To answer his audience, he models himself on the infamous real-life killer whose literary efforts he wants Terauchi to surpass. Once Worm is on the run from the police, however, his photograph multiplying across the front pages of newspapers and broadcast on television once he has time to contemplate his crime and the growing curiosity about his motive his lazy anomie is dismantled by an intensifying self-consciousness. No longer willing to cooperate with the expectations of the “total idiot” who forced him to attend a prestigious high school even though he lacked the aptitude to succeed in such an environment, Worm bludgeoned his mother to death in what Terauchi, whose worldview allows no possibility of forgiveness or salvation, dismisses as a mindless, infantile response to frustration. “It doesn’t have to be long,” Worm tells Terauchi, but it does have to be “better than what that killer Sakakibara wrote.”
Otherwise, his readers might conclude he isn’t the disaffected nihilist he imagines himself to be. He’d like it to be “something creative” rather than “introspective,” a “cool” and “incomprehensible” poem or story. Worm, the cipher at the center of Natsuo Kirino’s disquieting and suspenseful novel “Real World” and a juvenile killer on the run, is directing Terauchi, one of the four girls who become his accessories, to write a manifesto to fit the crime he has committed.
Then sort of wrap it up like ‘Evangelion,’” the popular animated television series that pits paramilitary teenagers against enemy angels bent on destroying humankind. “Sprinkle in some Dostoyevsky or Nietzsche or whatever.
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