اعتقادي الشخصي , دي اقوى حاجه كتبها موراكامي و من اقوى الروايات اللي انا قرأتها في حياتي
تتفوق بكل جدارة على كافكا , ملموسة بشكل اقوى و ده راجع لواقعيتها الزياده بالمقارنة بكافكا او معظم اعمال موراكامي
لو ينفع تاخد اكتر من ٥/٥ كنت اديتها بلا تردد , ماعتقدش اني هقدر انسجم في اي رواية تانية بعدها بسهولة
و اعتقد ان سبب انها طولت معايا شوية اني فعلا مش عايزاها تخلص ..

Un espectáculo de sentimientos donde la falta de madurez emocional termina destruyendo vidas..... no se lo pierdan.

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Sadness is indeed a very complicated emotion. It has the uncanny ability of dissolving the edges of reality surrounding you and immersing you completely in an alternate world, where only you and that feeling exist together in complete harmony. And nothing else matters. You luxuriate in the richness of its beauty and marvel at the tranquility it offers you.
Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood evokes exactly similar kind of emotions in the reader.

There are some books you read, which leave you with stories-bitter, exciting, adrenaline-driven, romantic, depressing or grisly. And then there are books which leave you with feelings. Norwegian Wood, most definitely, belongs to the second category.
And in my opinion, it is infinitely easier to deconstruct a story in a review rather than the feeling it leaves you with. But here's an attempt anyway.

This is a beautifully crafted, sombre but incredibly sensual tale of unfulfilled love where the central characters are, in all essence, broken individuals.
In a most indolent manner, the book begins with our narrator Toru Watanabe, catching the strains of an orchestral version of The Beatles' 'Norwegian wood' on a flight to Hamburg and beginning to reminisce about a certain girl named Naoko, from the days of his youth in Tokyo. From hereon, the story is told as a flashback, as a sliver of memory that the 37-year old Toru has carefully preserved or perhaps is struggling not to forget.
Majorly the story revolves around the trials and tribulations of the 3 key characters - Toru, Naoko and Midori.

Toru, a reserved young college student, is shown to be somewhat anti-social, not quite opening up to others as easily as others open up to him. There is a sense of profound sadness about him hidden skilfully under a veneer of indifference, probably arising out of the loss of his childhood friend Kizuki, who committed suicide at 17. While Naoko, Kizuki's first and only girlfriend, is a beautiful and emotionally fragile being who has been unable to grapple with the tragedy of Kizuki's untimely death. Still in mourning, bound by a mutual feeling of isolation, Toru and Naoko, forge an unnatural connection of sorts, when they cross each other's paths years later in Tokyo. Toru falls in love right away and even she feels something love-like for him, but sadly enough it is not enough to heal them both. Soon the emotionally unstable Naoko recedes to a sanatorium in mountainous Kyoto while Toru tries to continue with his life as an unremarkable university student, seeking comfort in sleeping with random women. In Naoko's continued absence from his life, he makes friends with the bright, sassy, sexually liberated Midori Kobayashi, who has had her fair share of tragedies too but still manages to be optimistic. An unlikely friendship with Midori, helps dissipate some of the darkness in Toru's life but he is still unable to get Naoko off his mind and keeps writing her letters irrespective of whether she sends a reply or not. The rest of the book details Toru's dilemma as he is torn between these two women, never too sure of whether to shun his troubled past and embrace reality as it comes or keep waiting for Naoko to fully recover from her festering psychological wounds.

Written in a lucid language, the book is full of metaphors usually represented by the description of natural scenery. Murakami's obsession with western classics and music is reflected in the countless references to Beatles numbers like "Yesterday", "Michelle", "Something", Bach, Mozart, Scarlatti and literary works of Joseph Conrad, Fitzgerald, Thomas Mann, Karl Marx and so on.

The brief overview of the plot does not, in any way, do justice to the story. For a book like Norwegian Wood cannot be summarized.
It is about human relationships which cannot be given a name or a clear definition. It is about the ghastly spectre of death and the way the people who are no longer with us, sometimes leave us in a permanent state of damage. It is about friendship and love and sexuality. And most important of all, it is about sadness. In its cruelest yet most beautiful form. The inherent dreariness of the book gets to you at some point or the other, but Murakami's compelling story-telling ways, make sure you keep reading till the very end.

ممم... حسن
الرواية جيدة، لكن.
إذا كنت تبحث عن كافكا أخرى هاهنا، فيسعدني أن أخيب ظنك، فصدقًا، كافكا لا تعوض ولا تماثل أبدًا
بجنونها، بفلسفتها، بفانتازيتها، بفحشها وبذائتها، بعبقريتها بكل شيء
لكن، يظل موراكامي كما هو، مجنون عبقري
روايته تلك لطيفة، لن أقول بأنها استثنائية، لكنها جيدة، كنت متحيرًا في أثناء اقترابي من نهايتها في التقييم المناسب لها، وكنت قد استقريت على نجمتين أو ثلاثة على الأكثر، لكونها مجرد قصة، عادية، مليئة بالفحش والبذاءة والقبح لا أكثر، لكن صدقًا، آخر ثلاثون صفحة منها، حرفيًا، قلبت رأيي في الرواية رأسا على عقب
حين يموت أحد أحباؤنا، نظن أننا انتهينا، وبأننا قد غيبنا عن الزمن والوجود، وبأننا قد فقدنا كل قيمة وجدوى لهذه الحياة، وهذا صحيح، لكننا نخطئ حين نظن بأن هذا هو نهاية المطاف
نحن أحياء، من لحم ودم، وعلينا التمتع بحياتنا - القصيرة تلك - على قدر الإمكان، علينا أن نؤمن بقيمة عمرنا هذا، وألا نترك أنفسنا للزمن يطوح بنا هنا وهناك، علينا أن نستثمر حياتنا في شيء ما، وألا نقف في منتصف الطريق يائسين ساكتين مستسلمين، الحياة صعبة، ولكن الأصعب منها أن نموت حين نكون ما زلنا نتنفس الهواء
هذا ما وجدته واستخلصته من تلك الرواية، بغض النظر عن أي اعتبارات أخرى
رواية جيدة، وأعتقد أني قرأتها في وقتها
قرأتها مع هدى، فلها الشكر

„Норвежка гора“ е възхитителна книга! Според мен, тя представлява най-вече страшно силна история за човешките взаимоотношения... Въпреки тежките социални теми и любовни драми в нея, тя ми беше изключително приятна за четене! Заглавието идва от едноименната песен на „Бийтълс“, като Мураками типично в свой стил прави много силни литературни и музикални препоръки чрез своята творба.

Действието в „Норвежка гора“ се развива в края на 60-те години на миналия век в Япония, като главен герой е студентът Тору Ватанабе. Едва 19 годишен, той трябва да се справя с живота в Токио. Междувременно е много тъжен, заради смъртта на свой близък приятел, както и се разкъсва от любовни терзания... Съдбата му се заплита по невероятно интересен начин, като впоследствие е изправен пред трудни решения... Останалите персонажи също са сложни и интересни личности... Любимият ми образ е прекрасната Мидори!

Книгата е много повече от любовен роман, тъй като авторът разглежда и като цяло проблемите на поколението, както и пресъздава по въздействащ начин атмосферата от онези бурни времена... „Норвежка гора“ е много по-реалистична от други творби на Мураками, които съм чел, но все така приказно завладяваща!






„Със затворени очи докосвах някоя позната книга и вдишвах дълбоко аромата й. Това бе достатъчно, за да се чувствам щастлив.“


„Бях срещал доста особени хора през живота си, но никой не бе особен като Нагасава. Беше далеч по-запален читател от мен, ала имаше правило никога да не докосва книга от автор, който не е поне от трийсет години покойник. „Само на такава книга мога да повярвам“ — казваше той.“


„— Никой не обича да бъде съвсем сам. Но не полагам особени старания да се сприятелявам. Това е всичко. Просто ми е много неприятно, когато ме разочароват.“


„Нямах проблем със съдържанието им, но маниерът на писане беше калпав. Не открих нищо, което да вдъхва доверие или да възбужда страстите. И речта на закръгленото момче бе също слаба — същата стара песен на нов глас. Истинският враг на тази банда беше не държавната власт, а липсата на въображение.“


„— И докато живеете с тези усещания, вие, младите, остарявате също като мен — каза Рейко с усмивка. — Мислиш си, че е утро или нощ и следващото нещо, което разбираш, е, че си вече стар.
— Но ти обичаш да остаряваш — рече Наоко.
— Всъщност не — каза Рейко. — Но определено не бих желала пак да съм млада.
— Защо не? — попитах.
— Защото е толкова досадно! — отвърна тя.“


„Книгата не беше лишена от отживелици, но като роман не беше слаба. Четях я бавно, наслаждавайки се на всеки ред в притихналата книжарница посред нощ.“


„Хората крещяха, че ще има революционни промени — които, изглежда, винаги предстояха съвсем скоро. Но „промените“, които настанаха, бяха само двуизмерни сценични декори, фон без стойност и смисъл.“


„Пишех писма в аудиторията, пишех писма на бюрото си вкъщи, с котката Чайка в скута ми, пишех писма на празните маси в италианския ресторант, докато почивах. Сякаш пишех писма, за да скрепя парчетата от своя разпадащ се живот.“


„Мидори отвърна с дълго, дълго мълчание — мълчанието на всички тихи дъждове на света, валящи върху всички окосени ливади.“

It might take me a while to find the right words to write something about Norwegian Wood. All I can say now is that it's easily one of the best books I've ever read

EDIT: I've been trying to find something to say for 2 months now but it's of no use. Everything falls short and flat because I've mixed so much of my own life with the events and feelings present in this book. One thing is true, though, and it's that Norwegian Wood is a book that will mark this part of my life more than any other book I've come across. I'll probably like other books more in the future, but now, at this exact moment, one day before my last physics test, two months before my college admission test and just a bit before my 19th bithday, nothing seems to come even close

My reaction while reading most of the book and especially the last 4 pages. Let me begin by saying how much I adored the start (approx. until the 150 pages? I think) but after that it was a downfall..


- The characters were over the top damaged, every single one of them. I think only the first roommate Toru had the clean freak (ahhh Levi save me) was the most “normal” as in didn’t have any mental illness or personality disorders/ problems with his being. I think that they were more pretentious than convincing. (Unpopular opinion) Probably most of them kept repeating how special they were or how miserable and gloomy people they were that after a point it was annoying and not cogent.

- Can someone please explain me the existence of Naoko in the book? She only offers the “main character’s love interest” stereotype who has no personality, but you know is wretched as hell. I understand isolation very well... I just couldn't see myself connecting with the characters or worry about them.

- Toru Watanabe is the best guy you shall ever meet. Don’t believe me? Don’t you worry! EVERY SINGLE CHARACTER IN THIS BOOK WILL REMIND YOU ABOUT IT :D He is so charming (and I cannot see the reason) that no one can resist him.  He literally slept with all the females in the book except for Hatsumi. I am surprised that there was no gay character who hit on him.  Having mentioned attraction this brings me to my next point. Am I the only one who found the sex scenes disturbing? Also, I' ve lost count of all the times Toru was talking about his dick.

-  4 SUICIDES? WHY?


- Last but not least, did anyone else notice the absence of families? I mean yes they spoke about their families but not to their families. The only parent we catch a glimpse of is Midori’s father  who literally dies a few pages later!  And that too bothered me a bit.

And the ending oh boy so convenient!

Maybe I am a prude or a judgmental and narrow minded a hole, but I think the book as a whole served a big “so what?”
Not going to lie there were parts which I loved. The writing was to my liking -except for the cringy descriptions and the annoying dialogues- I am disappointed cause I liked the beginning so much, I was hooked and I fancy realism so much, but that just wasn't enough.


PS: You were right. Next time I'll listen. ☹
This review is a mess, just like me after finishing this book.

Επίσης, είναι Σάκε ! σΑκε! σΆκε. Got it?

This is apparently the Murakami book that "everyone" in Japan has read, and disaffected protagonist Toru Watanabe is apparently a Holden Caulfield-esque figure for a lot of Japanese youth. To me, though, the book less reflects Catcher in the Rye than it predicts Zach Braff's Garden State, an ode to a time in life when the big choices seem so big that you don't end up making them at all, and find yourself instead drawn to the safety and comfort of nostalgia and memory.

Though it's set in Japan, and the late '60s, it has a universal emotional current that doesn't feel dated one bit. It's darkly emotional but also surprisingly sexy and funny. Toru is the signature Murakami protagonist, just a few years younger than we're used to seeing him, and the women are given more presence and substance than they were allowed in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, even if they are all a little too eager to jump into bed with Toru, who kind of seems like a loser.

That's even if, and here's really what solidified the connection to Garden State in my mind, Midori, who is a fabulously entertaining character, is also basically a stock manic pixie dream girl, with all the associated hangups and quirks and buried secrets. It works better on the page, since I never wanted to punch her in the face for doing hot dog dances or going on and on about The Shins.

I really wish I'd read this in college, just like I really wish I'd read Catcher in high school, but I still think it plays at any age.

Trigger warnings: non-consensual sex with minors, suicide, mental illness, death, really just a terrible book that you should steer clear of

I've heard a lot about Haruki Murakami and his works, so I really tried to give this one a good go. But the more I got into it, the more I realised that it's a self-indulgent male fantasy of two hot women throwing themselves at him.

Yes there's a lot of sex in the book, but no one told me there would be a non-consensual lesbian scene between a 13 year old girl and a 32 year old married woman described in great detail. Then there's the manic pixie dream girl Minori, who's floaty, bimbo-like dialogue grated on my nerves as it became interchanged with sexual propositions dirtier than the last.

The thing is, I couldn't even tell you anything about the main character because he was so obsessed with these females around him. Mental illness does play heavily within the story, as one of them heads to a psychiatric retreat, but the whole story is just filled with selfish, horny characters who I just didn't care for.

I noped out of this book and my only regret is wasting time on it.

Check out Happy Indulgence Books for more reviews!

This book was so disgusting. Toru as the main character is so so so mediocre. All the women are horrible and flat; they literally just exist to satisfy Toru's sexual desires and fantasies. He literally has sex with 3/4 of the significant female characters, and he's "so good at sex" that two swear they'll never have sex again. How many ways can I reiterate that this is SO MISOGYNIST. Why were there so many dry, uncomfortable, unromantic sex scenes? Why was there that one with a 13 year old?? So gross and unnecessary (even if it may or may not have actually happened). Murakami is WAY better when he's doing magical realism, when the grotesque sex fits into the aesthetic. Instead this was just creepy and anti-women. Big NOPE for me!! Mediocre "nice guys" stop thinking all women exist to give sexual favors challenge.

essentially, this book is murakami’s version of the early 20s, coming of age novel. the book explores the desperation and loneliness of youth, along with the existential crisis of being young and not understanding what life is all about, or what you’re supposed to be doing with it. toru being a university student is really where the relatability came in for me as murakami really captured how monotonous university life can feel sometimes i.e. going to lectures, doing your assignments and repeat, and how you sometimes feel like you’re just floating through your student years.

i was pulled into the story within the first few pages which was definitely aided by the writing, which is beautiful and poetic with a hint of melancholy laced throughout. life and death is the prominent theme running throughout the novel but murakami doesn’t paint them as opposites, instead they are just parts of a wider process that mark all the experiences you have in between. it is quite a bleak read, but it’s a story that is very easy to get lost in.

however, as many people have pointed out, murakami unfortunately can’t write women. most of the female characters are the epitome of the ‘manic pixie dream girl’, and although this phrase wasn’t coined until 2005, that’s basically how they’re all portrayed. obviously we don’t know murakami’s views towards women, but the protagonist here clearly sees women either as things he can just discard or as pretty little broken dolls that he wants to fix. i have to admit i did still enjoy midori as a character though, mainly because of her witty dialogue.

i was debating taking a star off due to the portrayal of women throughout the novel which was a bit distracting, but i can’t bring myself to because i just loved the book so much overall. i’m a firm believer that you can still love a book while also criticising its more problematic aspects, and that’s probably the best way to approach this book. but even still, i highly recommend it.

“That song can make me feel so sad,” said Naoko. “I don't know, I guess I imagine myself wandering in a deep wood. I'm all alone and it's cold and dark, and nobody comes to save me. That's why Reiko never plays it unless I request it.”
- Naoko about Norwegian Wood

“It makes me feel like I'm in a big meadow in a soft rain.”
- Naoko about Michelle.

“Thinking back on the year 1969, all that comes to mind for me is a swamp - a deep, sticky bog that feels as if it's going to suck off my shoe each time I take a step. I walk through the mud, exhausted.
In front of me, behind me, I can see nothing but the endless darkness of a swamp.
Time itself slogged along in rhythm with my faltering steps. The people around me had gone on ahead long before, while my time and I hung back, struggling through the mud. The world around me was on the verge of great transformations. Death had already taken John Coltrane who was joined now by so many others. People screamed there would be revolutionary changes- which always seemed to be just ahead, at the curve in the road. But the changes that came were just two-dimensional stage sets, backdrops without substance or meaning.
I trudged along through each day in its turn, rarely looking up, eyes locked on the never-ending swamp that lay before me, planting my right foot, raising my left, planting my left foot, raising my right, never sure where I was, never sure I was headed in the right direction, knowing only that I had to keep moving, one step at a time.”

I'd been waiting for a book like this all my life. A book which holds my hand and takes me to a special place. I don't know who I am in that place, I only remember what I felt. This is it.

They caressed an intimate part of my soul, those idyllic summer afternoons in college spent listening to Rubber Soul with a battered book in hand. I was happy to be exactly where I was. I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. I could have lain there and listened to the opening strains of Girl again and again. Like McCartney, I just needed someone to hear my story. I was very glad to be lost; in conversation, in reflection, in anything which catalyzed and spurred on my natural instinct to dream. I felt like a child who has wandered away after school and has no intention of going home until he has seen some unfamiliar parts of the city. A little part of me was in a crowded street lined with colourful stalls selling delicious food. Another part of me was on a crowded bus looking at adults going about their business and feeling grown up. The world was full of endless possibilities, all of them in parallel realities, comfortably within the reach of my invincible spirit . I was delightfully disoriented, my mind continually wandering, pausing to reflect on women, to the finer aspects of Paul's bass playing, then moving on to the futile task of figuring out my favourite Beatles album.

I was walking down a long corridor of white doors with oak shelves of thoughts and bouquets. I opened one door and found myself in a row of ebony doors, which glistened in the light like someone had splashed water on it and then wiped the floor beneath it clean. I was bewildered to see that there was no way out of this corridor. I went on opening doors, making my way through endless corridors until I reached a corridor with a grey stone wall which stared back at me. The wall dissolved into a girl who had pleaded togetherness through teary eyes. It turned into her fingers brushing against my cheek for the last time, into her lingering scent on my clothes. Then I opened my eyes and the wall reappeared. I trudged along the edge, scratching the wall with my fingernails aching for the white door, but all I found was the wall whose austere intensity asked me to stop all further advances. I craned my neck to see where the wall ended and found a photo of George looking down at me. In my head, Here Comes The Sun started playing. Another song, another trip. On many a cool winter morning, I'd woken up, looked at my sun-tinted window pane and played this song, urged by habit and George's gentle crooning. He was telling me to go and look at that magnificent sun. And so I did. I let that guitar strumming do what it does best, unclog my mind of everything trivially distressing. What remained was the unmistakeable feeling of happiness waiting for me around the bend. It's all right. It's all right.

I had opened my doors to unspeakable things and a jungle awaited me on the other side. I didn't know whether I should get into the fray or let my way take it's final form. I thought I had it; the knowledge of knowing what I was doing.

Those warm afternoons and cool mornings are a bittersweet Beatlesque void in my mind. I ache for that time now and then. Norwegian Wood has the gentleness which comes close to filling that void. The book doesn't fix a fist down the void and widen it. It fills it with honey, enough honey to warm my soul and send sugary shivers of nostalgia down my spine. It affords me one more look through the good ol' retroscope.

This is a book which revels in the past, wallows in the past, afraid to move, trudges along the present dragging its feet on the road making a sound like the languid echoes of Death's footsteps. This is a book about how Death and your past are not beyond your life, they are part of your life. They are part of who you are.

It is pervaded by a spirit of adolescent alienation. You know, that strange unshakeable belief that takes over us at some point in our lives. A voice which whispers to us our deepest fears, that we are vastly different from the rest of the world, that they don't understand who we are and that it's only our fault it is this way. But the tone of the book is not angry or bitter. On the other hand, it's a gentle celebration of this aloofness. It makes you want to feel the intense emotions the characters experience; with dignity.

It's about how close friendships influence our lives, whether you like it or not. At the same time it speaks of a spiritual solitude in us. We have to battle our inner demons at all times and places. No one else can know what's on our mind. We can only hope to touch someone else's life and change it in ways we're unaware of. It tells us that we are players who meet each other at the football field for a game. At times we kick the ball around for a while, laugh heartily among ourselves and leave the field, slapping each others' backs. Sometimes, we accuse each other of unfair play and forget it was just a game.

And all those girls. How can I forget them? Girls who were overcome by the grossness of reality. Girls who weren't strong enough. Girls who didn't want to be strong. Girls who wanted love. Love they thought they deserved, love they didn't know they needed. Girls who shouted when they were angry. Girls who wept in the bathroom under the shower.

The simply seductive prose of the book calls for a sensory reading. A reading that is suspiciously like dreaming, as you are transported to a time and place that is unknown, yet intimate.