"Why do bad things happen?"

Although several reasons can be attributed to the fact that there is no story without conflict (or, no good one, anyway), I think the main reason this is the case is because like the story that fosters a dilemma, so life does the same. We’ve spoken a little bit in section about believability in fiction. As readers, we of course agree to suspend our belief temporarily so that we can invest in and enjoy the story. We do not, however, like situations or tales that seem unreal or unrelatable. Give us a story where nothing bad happens, and we will politely hand it back, because that’s not what life is like. Simply put, conflict-less story is stagnant and boring.

We also approach a story under the impression that it will entertain us, and that we will grow or change because of it. Where there is no conflict, there is no change. Why would it be necessary to, if there were no outside factor propelling a character forward? If there were no Lex Luthor, why would Superman have to use his powers, or have to hide them, which would lead to a rocky relationship with Lois Lane, and save the world again and again and again? Without Lex, Superman is Clark, who sits in his house and watches Wheel of Fortune and is pretty good at it, too.

We can see this forward movement clearly in “UFO in Kishiro,” where there is a lot of conflict. Amidst natural disasters, his wife leaving him, two strangers and a mystery parcel, Komura is right in the center of “bad things.” This is what keeps us interested, what keeps us turning the page. The mysterious element that Haruki Murakarni employs also keeps the audience effectively engaged. “Mysterious,” here (as defined by me) simply means “vague enough that I am asking questions.” Many times, especially in short stories, that is all an author needs to keep his or her audience engaged and following his every word. From the beginning, I am full of questions regarding the mysterious nature of the story,a dn the questions are oftentimes more numerous than the answers we receive as an audience.

Why is Komura’s wife so entranced by the footage of the earthquake? Why does he only feel relaxed when they are together? What was Komura’s boss about to say as an afterthought before thinking better of it? Who are the two women that meet him in the airport? Does that guy really not want to take the box himself simply because “he doesn’t feel like it”? And for God’s sake, what is in that package?

Many of these questions never receive an answer. While that’s insanely frustrating, it’s also a great tactic employed by Murakarni. As an audience, we want to know these things, and we keep reading because of that. At the end, he has captivated us with these questions and conflict and tension, and we have followed him through the entire story. That is the author’s intent, and he accomplishes it.