Δε λυπάστε τα καημένα τα δέντρα που τα κόβετε και τυπώνετε Μουρακάμι πάνω τους; Αν πάρει του χρόνου ο Μουρακάμι νόμπελ λογοτεχνίας, ας το δώσουν το ’19 στην Δημουλίδου. Το βιβλίο είναι στα όρια του μαγικού ρεαλισμού, αλλά αυτό δε θα έπρεπε να επαναπαύει τον συγγραφέα.

Εκμεταλλεύεται την μαγεία για να βάλει καταστάσεις που δεν είναι εφικτές στην πραγματικότητα. Για παράδειγμα, δεν βλέπουμε καθημερινά μια γυναίκα να προσφέρει ένα μάτσο χιλιάρικα ή να πηγαίνουμε μέσω ονείρου να σκοτώσουμε τον κουνιάδο μας. Επίσης, το ότι μπορεί να δημιουργεί μια αίσθηση ονείρου δεν πρέπει να αναιρεί το γεγονός πως το γράψιμο είναι απλό και δεν υπάρχει συνοχή.

Ο πρωταγωνιστής είναι παθητικός και αδρανής, χωρίς ουσιαστικό ενδιαφέρον. Δεν μας δίνονται πολλά στοιχεία για αυτόν. Οι ιδέες και στοιχεία είναι ανακυκλώσιμες και έχουμε συναντήσει παρόμοια σε άλλα έργα του Μουρακάμι.

Υπάρχουν πολλά προβλήματα με το βιβλίο. Δεν υπάρχει πραγματικός πλοτ, οι χαρακτήρες δεν είναι ενδιαφέροντες και δεν υπάρχει εξέλιξη τους. Η γραφή είναι γεμάτη συζητήσεις και περιγραφές χωρίς ουσία. Το κείμενο είναι υπερβολικά μεγάλο και θα μπορούσε να είναι πιο συντομογραφικό. Οι παρομοιώσεις είναι άκυρες και άστοχες.

Επίσης, η ελληνική μετάφραση είναι πολύ κακή. Ο μεταφραστής δεν γνωρίζει αρκετά την κουλτούρα που περιγράφει και κάνει πολλές λάθη. Σε γενικές γραμμές, το βιβλίο δεν είναι για μένα και δεν μπορώ να το συστήσω.

For a long time, this was my favorite Murakami work.

It achieves an almost perfect balance between magical realism and conventional storytelling, delving into themes such as power, desire, and alienation.

Murakami also presents numerous meetings and clashes between polar opposite characters, which adds depth and excitement to the narrative.

However, this book has its drawbacks. It is a bit too long, and at times, the use of surrealism seems gratuitous rather than serving the story.

As a result, my interest in the story waned towards the end.

Nevertheless, it is still masterfully written, as is everything by him.

Overall, I would rate it a 7.5 out of 12.

Despite its flaws, it remains a captivating and thought-provoking read that showcases Murakami's unique literary style.

I am pleasantly surprised by this story. I won't hide it, I had rather low expectations that Murakami would still convince me. And yet - it seems that I will be reaching for his books in the future.

"Kafka on the Shore" is a multi-layered novel. Of course, as is the case with Murakami, there were no shortages of minuses - especially when it comes to his way of portraying women, which constantly irritates me. But one thing cannot be denied to him: he can write. And how! Murakami weaves his stories with gratitude, leaving room for interpretation, instead of pathologically explaining "what the author meant". This is a book that encourages one to figure everything out for oneself.

For me, this is a story about generational trauma, existential pain, and the layering of the psyche. And perhaps also an attempt to break down this psyche into its prime factors - and present it through the prism of colorful, albeit ambiguous characters. Many motifs are familiar from other Murakami novels, such as "Norwegian Wood": characters balancing on the verge of madness, plunged into sadness, suffering, and the loss of meaning. Will they find the way back? It's not known. There is also the past here, which不知不觉 affects the present of Toru Okada. Although the main character does not notice this, he cannot escape what fate has prepared for him - or is preparing, if we even accept that the concept of time has meaning. Murakami plays with this idea, and I love it.

At a certain point, the story enters the mystical, almost magical territory. Does this bother? Not at all. On the contrary, this is exactly what I was missing in "Norwegian Wood". The crow, symbolically controlling the spiral of Toru's life and his surroundings, provokes reflection and gives a wide field for interpretation. Do we have a real impact on our lives? Or maybe it's all just a dream? Dreams play a crucial role here anyway - it's hard not to notice their significance.

When reading "Kafka on the Shore", we drift. Together with Toru, we descend into the well, immerse ourselves in his subconscious, and a moment later we meet characters with strange names (Mackerel - always in my heart). The story lifts us up and throws us down - and at the end, do we reach any specific goal? I'm not sure.

This is not a flawless book, but it is definitely a good book. Heck, a very good one.

I can understand readers having extreme love/hate reactions to Murakami, generally, and to The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, particularly.

As in his other works, the most recent of which is 1Q84, opening the covers of Wind-Up Bird is like strapping yourself into a carnival ride through someone else’s dream world.

Unless you are very keenly interested in the mind of that dreamer, you will be in turns bored or repelled by the experience.

I am keenly interested in Murakami, and I find myself willing to read pretty much anything he writes.

But it is a love that surpasses my own understanding at times.

Like many other readers, I find Murakami’s aesthetic sensibilities and his evocative symbolism wondrous and beautiful.

Whilst admitting that they can at times veer wildly from the banal and tedious to the overwrought, oversexualised, or even ridiculous.

Nevertheless, they tend to stay with me long after I’ve closed one of his books (even the banal and tedious ones).

I read him with the same sense of fascination that I read the works of Jung (even though Jung’s work is nonfiction) because I think that Murakami is grappling with the same types of existential questions.

And that he seeks his answers by exploring the same types of places: the labyrinths of our own minds; the subtle and delicate ties that bind us to other sentient beings; the pragmatic and sensual bonds between us and the inanimate objects that fill our lives; and the metaphorical (or actual, depending upon one’s beliefs) collective unconscious.

I must admit to getting completely sucked into Murakami’s worlds.

So much so, that I sometimes forget to check-in with basic physical reality.

I had read three Murakami books before it occurred to me that one cannot see the stars in daylight from the bottom of a well – a claim his characters make in at least two of his novels, including this one.

Nevertheless, the idea works beautifully as a metaphor.

As with his other books, his symbols and recurrent motifs have a resounding power.

I am haunted by that deep, dry well; that wind-up bird that speaks one’s doom; that labyrinthine hotel with its prostitutes of the mind, its waiter who whistles Rossini, and its endless supply of fresh cut flowers, fresh buckets of ice, and tumblers of Cutty Sark; that teenage girl with the wooden leg who visits the duck people in winter; and, unfortunately, even that hideous Boris the Man-skinner.

It is probably fair to say, as with his other books, that some of the characters in Wind-Up Bird are rendered too lurid, or alternatively too vague, to be believable.

But then, perhaps they are not intended to be entirely of this world anyway.

Much the same can be said of the plot.

Still, I find that Murakami's writing satisfies me in some ineffable way and that I am happy enough to stay in the dream, trusting that he is taking me somewhere vivid and compelling and completely fresh.

Then I find that I can’t quite wake up for a while after the book has ended.

Update 11 July 2018: Well! Given that I have, for decades, read quite a lot of fairy tales, folk lore, and mythology, I don't know how I missed this information about wells until now: The ancient people saw wells as gateways where the veils between human existence, the world soul and the spirit realms became thinner, and beside them they established shrines and conducted ceremonies. Source That certainly adds to the mystique of Murakami's recurring well motif in his books.

Update 6 September 2018: I just finished a second reading and enjoyed it even more this time around.

The retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice tale is especially well done.

There is so much I don't know about Japanese military and political history, though, which is central to the book.

I have tried to learn more between readings but my education in this area still lacks breadth and depth.

\\n  “For both of us, it had simply been too enormous an experience. We shared it by not talking about it. Does this make any sense?”\\n

This novel has truly been an “enormous experience” for me. It's so profound that I struggle to put it into words without a sense of vagueness. At least not until I fully understand the unique word Murakami created, which might not happen anytime soon. But still, let me share some of my thoughts after finishing the book.

After the letdown of Norwegian Wood, I was hesitant to pick up another Murakami novel so soon, especially one of this length. However, reading The Elephant Vanishes was a significant catalyst. Its first chapter, disguised as Wing up bird Chronicle and Tuesday’s Women, was an absurd yet intriguing start. Our protagonist receives strange phone-sex calls, searches for his cat in the back alleys, and seeks answers to existential questions in a dried-up well or with a delusional adolescent. Soon, the plot takes an unexpected turn, similar to Kafka on The Shore.

This is by far the best Murakami novel I've read. It's one of his most mature works. There are no more sex-crazed teenagers running away from reality, claiming it's the same as finding solutions to self-induced hallucinations. The plot's originality is remarkable, yet Murakami's inspirations from Kafka and Dostoyevsky are evident. It also reminds me of the worldbuilding of directors like Lynch and Bong Joon-Ho. The storytelling is excellent, and can be described by Murakami's own words:

\\n  “The point is, not to resist the flow. You go up when you're supposed to go up and down when you're supposed to go down. When you're supposed to go up, find the highest tower and climb to the top. When you're supposed to go down, find the deepest well and go down to the bottom. When there's no flow, stay still. If you resist the flow, everything dries up. If everything dries up, the world is darkness.”\\n

The meta-level Murakami achieved, similar to his other works, is fascinating and surprising. I expected a more optimistic ending, but I still found it satisfying. This novel deserves a re-read as there are many unanswered questions. It's my favorite Murakami work, and I'm sure it will remain so. In the meantime,

\\n   “I'd be smiling and chatting away, and my mind would be floating around somewhere else, like a balloon with a broken string.”\\n

From my comments on Constant Reader:

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle was actually penned while Murakami was a writer-in-residence at Harvard. Conveniently, his translator also worked there. According to an interview with Jay Rubin, as soon as Murakami completed a section, he would hand it over to Rubin for translation. Rubin sometimes provided his own advice and critiques. For instance, he didn't care for the Kano sisters.

After learning that the book had been edited for the English edition, I embarked on a mini wild sheep chase. I wanted to find out what passages or details had been censored. Maybe there was a scene between Toru and May that was unfit for Americans? However, after reading an interview with Jay Rubin, I discovered that the answer was much less scandalous. Rubin said it was merely a matter of removing redundant passages to tighten the text. Japanese writers rarely go through the editing process that American publishers demand. It wasn't an issue of specific inappropriate content.

It won't come as a surprise to those who have started this hefty tome that Murakami writes without first laying out a plot. He simply follows where his imagination leads him. This sometimes results in frustrating passages, but it also takes his readers into literal and figurative terrains they wouldn't otherwise encounter.

Ultimately, it's the quirky beauty of his details and similes that has always made him such a delight to read. For example, the completely relatable and senseless argument between Toru and his wife about blue tissues and patterned toilet paper, or the debate with May Kasahara about why six fingers is any less irrelevant than four breasts on a woman.

As I suggested in the regular CR thread, Murakami raises more questions than he answers in his books and often presents us with mysteries that simply can't be solved.

Another thing that struck me when I first read Wind-Up Bird was how May's parents and Toru weren't very surprised by her not going to school. But in a society where about 1% of students do the same and stop attending classes, in a country that has mastered the art of cram schools to prepare students for entrance exams, and where admission to an elite college is meant to set you on the right track for a career, and where ruthless bullying is sanctioned by teachers and parents as part of the trials of coming-of-age, it becomes less surprising that some students choose to opt out of the school system. It's become an increasing phenomenon, even an epidemic, in Japan, termed hikikomori. Kids and adults refuse to leave their room and are simply left food and/or an allowance by their helpless and sometimes abused parents. Obviously, as May left her room and spoke easily with Toru, she wasn't a hikikomori, who are often male. But it did explain in part the seeming normalcy and comfort with her not going to school.

It occurred to me only last week that perhaps it was Toru himself who best embodied the hikikomori mindset. Not only did he leave his job, but he also secluded himself and meditated at the bottom of the well for a long time. That made it more understandable, at least to me, why Murakami might have made his protagonist refuse to act for so long. However frustrating it was to read and endure with him, it may have been psychologically necessary for him to shut himself off from the world.

Another CR member made a good point about the cultural differences between our Western notion of being active and the Buddhist notion of flow. I do know that Toru was actively processing events and listening to clues even though he seems so passive. I suppose, as a wound-up East Coaster (a far East Coaster, as Palin would call me), I wanted Toru to spring into action when the wise or Zen thing to do was to wait, watch, and listen for the truth or the wave of motion to unfold. Perhaps we should regard and understand Toru as being mindful above all else.

I’ve read quite a number of Murakami’s books in the past several years, and this has led me to think deeply about my feelings regarding this particular one, which I completed reading in the late summer of 2013.

Be cautious; it is a substantial and at times intricate work. The story centers around Toru Okada, a young man whose life is in a state of stagnation: he is unemployed, has very little ambition, his wife has deserted him, and now his cat has vanished. In the process of looking for his cat, he wanders up and down a closed lane adjacent to his house, and at one point, he finds himself climbing into a dry well located within the garden of a neighboring property. He starts to visit this well regularly, and while sitting in the darkness at the bottom, he is prone to enter a meditative-like state in which he has experiences that may or may not be dreams. Indeed, it is a rather surreal story.

I won’t delve into too many more details about what occurs, but I will mention that some of the characters I encountered along the way are memorable, and some of the sub-stories that unfold are truly intense and powerful. My personal favorite (and it would make a five-star novella on its own) pertains to the predicament of an old Japanese soldier and his experiences in Manchuria during the Sino-Japanese War.

Certainly, there is a strong undertone of sentiment here regarding Japan’s violent aggression during World War II. But aside from that, the entire piece is an affecting and thought-provoking narrative. I may not have fully grasped the entirety of the tale, but it entertained me, touched me, and it has withstood the test of time - that is, when asked to list my top three books, it often makes the list.

Murakami is undoubtedly a talented writer with a wild and brilliant imagination. The settings of his books always transport me to unfamiliar places that are culturally distinct from anything I have yet to encounter. This is probably why I return to his works, even if I don't enjoy some of them - they are often challenging but always unconventional and off-center. They tend to stay with me. A few of his books are among a very small percentage of all the books I’ve read that I’m likely to revisit one day.

Reading this book was an experience like no other. It was as if I had to abandon the security of the boat and plunge myself headfirst into the boundless motion of the ocean. The story carried me forward, creating a wave driven by an unseen force. It rose, crested, and finally crashed and burst, glistening and foaming onto the shore. I, and perhaps you too, won't fully understand all of it, but that's okay. This book is a complex and dense journey, much like Alice in Wonderland. However, if, like me, you have a love for the bizarre, the surreal, and the random, you will feel every word. Murakami has a unique way with words that sets him apart from other writers.

People far more knowledgeable than I have called it "His masterpiece," and after reading it, I must concur. But is it my favorite book of his that I've read so far? Possibly. What I do know is that it has emphasized the fact that I love his books the most when they are filled with the weird, surreal, and magical realism themes that he does so brilliantly.

***SPOILER*** However, there are some truly horrific and graphically descriptive scenes of torture in one section that made me recoil in horror at the actions that a supposed human being could inflict on another, as well as animal slaughter. These were extremely difficult for me to get through.

As the quote goes, "It was a narrow world, a world that was standing still. But the narrower it became, and the more it consisted of stillness, the more this world that enveloped me seemed to overflow with things and people that could only be called strange. They had been there all along, it seemed, waiting in the shadows for me to stop moving. And every time the wind-up bird came to my yard to wind its spring, the world descended more deeply into chaos." This was a stunning book that I will remember for a very long time. 5 +++ *

A drifting balloon,

gently bobbing in the soft breeze.

A rattling pebble,

noisily tossed down an empty well.

A wispy cloud,

quietly passing over the face of the moon.

This is Murakami,

creating a world that is both mysterious and enchanting.

I'm no poet, but this book has a magical charm that makes me long to be one. It is quietly insistent and highly readable, contrary to my initial expectations considering its frequent comparison to Pynchon. The sentences are simple, almost plain, and at first glance, it all seems rather easy. However, there is a depth and complexity hidden beneath the surface (as it turns out, quite literally!). Great care has been taken in the artful construction of this work, and the fact that it has been translated and still manages to be so moving is truly impressive.

What is this book about? Well, it's not just about a missing cat, although that is where the languorous, surreal plot begins. One gets the sense that it is about Life Itself, a horribly trite summary perhaps, but the best way I can think of to describe it. It delves into themes of destiny, identity, differences of opinion, creating and sharing meaning, the world we inhabit, and the ways we make sense of it. At times, it can be a bit boring, but at others, it is simply beautiful.

"So then one disconnected thing led to another disconnected thing, and that’s how all kinds of stuff happened." (461)

I give this book 4.5 stars. In a word: deft. Just as a great masterpiece is painted one brushstroke at a time, Murakami weaves something astonishing out of the very basics of storytelling. I am completely taken by his style and will surely read more of his works. However, my typical concern about big books applies here. This could have been a little shorter and still held my interest better. So, while I love it now, I doubt I will return to read it again.

"Chronicle of a Corpse Bearer" is an incredible reading experience! The story is set in the 1980s, and Murakami creates a multi-layered picture of Japanese society, transporting us fascinatingly back to those times. Personally, "Chronicle" made a stronger impression on me than the terrifying trilogy "1Q84"!

The main character in the story is Toru Okada (or Mr. Corpse Bearer), whose peaceful life suddenly changes drastically when he is drawn into a complex web of surreal adventures... He has left his tiresome job and lately has been occupied with household chores and the search for a lost cat, but one day his wife Kumiko mysteriously disappears... Her brother Noboru Wataya (an arrogant and influential figure) gets in touch with Okada and claims that she has left him and doesn't want to see him, but he has never believed him and still doesn't... Okada's fate soon confronts him with inexplicable situations and brings him face to face with extremely strange and colorful images... Ushikawa, a familiar character from "1Q84", also has an episodic role in the story.

Through the mentions of some of the heroes in the novel, Murakami presents us with interesting fragments of Japan's participation in World War II! The plot line of Okada and the supernatural elements are extremely powerful and influential... but I think the most valuable thing in "Chronicle" are precisely the messages about the true face of war and its evil reflection not only on the victims but also on the next generations!

"I had as many plans for this afternoon as a migratory bird has nests."

"But that's not what we're talking about right now. Some things, if you say them, they're no longer true, right? Do you know what I'm talking about, Mr. Corpse Bearer?"

"Noboru Wataya had managed to find a new, more demanding mask, surely very well made, maybe even a new skin. Whatever it was, mask or skin, I had to admit - just like that, even I had to admit - that it had a certain captivating power. At that moment I thought: it was as if I was looking not at his face but at a television image."

"But at that very moment, the very idea of facts and truth was unable to convince me. What touched me most deeply in the letter was the sense of helplessness that filled the lieutenant's words: the helplessness of being unable to describe and explain satisfactorily anything at all."

"Everything around, enveloped in it, radiated a brilliant summer color. Even such intangible things as time and memory shared the charm of the summer light."

"Hatred is like a long dark shadow. In most cases, even the person who experiences it doesn't know where it came from. It is like a two-edged sword. If you pierce the one you hate, you also pierce yourself. The harder you drive it into him, the deeper it goes into you."

"But from time to time, loneliness would pierce me. Even the water I drank, even the air I breathed, seemed like long sharp needles. The pages of the book in my hands sometimes shone terrifyingly like blades. At four o'clock in the morning, when the world had fallen silent, I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping into me."

"Jealousy is not a feeling I experience often, but the scene in the painting awakened it in an almost astonishing degree. If only I could be there, immediately penetrate the painting! If only I could enter one of those rural houses, drink a glass of wine with pleasure, then crawl under the covers and fall asleep, thinking of nothing!"

"...whether May Kasahara would jump if she found out that I had met such people. "Stop it, Mr. Corpse Bearer! Can't you meet a few more normal people?" Truly, can't I, May Kasahara? That was a question I couldn't answer, no matter what."

"After several such meetings, I established that she is an extremely grateful listener. She quickly understood what the matter was and was able to guide the flow of the story, skillfully inserting questions and answers."

"Do you understand what I'm talking about? I'm not threatening you, but to me, old Ushikawa, it seems that slowly, without even realizing it, you are being lured into a dangerous territory."

Finally, as if he had said what he had to say.

"Are you suggesting that I should withdraw so as not to get myself into trouble?" I asked.

Ushikawa nodded.

"That's right, Mr. Okada, it's like playing chicken in the middle of the highway. The game is very dangerous."

Only around 10 books in this world might be crafted with actual MAGIC. These entities are so far removed from this world that they truly resemble outcasts, having their own orbit and adhering to their own set of rules. It is an absolute privilege to read them and discover for oneself why they have such a hold on the collective psyche of an entire, delighted literary community!

This profound exploration of life and reality is astonishingly complex, exquisitely well-orchestrated, and meticulously thought-out. It earns a new spot on the list of Tops. The main character, perhaps due to his Japanese heritage, is incredibly humble and unassuming. You simply can't help but be drawn to him; his struggles become your own. As he uncovers clues and delves deeper and deeper into a world hidden within the minutiae of reality (such as the darkness of a well, the acquaintances he makes during the day, the dreams shattered by the alarm clock...), we too begin to solve the puzzle. By page 300, I knew this was a deep and enticing masterpiece. During this time, I told Liana, "With an elegant ending, this book gets ***1/2. With a comprehensible (non-open-ended) finale: the full ****." By the end, you no longer care about what didn't fit, what was extraneous, or what was a bit confusing. "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" is an experience so fulfilling and incredibly amazing that I felt as if I was seamlessly melting into the background with zen-like precision, just like our protagonist. It is a true treasure of the avant-garde! Undoubtedly Murakami's best novel.

Toru Okada and his wife Kumiko's cat has gone missing, and he ventures into a closed alley in search of it. Soon after, Okada receives a mysterious inheritance from his wife's family's seer, and then Kumiko disappears. This marks the beginning of a strange journey that transcends the boundaries of the ordinary world, leading Okada to encounter new people, take on a new job, embrace new opportunities, and face new dangers. Amidst all this, his deepest longing is to find his way back to his wife and understand the reason behind her disappearance.

The story is set between June 1984 and December 1985, and the absence of cellphones, the description of the computers in use, and the fashion styles (especially those of the mysterious and fashionable woman Nutmeg and her son Cinnamon) add a touch of authenticity to the era.
The book also makes one reflect on how people can change, sometimes willingly and sometimes not. The beef with green pepper scene serves as a catalyst for Okada to start thinking about this and sense that things are about to change.
I was particularly repulsed by Okada's opponent, Noboru Wataya, his brother-in-law, a clearly deranged psycho who sexually assaults at least three women, including his sisters. Through the dream world that Okada sometimes manages to enter, specifically room 208, he seems to be connected to both Okada and Kumiko. The threatening presence that ultimately arrives with a knife is truly chilling. I was relieved to learn of his fate.
The abandoned house and its well were fascinating. As long as the well was dry, it served as a connector to the dream dimension of room 208 and the hotel around it. In the final chapters, the nightmarish aspect of this connection was vividly portrayed. Okada and his opponent meet here as well, and some other familiar faces also make an appearance. The whistling waiter was especially eerie.
The book title emerges as a title for certain computer files. The bird itself appears in at least two places, and there is a decorative piece of a bird in the yard of the abandoned house.
I also enjoyed the stories about pre- and during WWII Machuria under Japan. These tales, although horrifying, have certain connections to the themes in the current storyline. Cinnamon's story, about how he became mute after a bizarre night, was interesting if a bit odd. The letters from Lt. Mamiya and May Kasahara provided welcome pauses and explanations, adding depth to the main narrative.
In conclusion, I believe that Okada's adventure had a positive impact on him, making him, if only for a moment, less passive and more 'normal'. I was as shocked as he was when he suddenly exhibited a violent side, considering his usually mild-mannered nature. It is true that he is perhaps even more alone at the end, but at least May will likely stay in touch for some time. And, of course, the cat is back, with a new name (Mackerel is a great choice!). The book was a long and complex story, but persevering through it led to a satisfying conclusion, at least for me. :)