AN old monkey stole people’s names, especially women’s names. It is unclear whether that was a small crime or a large one—or perhaps no crime at all. The effect on the name’s owner was not dramatic, but in Haruki Murakami’s story in The New Yorker—told in a straightforward way as though nothing strange—there are long consequences. 

In the short story A Shinagawa Monkey, we meet a young wom