ufo in kushiro response

1) In general, why do we tell and listen to stories in which bad things happen?

But to answer this question I must first ask: why do we tell stories? Do we tell them to comfort and console so the sting of loneliness is less biting? Do we tell them to inspire or galvanize us before we pit ourselves against some obstacle? Or do we tell them to remember our past and discover our future?

Stories in which 'bad things happen' form the foundation of all stories. We cannot talk about creation without talking about human corruption. We cannot talk about peace without first talking about war. Whether internal or external, it is conflict that drives a story. So in the most universal and general way possible, we tell and listen to stories in which 'bad things happen' because we are human. We need to measure up our lives against the lives of those who came before us, or those whose sufferings we imagined up and wrote down. Sometimes we listen to the grief of others to feel more secure about the relative success or happiness of our own lives. Sometimes we write down a tragic tale to alleviate or distract us from our own personal tragedy. Stories function, one way or another, as a showing of human solidarity.

2) How does mystery drive this Murakami story? 

Murakami propels this story by continually introducing events with unresolved explanations. Why does Komura's wife relentlessly watch the news footage of the earthquake? Why does she leave? What is in the box? How do Keiko and Shimao recognize him at the airport? What is the story of the bear? Etc.

Each new mystery woven together acts like a step function, building momentum and suspense until Murakami finally answers one of the questions. And yet, when the mystery of the 'bear' story is resolved––the only mystery introduced in the short story with a legitimate explanation––it turns out that the story is not actually about a bear. Not only does this grand reveal upend the reader's expectations, but it also serves to destabilize the potential answers to the other mysteries that have been floating around in the mind of the audience as they attempt to make sense of the narrative.

Without the almost perpetual accumulation of mysteries (both external and internal) the story achieves a very surreal tenor. Yet all of the circumstantial mysteries also function to accentuate the real mystery of what is contained inside Komura: is he just a pretty face and empty space or can he embody more?