Haruki Murakami and Trichophilia: A Review of 1Q84 and an Odd Obsession
Haruki Murakami was born on January 12, 1949 in Kyoto, Japan and has authored many works of both fiction and non-fiction. He has been honoured, praised, and is the recipient of many literary awards.
All good, and likely well deserved, but, Dear Reader, I want to bring your attention to a bizarre obsession he has with — of all things — pubic hair.
And why do I seem to be the only person who has noticed this? Wait, don’t answer that question…
It would seem that many of his fictional works mention public hair, but he really got carried away in the novel 1Q84. The events in the story take place in Tokyo in a fictionalized 1984. The novel is hard to categorize and has elements of science fiction, fantasy, and mystery. It is certainly unique and creative. It is also, for the most part, very well written and an intriguingly crafted tale.
But… what’s with the pubic hair?
We find it everywhere in this book, and often in the most random settings. Murakami has a penchant for sex scenes in his writing, and 1Q84 was short-listed in 2011 for the Bad Sex in Writing Award.
If you’re curious about which passages in the book prompted this dubious honour, they are reproduced here:
Haruki Murakami
Alas, he did not win that award (along with fellow nominee, Stephen King for his novel “11/22/63”, which I have read, and despite its intriguing story line, does indeed have some absolutely cringe-worthy sex scenes).
Leaving behind the generally awkward sexual descriptors, let us return to the topic of pubic hair. Finding so much of it in this otherwise elegant novel is akin to checking into a posh hotel and discovering a variety of pubic hairs in odd places — at eye level in the shower, on the sheets, on the curtains, on the bureau, in a desk drawer with the brochures for local attractions, tucked into the room service menu… Eww.
In case it seems that I am exaggerating, here are — in their entirety — the pubic hair references in the novel (bold font my emphasis):
Tamaki’s oval-shaped nipples, her sparse pubic hair, the lovely curve of her buttocks, the shape of her clitoris
Her pubic hair was fine and sparse, like a delicate willow tree. Aomame’s was hard and bristly…
Her pubic hair had been shaved, the skin marked with what looked like cigarette burns.
Lopsided breasts, pubic hair like a poorly tended soccer field.
Her breasts were not big enough, and they were asymmetrical. Her pubic hair grew like a patch of grass that had been trampled by a passing army.
Around the borders of the flat, lopsided area of his head clung thick, black, curly hair that had been allowed to grow too long, hanging down shaggily over the man’s ears. Ninety-eight people out of a hundred would probably be reminded by it of pubic hair.
The next thing that Tengo became aware of was that Fuka-Eri had no pubic hair. Where there should have been pubic hair there was only smooth, bare white skin, its whiteness giving emphasis to its utter defenselessness.
It was a lovely sight: the smooth breasts, the lower abdomen free of pubic hair.
The shape of her pubic hair had not changed…
The people are staring at her less-than-ample breasts and her pubic hair and the strange way it grows…
From time to time the wind blows, stimulating her nipples, rustling her pubic hair…
Tengo could feel her pubic hair against his thighs. Thick, rich hair. It was like her pubic hair was a part of her thinking process.
Once more she rubbed her rich pubic hair against his thigh, as if to leave behind some sort of sign.
He could still feel her stiff pubic hair on his thigh…
The hashish smoke, the smiley-face shirt, the thick pubic hair pressed against his leg…
…her pubic hair pressing against his leg…
Tengo randomly thought of Kumi’s thick, luxuriant pubic hair.
Thick, black, frizzy hair — reminiscent of pubic hair — shabbily surrounded that crown…
Her breasts were ample and round, and she had no pubic hair…
That’s an impressive amount of pubic hair. And let’s not get into the tender age of the women (or girls) who are the objects of his obsession. I’m not sure if Murakami was afraid, excited, repelled by pubic hair, but there is no doubt he's obsessed.
I did a search of literature on clinical psychiatry or mental health disorders, and was unable to find one precisely pertaining to pubic hair. All I did find was a reference to trichophilia. According to the literature, this condition involves “different excitation sources”, the most common being that of human head hair. But some have a thing involving facial hair, chest hair, armpit hair, animal fur, and Murakami’s pubic hair (well, not his specifically, but his obsession with it). The clinical presentation of the condition includes a fascination with texture, colour, styling, and length. ‘Nuff said I think.
Because I can’t resist tumbling down random rabbit holes, I decided to ponder which other authors might have this fascination, or aversion, in common with Murakami. I recalled the prolific and celebrated John Ruskin (whose writings I’ve always disliked - I found him overly squeamish and fussy among other things). Ruskin (1819-1900) was an English polymath whose writings and contributions to various sciences are legion. Sprinkled throughout his works are various bits of misogyny.
What perhaps is less known is that pubic hair was at the heart of his relationship traumas. Attracted to very, very young girls (in one case, a mere 10-year-old), in 1848 he did marry a young woman named Effie Gray. The portrait of Gray below was described by Ruskin as making her appear "a graceful doll".
After six years the marriage was annulled on the grounds of not having been consummated. The story is actually a little more involved. Ruskin was supposedly cruel to Effie and had a deep mistrust of her. She wrote her parents that he found her “person” repugnant.
Ruskin pulled out his arsenal of rationalizations: she wanted children, and he hated them, he was religiously inclined, he didn’t consummate the marriage because he wanted to preserve her beauty…Blah, blah, blah. Eventually he confessed his true issue: He had imagined women were “different” and when he saw Effie au naturel on the first night of their marriage, he was “disgusted”.
The source of that disgust was, according to biographers and experts on Ruskin, Effie’s pubic hair.
Remember, this was long after the ancient Egyptians (who liked to clear the path to the sacred garden — how’s that for a euphemism, boys and girls?), and before the Brazilian Wax (where women can attain the Barbie doll aesthetic so admired by Murakami for its smooth white defenselessness).
Poor Ruskin, faced with a bristly, rustling, and poorly tended soccer field.
Anyway, to bring us up to the present, a quick internet search netted some intriguing beauty tips and products. In case you want to avoid looking like an army trampled the area, you can, first and foremost, drink plenty of water and stay hydrated. This, according to Google, will keep your pubic hair smooth.
Failing diligent hydrotherapy, you can purchase any number of specialty moisturizers (and here I thought moist was for cake — silly me), oils, shampoos, and conditioners that will soften pubic hair (and prevent those awkward tangles and knots that supposedly plague the beauty conscious who go for the Rapunzel look). You can also whip up some of your own potions using shaved (!) cucumber (!) [oh my goodness, the jokes just write themselves], coconut oil (because we all want to smell like a coconut down there), argan oil, and even lychee.
Whatever happened to Napoleon sending ahead a runner to instruct Josephine:
Don’t wash, will arrive in three days.
And he didn't mean the laundry.
Now there was a man who had no fear.
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