sōshoku-kei danshi phenome-
non, and supportive views have been appearing. They often associate the emergence of
the new type of men with the bursting of the Bubble Economy in the 1990s, and try to
defend these young men’s less ambitious character. The formation of a new type of
masculine identity is again associated with the context of the national economic situa-
tion, in the same way as the salaryman’s masculinity was shaped by postwar Japan’s
economic growth. The media often stress that the sōshoku-kei danshi generation saw
the bursting of the Bubble Economy in their teens, and on reaching working age they
faced a prolonged economic depression; the older generation left the problems in the
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 67

post-Bubble period unresolved and forced these young men to deal with them. Journal-
ists and scholars therefore emphasise that it was necessary for the youth to become
“herbivorous” in order to “survive” in contemporary society (Fukasawa, 2009, pp. 274-
75). They also attempt to evaluate the young men’s resistance to traditional values as
an expression of individuality, which is, they claim, something we should respect in
contemporary society.
The growing support for the herbivores can be seen in descriptions of them as
reminders of “Japanese heritage” (Nihon no shisan) (Ushikubo, 2008, p. 173) and
acceptance of turning herbivore as “legitimate evolution” (seitō na shinka) (Watanabe,
2011, p. 9). Such defence of these young men has offered the sōshoku-kei danshi gen-
eration opportunities to respond in public to the criticisms they have received from the
older generation, and more herbivores have begun to speak up in their publications
(Fukasawa et al., 2007).8 While Japanese society has come to be sōshoku-kei-danshi-
friendly, it is my contention that there are some aspects of this phenomenon that are as
yet undiscussed. In the following section, questioning the public’s straightforward cele-
bration of the “new” type of men, I will demonstrate that the salient factor in analysing
their emergence lies in an understanding of their way of negotiating with society, which
will be further developed through a comparison with Murakami Haruki’s characters and
the author himself.

The Sōshoku-kei Danshi’s Complicity with their Ambiguities and Commitment to

the System
The Japanese media tend to focus on the nature of the herbivores as unconventional,
emphasising that they are absolutely “new”, “abnormal” and “unique”. If we consider
earlier phenomena such as mobo (Modern Boy) in the Taishō period and shinjinrui
(new species of man) in the 1980s (Yoda, 2000, p. 882), however, the current sōshoku-
kei danshi phenomenon is not an absolutely new one. The newness of this trend in
young men’s identity is also questioned, considering the more recent counterpart to the
herbivores – i.e. Murakami Haruki’s characters – as we will see. Therefore, it is this
kind of media strategy, rather than their intrinsic novelty, that promotes the image of
these young men as “new”. This image-building is compounded by the older genera-
tion’s overemphasis on today’s young men’s unconventional attitude as disrespectful of
traditional Japanese ideas. This explains how these young men ended up being labelled
as “rebellious”.
My contention, however, is that herbivores do not necessarily rebel, but that their
disobedience is rather a form of passive resistance; and that the prevailing image of
their rebellious nature, despite the modest extent of their dissent, derives from the pro-
fundity of the appreciation of salaryman masculinity in the past. When these young
men are accused of being “escapist”, attention is only drawn to their “escape” from tra-
ditional masculinity. It is more legitimate to say that, rather than “escaping” society per
se, they are “escaping” from blind dependency on the traditional values constructed by
such a society. This understanding questions older generations’ heavy reliance on a sin-
gle, overriding national vision of masculinity, the weakness of which is demonstrated
in part by the depression felt by the salaryman in the post-Bubble period and by the
popular association of the salaryman with anxiety. Avoiding heavy dependency on a
68 Chikako Nihei

single dominant set of social values enables individuals to not feel lost when these val-
ues cease to be relevant.
I would like to question today’s young men’s image as rebellious also through exam-
ining their way of interacting with capitalist society. If their aloofness from traditional
Japanese masculinity is regarded as a sign of their disobedience to the social system,
their lack of interest in consuming costly products as status symbols implies that they
resist consumerism and capitalism. Yet, the sōshoku-kei danshi are closely associated
with the market, but in different ways – such as through their increased consumption
across various areas of the publishing industry.9
While the young men’s relative lack of interest in costly products has caused a rapid
decline in sales of things such as cars, audio-visual equipment, brands, alcohol and tra-
vel (see Yamaoka, 2009; Matsuda, 2009), other industries have tried to catch up with
this phenomenon and exploit it commercially. For example, sweet products for men have
begun to appear on the market, targeting those who have a sweet tooth, so-called suītsu-
danshi (sweets men) or amatō-danshi (sweet-tooth men);10 and for those who like cook-
ing, so-called ryōri-danshi (cooking men) or bentō-danshi (lunch [box] men), new types
of cook books,11 cooking tools, and lunch boxes12 for men have been marketed. With
the increasing number of cooking men, sweets clubs and cooking classes for men have
also appeared.13 Despite their original refusal to consume costly products, creating their
image as anti-capitalist, these young men are happy to buy things related to their identity
as herbivores. Thus, sōshoku-kei danshi do not simply turn their backs on capitalist soci-
ety, but also contribute to the market; they are complicit with consumerism.
As discussed earlier, sōshoku-kei danshi also owe their popularity to the media,
another aspect of the capitalist system. While the older generation expresses strong dis-
approval of sōshoku-kei danshi, it was the media that first responded that these young
men were victims of the collapse of the Bubble Economy, and that therefore the fault
lay with those who had left the problems unresolved. This media strategy ultimately pro-
moted the image of these young men as both “tragic heroes” and “rebellious heroes”,
providing them with some space in society in which to be comfortably herbivorous.
The sōshoku-kei danshi’s complicity and conformity with consumerism and the
media question the easy conclusion that they are rebellious and detached from society.
While the older generation often complains about these young men’s lack of respect for
conventional values, they are never as controversial as other social phenomena such as
otaku or hikikomori, which are often brought up as a serious social issue because of
their deep reluctance to commit to people and society. The sōshoku-kei danshi are often
young salarymen who are loyal to their companies and carry out their work faithfully.
They live in society and commit themselves to it, and in this sense they contradict con-
ventional notions of social struggle. They are rebellious on the surface, but their astute
way of positioning themselves in their own social niche allows them to exist in society
without absolute conformity. Within society they negotiate different models from the
dominant ones and look for a new way of interacting with others.
Such skilful negotiation with contemporary society and the capitalist system can also
be seen in Murakami Haruki’s work, and in his own way of interacting with Japan.
Through the analysis of similar ambiguities in Murakami’s work and his
self-construction as a public figure, the sōshoku-kei danshi’s meaningful oscillation
between “resistance” and “complicity” can be better understood.
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 69

Murakami Haruki: Boku’s Negotiation with Detachment

One of the essential elements in the popularity of Murakami’s work is his description
of his main character. In his works, especially his early works, Murakami’s protagonist
is always the same kind of character – a nameless man in his late twenties or early thir-
ties, known as boku, the Japanese first person male pronoun. In contrast to another
male pronoun ore, boku evokes an image of a gentle and good boy. Compared to
watashi, a first pronoun for both genders, which has a formal tone, boku, particularly
the boku in Murakami’s work, is casual and unpretentious. According to Jay Rubin,
since the use of watashi in the realm of narrative is strongly associated with the
watakushi shōsetsu (“I-novel”), a staple traditional genre of Japanese literature since
the Meiji era, Murakami’s use of boku plays a part in alienating his work from the
“long-established fixture of serious Japanese fiction” (Rubin, 2005, p. 37).
In an echo of the young men of today, Murakami’s protagonists do not admire tradi-
tional ideas of masculinity either in the workplace or at home. Murakami’s portrayals of
women are controversial because of their passivity and supporting role. However, Kohama
(1992) reports, there are also the cases where young female readers react favourably to the
male protagonists’ indifference to depending on their relationships with women to justify
their masculinity. Apart from gender roles, I would like to focus on how Murakami uses
distance from society in his novels in a similar way to the sōshoku-kei danshi.
The reaction to Murakami’s typical protagonist tends to be different outside and
inside Japan. While Western scholars often appreciate boku for being comfortably gen-
tle, polite and intelligent (Rubin, 2005, p. 38; Strecher, 2002, p. 30), Japanese critics
have tended to disapprove of his passivity and his unwillingness to engage deeply with
others (Ōe, 1989; Ueno et al., 1992; Karatani, 1995), especially when Murakami was
starting his career as a writer in the late 1970s and as his popularity grew during the
1980s. During these periods his perceived detachment was criticised harshly by Japa-
nese intellectuals, especially those from the generation that had experienced the coun-
ter-culture movement. Many of Murakami’s ordinary readers, however, have idealised
his protagonist’s willingness to be isolated, and have tended to understand his detach-
ment as a sign of his mental strength and independence (Kuroko, 2007; Kazamaru,
2006). Such admiration of boku has also spread to readers in other East Asian coun-
tries, who relate the suffering youth in Murakami’s work to their own social and politi-
cal context (Hillenbrand, 2009).14 Carl Cassegard more importantly questions the
common understandings of Murakami’s protagonist. Focusing on the fact that boku is
rarely shocked, Cassegard explains that the author “challenge[s] the equation of moder-
nity with the sensation of shock”; and that the character’s isolation is “self-imposed sol-
itude that makes it possible for [him] to avoid the shocks of social life in modernity”
(2001, pp. 82-83). This view reminds us of sōshoku-kei danshi’s own distancing from
social ideals as a form of self-defence.
The character’s reluctance to rely on social ideals is implied in the recurring refer-
ences to the counter-culture movement of the late 1960s in Murakami’s work.15 Espe-
cially in his early works, Murakami’s protagonist tends to be around his own age at the
time of writing – i.e. someone who experienced the counter-culture movement at
university. This movement, the so-called zenkyōtō, was based on the concept of a
“collective battle” (kyōtō), and the impact of its failure on Murakami’s generation is
indicative of the high expectations it had generated. When the movement was over, it
70 Chikako Nihei

seemed that people’s collective spirit had been supported only by shallow hyperbole:
their use of exaggerated language in their slogans and their abuse of ideologies. The
illusionary bonding with people during the zenkyōtō eventually deprives boku of the
will to rely on others.16 This consideration of the consequences of the student move-
ment questions readers’ straightforward admiration of boku’s mental strength through
his willingness to be isolated. It can be argued that his act of distancing himself from
society and people is a self-defence strategy, and this paradoxically indicates his fragil-
ity and desire for protection. However, in a similar way to today’s Japanese youth,
thanks to his skilful use of distance, Murakami’s protagonist’s wilful isolation is not
seen as problematic by other characters and readers, and he manages to fit into society
without either complete conformity or absolute detachment. In other words, the protag-
onist’s self-imposed isolation denotes his understanding of the risk of depending on
socially constructed values. In this way, boku tries to avoid repeating the failures he
and his generation experienced in the past.
Murakami’s protagonist’s efforts to distance himself from traditional values for the
purpose of self-defence can also be seen in the sōshoku-kei danshi’s attitude to society.
Their similarity implies that, contrary to the view that the sōshoku-kei danshi constitute
a new type of Japanese man, the idea has been around since the late 1970s. However,
when Murakami first proposed this herbivorous character, he received criticism that
was much harsher than that which the young men encounter today. The critics of both
types of men are from Murakami’s generation, whose attachment to their old “fighting
spirit” drives them to criticise boku’s and the sōshoku-kei danshi’s “non-fighting” char-
acter. When Murakami started his career as a writer, novels that described feelings of
regret about the failure of the student movement and celebrated its “collective spirit”
were still dominant. There were readers from the “collective” generation who sympath-
ised with Murakami’s young man (Kawamoto, 1985, p. 39); however, the 1970s were
still too recent for the author to receive straightforward admiration. The increasing gap
between his popularity among readers and the criticism of critics troubled the author
(Furukawa, 2009; Murakami, 1989).
The salient difference in reception between Murakami’s protagonist and the sōshoku-
kei danshi lies in their relationship with the “grand narrative”17 that arose shortly before
their emergence. They both appeared after the demise of one “grand narrative”: the “col-
lective battle” and the “Bubble Economy”. While the collapse of the student movement
was attributed to the failures of the social system, it is the “collective” generation that
has been blamed for the economic collapse of the 1990s. The fact that the “collective”
generation was responsible for the bursting of the Bubble made it easier for the media to
be supportive of the herbivores. Therefore, the “Bubble” generation’s criticism of
today’s youth had little influence on the public view of them, and their image as “vic-
tims” of the “Bubble Economy” prevailed. The temporal distance from the “collective
battle” also functions to tone down the “collective” ideals and contribute to the current
celebration of the herbivores and the growing appreciation of Murakami’s protagonist.
While the mutual influence of the current phenomena of sōshoku-kei danshi and
Murakami Haruki’s portrayal of young men is difficult to trace back to any specific text
or medium, there is no denying that in the 2000s more critics began to discuss the
legitimacy of the author’s description of the youth of today. Shimizu Yoshinori
approves Murakami’s depiction in Norwegian Wood of a man who can no longer
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 71

possess a woman by asserting his masculinity, as a sensible description of the change

in Japanese men since the 1980s when the novel was published (2008, p. 153).18 Ichi-
kawa Masato (2011) is aware of contemporary youth’s increasing identification with
Murakami’s protagonist in terms of resistance to growth and involvement in social sys-
tems. Murakami’s protagonist’s supposed passivity and resistance are thus understood
as his rejection of conventional ideals, which also indicates his profound awareness of
past failures deriving from a strong dependency on social values. This is something that
the current generation of young men also tries to avoid. In the following section,
moving the focus to Murakami Haruki himself, I will compare his and the sōshoku-kei
danshi’s ways of relating to the system, which further demonstrates the complicated
mechanisms of their “rebelliousness” and “distancing”.

Murakami Haruki’s Negotiation with the System

In a similar way to the sōshoku-kei danshi, Murakami’s public image is essentially con-
stituted by his rebellious figure as both a writer and an individual. Murakami’s confron-
tation with the “collective battle” at university is one of the first experiences that
constitute his suspicious attitude toward the system, as is illustrated in his work. Mura-
kami started his career as a writer in 1979, at age 29, while running a jazz bar in
Tokyo. Although people graduating from his university, Waseda University, usually
pursue careers in elite businesses, Murakami, refusing to work for a company, chose
what he called “physical labour” (nikutai rōdō): opening a bar (Furukawa, 2009, p. 6).
He worked in the bar as its owner until 1982 when he decided to become a full-time
writer and published his first long novel Hitsuji o meguru bōken (A wild sheep chase).
His rejection of the salaryman life and choice of “physical labour” became a sign of
his resistance to the Japanese system, which strongly encourages individuals to work in
a company. His conscious avoidance of belonging to the system is often expressed in
his interviews:

I myself have been on my own and utterly independent since I graduated. I

haven’t belonged to any company or any system. It isn’t easy to live like this in
Japan. You are estimated by which company or which system you belong to.
That is very important to us. In that sense, I’ve been an outsider all the time. It’s
been kind of hard, but I like that way of living (Miller, 1997, unpaginated).

His words imply his belief that belonging to a company, a form of system, is a threat
to one’s independence; his refusal to work in a company is an expression of his own
individuality. In the same interview, he expresses his disapproval of company people
because, he believes, they willingly give up their individuality (Miller, 1997). In his
work, Murakami never depicts a salaryman as his protagonist, but his character is usu-
ally self-employed, freelance, a part-timer or a house-husband.
Murakami’s rejection of the system can also be seen in the way he distances himself
from the bundan, the Japanese literary circle. Since his debut, he has constantly refused
to belong to the bundan. The bundan, which traditionally tends to emphasise the
importance of literature dealing with history and politics (Takeda, 1995), does not wel-
come Murakami either; and criticises his less “direct” reference to social and historical
72 Chikako Nihei

issues, disqualifying his work from being considered “serious literature” (junbungaku).
Murakami says clearly that he does not like the bundan’s elitism and its unnecessarily
strong collective spirit, which, in his words, is characterised by its “sticky” quality
(Wray, 2004, p. 121).19
Murakami’s strong disagreement with the system was further deepened by his
research on the cult Aum shinrikyō. In Andāguraundo (Underground, 1997), his collec-
tion of interviews with the victims of the Sarin Gas Attack of 1995, he argues that
there is a relationship of interdependency between a strong narrative and the formation
of a system, and that he learned this from the leader Asahara Shōkō’s way of establish-
ing his “kingdom” through his narrative of “junk”. More recently, Murakami’s willing-
ness to discuss the “system” gave rise to controversies when he made a speech, ‘Of
walls and eggs’, after receiving the Jerusalem Prize in 2009. In the speech, his criti-
cisms of the “system” and his comparison between individuals and “fragile eggs faced
with a solid wall called The System”20 were interpreted by the media as a straightfor-
ward condemnation of Israel’s attack on the Gaza Strip, although the meaning of the
speech was more complex (Murakami, 2009a, p. 169).21 Such frequent expressions of
disapproval of the system arouse in the audience an image of the author as resisting in
order to assert individuality.
Murakami’s understanding of the system is, nevertheless, highly nuanced. While he
criticises the system for depriving individuals of their independence, he also warns
members of the audience about their complicity. In the same speech, he claims that:
“We must not allow The System to exploit us. We must not allow The System to take
on a life of its own. The System did not make us: we made The System” (Murakami,
2009a, p. 169). His vision of the interdependency of individuals and the system and
“our” complicity with power to a certain degree is what Murakami learned through his
research on Aum shinrikyō and Asahara’s way of abusing narratives. Murakami
acknowledges that, as a widely known author, his narrative can be similarly complicit
with the system as a device for exercising power. This is further complicated by his
interaction with possible forms of the system.

Seeking Ambiguities
While Murakami clearly expresses his disapproval of the system, his contribution to
commodification, a supposed form of system, is undeniable. Like the sōshoku-kei dan-
shi who have contributed to the growing sōshoku industries, Murakami Haruki has
played a significant role in fostering the commodification of literature. Rebecca Suter
(2012) explains that, with the growing popularity of Murakami and the increasing num-
ber of his publications, large bookstores today usually have a corner dedicated to Mura-
kami’s works, including his novels and essays as well as books about him.
Furthermore, the author’s prolificacy in translating American writers such as John
Irving, Truman Capote, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Raymond Carver led the publisher
Chūōkōron shinsha to launch Murakami’s own series of translations, called Murakami
Haruki hon’yaku raiburarī (Murakami Haruki Translation Library). Referring also to
Miura Masashi’s analysis of the growing popularity of translation works by Murakami
Haruki, Suter argues that Murakami has become a “brand”, in the sense that his name
alone helps to boost book sales. This sensation has continued, and can be seen in the
numerous recent publications about the author’s latest novel, 1Q84 (2009) and other
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 73

books of “Murakami Haruki studies”. The author’s contribution to consumerism also

appears in the increase in sales of works referred to in his novels. His frequent refer-
ences to music, such as American jazz and European classics, and to Western literature,
have prompted the growing sales of these products, as can be seen in the increased
sales of Leos Janacek’s Sinfonietta and Anton P. Chekhov’s The Island of Sakhalin
since the release of 1Q84.22
Murakami’s complicity with the media is also as evident as that of the sōshoku-kei dan-
shi. He consciously avoids appearing in the media such as television or radio, creating the
widely-held impression among his readers that he is anti-media; however, his prolific work
and frequent release of interviews imply his active participation in the media. Steffen Han-
tke, noting Murakami’s unique way of engaging with the media, explains that his alien-
ation from the traditional style of intellectual provided him with a different way of
surfacing in public; in his case, it is his popularity with the media and his readers that
“nudges him toward the role of the public intellectual” (Hantke, 2007, p. 8). Therefore,
Murakami’s acquisition of his current status, supported both by popularity and academic
attention, unquestionably owes a debt to the media. Hantke argues that Murakami’s posi-
tioning in-between the undisciplined – exemplified by his conspiracy with the capitalist
market and the media – and the profession – embodied in his recent reception of academic
attention – reminds us of fiction’s way of interacting with society. In order to exercise
social responsibility, Hantke states, fiction is “in need of validation through either commer-
cial success or the trappings of academic respectability” (Hantke, 2007, p. 8). Murakami’s
unusual proximity both to the capitalist market and to professional reputation provides
him with a unique opportunity to reflect on his possible complicity with “power”.
Murakami’s self-positioning in a space “in-between” is also evident in his relation-
ship with Japan. Despite his strong rejection of the Japanese system, which drives him
to leave the country often, he will not give up his connection with Japan. As a writer,
he constantly describes Japanese people in the Japanese language, and expresses his
intention to write about Japanese society for a Japanese audience (McInerney, 1992;
Gregory et al., 2002). Yet, it is his “outsider” nature that attracts a number of readers,
arousing sympathy among Japanese. On the international scene, it is the “un-Japanese-
ness” in his work that appeals to Western readers, who celebrate the author as a “hero”
who attempts to subvert the “stony” Japanese traditional literature (Devereaux, 1991).
On the narrative level, his appreciation of the outsider view allows him to have multi-
layered perspectives for observing and describing reality, and such an approach consti-
tutes an essential part of his work.

“Swallowing” the Enemy

Thus, Murakami’s “in-between position” cannot be simply equated with his expression
of escape from society, but has a more complicated structure; just as the sōshoku-kei
danshi’s refusal to respect traditional Japanese masculinity does not necessarily equate
to their resistance to society in general. In order to further delve into Murakami’s
unique way of interacting with society, I will refer to his discussion of “swallowing”
reality.
In an interview with Shibata Motoyuki, Murakami explains that one of his main pur-
poses in writing is to describe a “situation” (jōkyō) as thoroughly as he can, rather than
to convey his own message or beliefs (Shibata, 1989, p. 29). He stresses that the role
74 Chikako Nihei

of novelists is to offer their readers a picture of reality as “truthfully” as possible,

which gives them opportunities to reflect on the situation surrounding them and to find
a better way of connecting with it. He exercises this principle throughout his work in a
number of different ways. For example, he often states that in his stories he does not
want to offer his readers “right answers” but to encourage them to arrive at their own
“answers” (Yukawa and Koyama, 2003).23 The author’s reluctance to provide a full
explanation of his story by leaving a number of unresolved matters often leaves readers
feeling a certain dissatisfaction and frustration. However, it is his deliberate aim to
leave readers some space to relate to the issues in the story in their own way.
For the purpose of finding one’s own answer, Murakami encourages facing reality by,
in his words, “swallowing” the situation (jōkyō o nomikomu). By “swallowing” a situa-
tion – that is, accepting it as it is – Murakami claims that one can study that situation
from multiple angles. In this sense, he respects the approach of John Irving: when his
character encountered a strange case, he would not make a fuss or avoid it, but would
try to observe and accept it. In a similar way, Murakami also admires Tim O’Brien, who
constantly deals with the same topic – war – from a number of different perspectives.
Murakami points out that O’Brien, although he deeply detests war, does not simply
denounce it; he accepts it and studies it because it is “too big to simply refuse” (Shibata,
1989, p. 34). Murakami continues to say that, through “swallowing”, we can defamilia-
rise (ika) reality, which allows us to perceive it differently; and this provides us with
opportunities to find a better way of living in that reality (Shibata, 1989, p. 35).
Murakami elaborates on this principle, bringing up Albert Camus’ Stranger as a
counter-example:

I don’t like novels as a protest such as Camus’ Stranger, where the protagonist
refuses to take any responsibilities, saying something like “it was the sun’s fault”.
I want to start my story on the premise that we are done with such things. We
have to first swallow such absurdity, strange objects (ibutsu), not in the form of
straightforward acceptance (Shibata, 1989, p. 33).

Murakami believes that merely rejecting a situation does not produce anything or solve
any problems; rather, we have to first accept the situation surrounding us in order to
confront it, understand it, and then find a better way to get along with it. Murakami is
convinced that this is a more realistic and meaningful way to face reality and to fight
one’s own “enemies”. He believes in the importance of negotiating with the system and
“endur[ing] the hard work of maintaining individuality in the system” (Matsuie, 2010,
p. 35). While understanding the difficulty of this task, Murakami constantly challenges
it in his work and in his own life.
In the above quote, the term “strange object” (ibutsu) can be replaced by the system,
the society or reality, something we cannot help facing in daily life. As explained
earlier, Murakami’s research on Aum shinrikyō provided him with an understanding of
the interdependency between a narrative and the system. He also learned that as an
influential writer he could easily be complicit with the system. Based on this aware-
ness, he tries to challenge the uncertainty about his position as a storyteller through a
careful examination of the risk, and then deliberate on a possible way of negotiating
with it as a form of commitment rather than simply avoiding it. Here, the author’s
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 75

problematisation of strong dependency on the past “collective spirit” is also elaborated

on. The absolute rejection of the situation exemplified by Camus is reminiscent of the
zenkyōtō, where people rejected any form of system and expressed their resistance in
an aggressive way. Murakami contends that today negotiating with the situation to fit
into it is meaningful and functional rather than mere denial. This understanding ques-
tions the bundan intellectuals’ frequent comments that Murakami is “escapist” or lacks
social consciousness. While his approach to describing Japanese society is different
from the conventional one, he does engage with society as a writer by suggesting a
new way of perceiving and understanding reality.

Conclusion
In this paper, through a comparison of the current sōshoku-kei danshi phenomenon and
Murakami Haruki’s approach to masculinity, individuality and society, I have examined
how the contemporary generation of Japanese young men have come to be portrayed
as rebellious and how they are complicit in the image constructed by society for the
purpose of acquiring a “comfortable” social space for themselves. The national eco-
nomic crisis of the 1990s saw the collapse of the salaryman masculinity that had been
idealised in postwar Japan, and this ultimately caused salarymen to experience strong
anxiety and insecurity about their identity. This identity crisis implies their deep depen-
dency and reliance on the idealised image of the salaryman that society had portrayed.
Today’s young men, however, disagree with such an obsession with this social con-
struct as a form of defence against the instability of social values. Instead, they position
themselves somewhere in-between as a new way of connecting with society.
This is very similar to what Murakami has tried to demonstrate both in his literature
and in his self-presentation. His deep understanding of the need to establish distance
from the past ideal, the “collective spirit”, has constituted a salient element in his work.
Despite the similar backgrounds in their formation, the public’s contrasting reactions to
the two types of men is related to the different “grand narratives” that they are associ-
ated with – one appeared shortly after the counter-culture movement and the other
emerged after the demise of the “Bubble Economy”. Thanks also to an interval of more
than two decades, the weight of the “collective spirit” has been diluted in the era of the
herbivores; the harsh voice of the “collective” generation is less influential and the
voices of support are more audible.
Yet the significance of the comparison between today’s young men and Murakami
himself lies in their skill in negotiating with society and the system. This further reveals
Murakami’s deep understanding of the inevitable reciprocity of individuals and the sys-
tem and, therefore, the complicated nature of exercising individuality in contemporary
society. While the herbivores do not articulate their position as explicitly as Murakami
does, reading these young men through the lens of Murakami’s literature helps us to
better understand the multi-layered background of their emergence and the gender and
social dynamics underpinning this phenomenon.
Thus, the herbivores and Murakami Haruki suggest a new way of interacting with
society. Their careful distancing from and engagement with society, without full depen-
dency or absolute resistance, allow them to perform their individuality; and this is
something the contemporary Japanese audience seems to respect and support.
76 Chikako Nihei

Acknowledgments
I am grateful to Rebecca Suter for her helpful insight and advice on this topic, to
Suganuma Katsuhiko who commented on an earlier draft of this paper, and to my two
anonymous reviewers for their helpful feedback and comments. I would also like to
thank Romit Dasgupta for letting me read his intriguing article under review
(Dasgupta, 2011).

Notes
1. ‘U35 danshi māketin’gu zukan: Dai gokai sōshoku-kei danshi’ (U35 men marketing illustrated
book: Series five herbivorous men), Nikkei Business Online, 13 October 2006. Available at http://
business.nikkeibp.co.jp/article/skillup/20061005/111136/?rt=nocnt, accessed 1 April 2012.
2. Ryūkōgo taishō is an annual award sponsored by the publisher U-Can, which nominates the “buzz-
words of the year”.
3. For example, ‘The soft and gentle young men of Japan’, Sydney Morning Herald, 30 October
2010; ‘Shoshokukei danshi’, New York Times, 10 November 2009; ‘Blurring the boundaries’,
Japan Times, 10 May 2009.
4. For example, the similarities between Murakami’s characters and the sōshoku-kei danshi are dis-
cussed in Life goes on, ‘Sōshoku-kei danshi no honkai’, broadcast 22 February 2009 by TBS
Radio; ‘Murakami Haruki created sōshoku-kei danshi’. Available at http://twitter.com/#!/onoderra/
statuses/8534173321003009, accessed 10 April 2012; ‘It seems that the term sōshoku-kei danshi is
popular, but aren’t the protagonists in Murakami’s novels usually herbivorous?’ Available at http://
g0lg0tha.exblog.jp/11620945/, accessed 15 July 2011.
5. In his study of the Japanese film Tokyo Sonata (2008), Dasgupta (2011) unravels the salaryman
protagonist’s blind appreciation of and attachment to salaryman masculinity, and its impact on the
declining stability of the family and his identity. He explains that in the film family icons such as
the home, food and the kitchen function as powerful signifiers of comforting space in post-Bubble
Japan. An example of the reception of the unfortunate image of the salaryman in this era of neolib-
eral reformation can be seen in Takeyama’s study of Japanese young men working in host clubs.
According to Takeyama, despite their stigmatised image in society and highly competitive work
environment, the hosts appreciate their job’s flexibility, freedom and entrepreneurial creativity,
through which they believe they become self-producing subjects. Questioning salaryman values,
they “pity the salaryman with their unreasonable working hours, fixed salary, and lack of career
mobility”, despite their supposed status as the core of the national economy (2010, p. 241).
6. Some journalists are concerned that young people’s lack of interest in sex may be contributing to
the current decline in the marriage rate and the national birth rate (Hongō and Hotta, 2010). How-
ever, the significance is that the young men’s attitude also challenges the traditional idea that men
cannot be considered as fully-fledged adults (ichininmae) until they marry (Itō, 1996, p. 40).
7. Fukasawa (2009) terms them shirafu danshi (sober men).
8. The positive attitude to the “herbivores” has grown further, and is demonstrated in popular culture.
For example, the popular TV drama Otomen (Girly men, 2009) features a protagonist who has sup-
posedly feminine interests such as cooking, knitting and sewing. His “herbivorousness” is hardly
questioned, but is idealised and justified through his help for the heroine who cannot do any
housework.
9. This phenomenon has further prompted the publication of books on their counterparts, nikushoku-
kei joshi (carnivore women).
10. For example, convenience store franchise chain FamilyMart launched a line of sweet products for
men in 2007. These products have labels such as otoko no banana purin [men’s banana pudding]
and ore no rōru kēki [my (the first person male possessive) roll cake]; they are wrapped in black,
or the cakes are coloured mainly black using cocoa, which possibly evokes a sense of manliness in
male consumers. The products have been very popular, and many stores have run out of stock
(FamilyMart (2010) Suītsu zukina dansei no tame no kodawari no suītsu: “Ore no suītsu” sirīzu
 “Herbivorous Men” and Murakami Haruki’s Gender and Political Ambiguity 77

tenkai kaishi, 14 September. Available at http://www.family.co.jp/company/news_releases/2010/

100914_5.html, accessed 20 July 2011).
11. For example, the magazine Danshi chūbō ni hairu (Men go into the kitchen) by Orange Page;
Danshi shokudō (Men dining) by Best Sellers; and the series Taichi Kentarō danshi gohan (Taichi
Kentarō men’s food).
12. For example, the lunch boxes targeted at and designed for young businessmen are long and thin to
fit into their briefcases. There is also a type of lunch box that can be plugged into a computer to
keep it warm using the computer’s battery (Herbivorous men, Cool Japan, broadcast 30 June 2010
by NHK).
13. Danshi suītsu bu (Men’s sweets club) sponsored by Internet service provider Nifty and magazine
Dime; ABC Cooking Studio + m targeted at young men. In contrast to the conventional type of
cooking classes for men such as Danshi chubo ni hairō kai (Men’s kitchen club), ABC Cooking
Studio + m appeals to young men, promoting a modern flavour.
14. Similarly, characters in the author’s novels reflect boku’s detachment positively. He does not want
to become indebted to others or for others to be indebted to him, yet his delicate way of distancing
himself from others is often taken as kindness. In this way, he does not have to hurt people or be
hurt by them. His careful negotiation of detachment allows him to build a comfortable relationship
with people (Iguchi, 1997).
15. Murakami has never used the term zenkyōtō in his novels; however, frequent references to it and
to the year 1968 when the movement was at its peak can be found throughout his work.
16. Murakami’s character’s past commitment to the “collective battle” is referred to for example in
Kaze no uta o kike (Hear the wind sing, 1979), in which the protagonist shows his teeth broken
during the movement. In the same novel and 1973-nen no pinbōru (Pinball, 1973, 1980), the pro-
tagonist and his alter-ego-like character Nezumi (Rat) often express their feelings of regret about
the failure of the collective spirit of the past.
17. I use the term “grand narrative” following Jean-Francois Lyotard’s definition that it is a totalitarian
narrative that “offers a unified identity and becomes the basis of social bonds” (1984, xxiv).
18. While Norwegian Wood is set in the 1960s, Murakami admits that the novel is narrated from the
point of view of the 1980s (1989, p. 169).
19. Murakami’s disapproval of the bundan is expressed, for example, in his work 1Q84 by editor
Komatsu, who contrives to deceive the literary circle and demonstrate the vulnerability of its sys-
tem (Murakami, 2009b, p. 50).
20. For example, Asahi.com reports that in the speech Murakami criticised Israel’s use of military
power. Murakami Haruki san, Erusaremu-shō kinen kōen de Gaza kōgeki o hihan (Murakami Har-
uki criticises the attack on the Gaza Strip in his speech for the Jerusalem Prize), 16 February
2009. Available at http://www.asahi.com/special/09001/TKY200902160022.html?ref=reca, accessed
20 July 2011.
21. In his latest public speech in Barcelona after receiving the Catalunya International Prize in June
2011, Murakami, referring to the crippled Fukushima Power Plant and the continuing problems
caused by the leak of radioactivity since 11 May, harshly criticised the system – that is, the Japa-
nese government – for greedily pursuing “efficiency” in power generation and promoting nuclear
power generation, ultimately causing this disaster (‘Speaking as an unrealistic dreamer’, The Asia-
Pacific Journal Japan Focus. Available at http://www.japanfocus.org/-Murakami-Haruki/3571,
accessed 13 August 2011).
22. Murakami’s contribution to consumerism can also be seen in Mainland China, Taiwan and Hong
Kong, where readers rely on consumption to reproduce a cosmopolitan “Murakami mood” (Hillen-
brand, 2009).
23. The collection of Murakami’s interviews Yume o mirutameni maiasa boku wa mezameru no desu
(I wake up every morning to dream, 2010), has a label that says “answers but no solutions” (回答
はあっても、解答はありません).

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