The historical allusion concerning Sputnik shapes a reader’s deconstruction and grasp of the title: “On 4 October 1957, the Soviet Union launched the world’s first man-made satellite, Sputnik I, from the Baikanor Space Centre in the Republic of Kazakhstan. Sputnik was 58 cm in diameter, weighed 836 kilograms, and orbited the Earth in 96 minutes and 12 seconds. On 3 November of the same year, Sputnik II was successfully launched, with the dog Laika on board. Laika became the first living being to leave the Earth’s atmosphere, but the satellite was never recovered, and Laika ended up sacrificed for the sake of biological research in space.” Alluding to the satellite affords contextual facts regarding the denotational implication of Sputnik. Ultimately, Miu states the term (Sputnik) while endeavouring to catalogue Jack Kerouac’s literary generation. Although the satellite is not overtly connected to the plot, it is symbolically noteworthy. Laika is a sacrificial lamb that is emblematic of the Miu and Sumire’s forfeitures.\
Sumire’s difficulty in finding a prompt breakthrough mirrors the impediments which beginning writers encounter: “Not that she suffered from writer’s block—far from it. She wrote endlessly, everything that came into her head. The problem was that she wrote too much. You’d think that all she’d have to do was cut out the extra parts and she’d be fine, but things weren’t that easy. She could never decide on the big picture—what was necessary and what wasn’t. The following day when she re-read what she’d printed out, every line looked absolutely essential. Or else she’d Tippex out the whole thing. Sometimes, in despair, she’d rip up her entire manuscript and consign it to the bin.” Sumire holds ideas which could be transmuted into a captivating novel. However, it is problematic for her to streamline the content so as to preserve only the indispensable particulars. Her tussles depict the quandaries that are characteristic in the writing career. The progression of constituting a gripping novel is not suave. Besides, writing is not an unqualified innate talent; it necessitates an investment in enchanting concepts and resiliency.
Sumire is an auspicious writer since she displays an exceptional writing voice: “The novels—or fragments of novels, really—Sumire wrote weren’t as terrible as she thought. True, at times her style resembled a patchwork quilt sewn by a group of stubborn old ladies, each with her own tastes and complaints, working in grim silence. Add to this her sometimes manic-depressive personality, and things occasionally got out of control. As if this weren’t enough, Sumire was dead set on creating a massive nineteenth-century-style Total Novel, a kind of portmanteau packed with every possible phenomenon in order to capture the soul and human destiny. Having said that, Sumire’s writing had a remarkable freshness about it, her attempt to honestly portray what was important to her. On the plus side she didn’t try to imitate anyone else’s style, and she didn’t attempt to distil everything into some precious, clever little pieces.” The patchwork depicts Sumire’s lowly organizational skills which are the foremost flaw in her writing. Sumire does not apprehend how to restructure her thoughts to come up with an enthralling plot which is exasperating for her. Besides the ‘manic-depressive personality’ obstructs her from exercising self-control and perseverance in the attempts to write a novel. Sumire’s principal asset in writing is a matchless voice which stimuluses her to sketch novel ideas. Sumire’s experience underscores that Constituting a classic novel necessitates a meticulous voice, apposite organization and ample time; concepts cannot autonomously result in a matchless novel.
K’s analogy regarding the Chinese gates bids profound discernments concerning the skill of writing: “A long time ago in China there were cities with high walls around them, with huge, magnificent gates. The gates weren’t just doors for letting people in or out, they had greater significance. People believed the city’s soul resided in the gates. Or at least that it should reside there. It’s like in Europe in the Middle Ages when people felt a city’s heart lay in its cathedral and central square. Which is why even today in China there are lots of wonderful gates still standing…People would take carts out to old battlefields and gather the bleached bones that were buried there or lay scattered about. China’s a pretty ancient country—lots of old battlegrounds—so they never had to search far. At the entrance to the city they’d construct a huge gate and seal the bones up inside. They hoped that by commemorating the dead soldiers in this way they would continue to guard their town. There’s more. When the gate was finished they’d bring several dogs over to it, slit their throats, and sprinkle their blood on the gate. Only by mixing fresh blood with the dried-out bones would the ancient souls of the dead magically revive. At least that was the idea.” The bones are representational of the ideas that could be converted into a novel. Blood is illustrative of the charm with enthrals readers. Banking on ideas only is not a warranty to composing a sparkling novel for the magical element of a text is contributory in discriminating it from other texts. Some of the writing techniques that can be utilized in magnifying the liveliness of a novel comprise figurative language. Perhaps, if Sumire had been persistent to complete her studies, she would have grasped the devices that are contributory in classic writing.
Based on the Queer theory, Sumire’s sexual predilection qualifies her to be a lesbian: “The person she fell in love with happened to be 17 years older than Sumire. And was married. And, I should add, was a woman.” Had Sumire been a conventional, heterosexual girl, she would have naturally fallen in love with a male partner and had an orthodox love familiarity. Her falling in love with Miu is an indicator of her lesbian desires. Thoughts concerning Sumire electrify her sexually in way that she had not before meeting her: “The thought of meeting Miu again thrilled Sumire, and she found it hard to concentrate. She felt as though she were standing alone on the summit of a hill, the wind swirling around her. She settled down at her desk as usual, lit a cigarette, and switched on her word processor, but stare as she might at the screen, not a single sentence came to her. For Sumire that was next to impossible. She gave up, turned off the word processor, lay down in her tiny little room, and, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips, gave herself up to some aimless musings. If just the thought of seeing Miu has me this worked up, she thought, imagine how painful it would be if we’d said goodbye at the party and never saw each other again.” Sumire is emphatically animated by her thoughts regarding Sumire to the degree that she finds it tough to concentrate on her work. Possibly, the imaginings relate to her sexual fancies with Miu. Her exhilaration is astonishing for it to be categorized as orthodox. The fondness which Sumire feels for Miu is so commanding that she dreads ever parting with her. Longing to touch Miu is representative of Sumire’s enthralling emotions. The reality that Miu is Sumire’s premier lover infers that she is passionately connected with her from the instant that they pump into each other.
