You’re in love with someone, and s/he wants to return your love but is unable to do so, at least not fully. What sort of person, circumstance, or universe makes us willing but unable to return love? This is the question explored in Sputnik Sweeheart.

The narrator, belatedly identified only as “K,” is a 24-year-old teacher. His true love, Sumire, loves another woman, Miu. His lover, the mother of one of his students, is someone for whom he feels only physical attraction. The relationships of all four exist on two levels, or perhaps in two realities: physical and soulful. Each relationship is missing one of the levels or realities.

On a business trip with Miu, Sumire disappears. After getting no real help from the local authorities, Miu calls “K” for assistance. As he searches for Sumire, he tries to piece together the missing parts of the relationships. He uncovers the boundaries of his search, and gains a narrative that hints at the secrets, but true understanding eludes him.

Following themes set out way back in A Wild Sheep Chase, Murakami uses the metaphor of a different, perhaps parallel, world to explain the inexplicable. That other world plays a smaller part in the narrative of Sputnik Sweetheart than it has in many of Murakami’s other works, but it is no less central to the outcome. In some crucial sense, part of someone has left this reality for that one. How else to explain the lack of cohesion between soul and body?

Murakami provides an incredibly expressive narrative for his explorations. His characters’ desires are portrayed with such an intimacy that it’s difficult not to ache with them. They aren’t incredibly talented or bright people; in most ways, they’re downright normal. They are impressively human, however, and Murakami makes it easy to see our souls in theirs.