How can I possibly put into words the sheer magnificence of this book?!

I simply CAN'T! But here's what I'll do. I'm going to seek out an old, abandoned well and slowly crawl to the very bottom.

Once there, I'll sit for three whole days. I'll have nothing to eat, only water to drink. And all I'll do is think about The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

Think about how it is one of the most exquisitely beautiful books I have ever had the pleasure of reading. How, at this very moment, I have an intense desire to read it again. How it has moved me to tears on countless occasions. How its evocative prose lured me in and held me captive.

How I had to exert every ounce of self-control to force myself to stop reading, just so I could make the experience last.

And after those three days, I will crawl out into the glaring sunlight and lie down in the tall grass.

I'll let the warm sunlight soak into my body, and I'll feel a sense of profound satisfaction. Because I know that in this world, true beauty and true horror exist side by side, simultaneously.

And I know that the power of the written word still has the remarkable ability to take my breath away, to leave me reeling.

This book gives me hope, a hope that there are still such masterpieces waiting to be discovered and cherished.

If I were to use only one word to describe this book, I would type the word 'BRILLIANT' a million times with each letter in CAPITALS and fill up the entire word length of this particular space.

In all its sensitivity, emotional depth and keen understanding of the complications of the human mind, The Wind Up Bird Chronicle is a truly remarkable work of literature and a tour de force. I cannot claim it is Murakami's magnum opus (as it's not his longest novel), since I haven't read all his translated works and he's only 63, and I expect him to keep writing excellent books. But I must admit that of the 5 Murakami books I've had the privilege to read so far, this one stands out as the most captivating, most intellectually stimulating yet compassionate exploration of loneliness and human suffering.

The narrative weaves together a series of enchanting vignettes to form a magnificent, larger-than-life image that represents not just the story of one individual but the tales of many. Seemingly unconnected at first, these numerous subplots come together in a powerful and satisfying ending - a remarkable achievement by the masterful surrealist.

It is a story of a marriage slowly falling apart, a poignant depiction of the horrors of Japan's occupation of Manchuria and the forgotten battle of Nomonhan, a mystery thriller, an exploration of the darkness within us all, and a man's journey of self-discovery, all rolled into one.

Newly unemployed, Toru Okada's peaceful life with his wife Kumiko begins to unravel. His wife vanishes without a trace, his despised sociopathic brother-in-law becomes a prominent figure in Japanese politics, and he encounters a series of strange characters who guide him towards solving the mystery of his wife's disappearance. And so begins Okada's fascinating journey through a complex and labyrinthine path that spans time and space, the real and the surreal, filled with bizarre yet enlightening experiences.

It's difficult for me to say more about the plot as it's impossible to summarize a Murakami novel or convey all the emotions a reader experiences in such a short review. I could easily write an entire book if I were to review every aspect of this one novel.

All this time, I had a subconscious desire to know Murakami's views on Japan's role in World War II. This book pleasantly surprised me by fulfilling that desire, and I'm not disappointed with his perspective. Instead of taking a stance, he describes scenes of extreme violence with precision and neutrality, leaving the reader to form their own opinion. He doesn't absolve the Japanese of their crimes but offers a human perspective on the destruction and death. For example, when a Japanese veterinarian witnesses the brutal killing of 4 Chinese rebels, Murakami sums up his feelings with the line:

\\n  'He became simultaneously the stabber and the stabbed.'\\n

This creates a powerful image of the horrors of war.

This is perhaps the only Murakami novel with a strong mystery element and a satisfying resolution.

In fact, it's a bit amusing to see that it has an ending where the villain gets defeated and the hero and heroine reunite (almost) - something you wouldn't expect from Murakami, but I guess tragic and magical realist endings can become tiresome after a while.

Final rating: 5 stars, without a doubt. I could have given it 10 stars out of 5 if possible.

P.S: I don't care if Murakami doesn't win the Nobel this year because in the hearts of all his devoted fans, he's already won it a million times over.

You know how sometimes there are those zoo animals that are so bizarre-looking they’re almost cute?

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is kind of like that.

Parts of it are truly endearing. It has characters who are not only quirky but also extremely memorable. The plot sequences are captivating and have a dream-like quality to them.

But here's the thing, it’s also a whole lot weird.

You start reading, thinking that the story is actually going somewhere, that the nature of the book’s mysteries will be revealed and those inexplicable twists will start to make some sense. But alas, nope.

At the end of the day, it’s just a giant bucket of nonsense.

However, let's not forget those quirky, memorable characters and those captivating, dream-like plot sequences that keep you engaged throughout the reading process.

Despite its overall strangeness and lack of a clear, logical conclusion, there is still something about The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle that makes it an interesting and somewhat enjoyable read.

It's like a strange zoo animal that you can't help but be fascinated by, even if you don't quite understand it.

Why you should not name your cat - Noboru Wataya.

First of all, the cat hates this name. It gets extremely angry and then disappears. This leads to a series of problems. You are overcome by a sense of obscurity and grief, and your endurance is tested in a claustrophobic way. You search high and low for your precious cat in the sweltering sun, in places you are not familiar with. With each passing moment, you become more and more anxious. You even develop a strange taste in your mouth that makes the coffee taste like sewage.

You wander around the railway station, mindlessly counting all the bald heads and staring cluelessly at every commuter. You listen attentively to horrified war stories, as if they could bring you salvation from your great suffering.

On the other hand, why is it crucial to name your cat - Noboru Wataya? Well, for one thing, the cat still hates it and gets livid and disappears. But then, some rather strange things start to happen. You begin receiving anonymous sex calls. You meet the most peculiar and amusing creatures, fascinating with their oddities.

Surprisingly, you also receive keepsakes from your past social events. Mysterious women regularly nurture your psychedelic dreams, giving you a certain reaction that makes you have to take cold showers several times a day. Your desperation for the lost cat releases strong magnetic waves that attract females of all age groups, seducing your senses. And finally, you have wild sex in all its divinity.

Take your pick! Toru Okada did, and it was a compelling choice among his own idiosyncrasies.

I'm not going to write a long review. It's hard to do when a book leaves you in a kind of mental drift.

My first Murakami book was Tokyo Blues, and I hated it. I didn't like it. However, they told me that it wasn't his best and that I should read The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Well, here I am, writing this, about to say how much I liked it and how well it vindicated the image I had of this author.

This work, although long, never seemed eternal to me. I wanted to keep reading without stopping, because of the quality of the story, the depth of the characters, the plot, and the prose.

In short. It goes without saying that I highly recommend The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The conclusion perhaps isn't the strongest point, but, as Stephen King says, the most important thing is the journey. And the journey of this work is amazing, it didn't give me a break. It's original, introspective, and Murakami's prose is an incentive that can't be ignored.

Murakami catches me at a party. He comes up to me, clearly pissed, and throws a drink in my face.

"What's wrong with you?" he demands. "I thought you enjoyed my work."

I take a moment to wipe the margarita off my face. Then, trying to keep my cool - I was about to deliver the punchline of my latest "Miles Davis was a great musician but an asshole" joke - I respond, "Well, I liked you more before I read 1Q84, that's for sure."

He stands back, a look of shock on his face. "What's wrong with 1Q84? It's an epic-length paean to love's ability to cross all borders. You got something against epic-length paeans to love's ability to cross all borders?"

"I do when they're packed with turgid prose and circular dialog," I say.

"That could easily have been a translation error," Murakami argues.

I pause and think it over. He's got a point. But just before he can gloat, I add, "Okay, fine. But no translation error can save the third book from being repetitive and development-free and just plain boring."

"Boring?" he asks. "There was psychological realism in that."

"Really? Because I thought the ugly dude calling himself ugly over and over again for nine million pages was padding," I counter.

Pause. "Well, okay. One book you didn't like."

"And South of the Border, West of the Sun was a trite rewrite of Norwegian Wood. And After Dark was a cool way to spend an evening but not a whole lot more. And you can't write a female character without her being an object of male fantasy," I continue.

"Dammit, that's what they look like?" Murakami sighs. "I thought they were representations of the beauty of femininity."

"So that's what they're calling'so sexually submissive it's scary' these days," I retort.

"Okay, okay, okay. You got me. But what about The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle?" he asks.

When he says that name, the tables turn. The truth is I haven't read it since 2013 and don't know if I still endorse my former five-star score. But I can say it's easily the most well-realized of Haruki's various metaphysical mindbenders. It combines a little surrealism, dashes of sci-fi, a strong dose of history (with that unflinching Murakami violence that's so admirable), a dash of primal horror with the well scenes, and some mystery. It might not be high art, but it's sure entertaining. Enough to make me think that maybe the clunkeriffic prose in 1Q84 was the fault of the translators. Enough to almost make me forgive this guy for his missteps and maybe even resume my old mission to read him completely. I at least gotta pick up Hard Boiled Wonderland, right?

Haruki Murakami is always said to have a psychotherapy description that benefits all human situations. He is a psychological analyst who can treat the most severe situations with his described treatment books. Once, he had a brilliant description in marital relationships and an analysis of the negative work machine that turned us into delicate beings for our leaders and branches in the description. I see a real life that does not conform to the rules and exceeds the description of my narration... Wonderful.

Haruki Murakami's works are renowned for their profound exploration of the human psyche. His descriptions often offer unique insights and potential therapeutic value. In his writing, he delves into various aspects of human experiences, such as love, relationships, and the inner turmoil that individuals face. His ability to vividly depict these emotions and situations makes his works not only engaging but also thought-provoking.

For example, in some of his novels, he presents complex and realistic portrayals of marital relationships. Through his characters, he examines the joys, conflicts, and challenges that come with being in a committed partnership. This detailed exploration can help readers gain a better understanding of their own relationships and perhaps even find solutions to their own problems.

Moreover, Murakami's analysis of the negative work machine is also quite remarkable. He shows how the pressures and demands of modern society can take a toll on our mental and physical well-being. By highlighting these issues, he encourages readers to reflect on their own work lives and consider making changes to improve their quality of life.

In conclusion, Haruki Murakami's works are a treasure trove of psychological wisdom and therapeutic potential. His unique writing style and deep understanding of the human condition make his books a must-read for anyone interested in exploring the inner workings of the mind and finding ways to heal and grow.

Life is a complex tapestry of events, sometimes interconnected, sometimes not. This is beautifully illustrated in this book. The opening scene is a classic Murakami moment. Our protagonist, Toru Okado, is in his kitchen cooking spaghetti at 10.30 in the morning, listening to Rossini's "The Thieving Magpie" overture on the radio. Then the phone rings. It's a mysterious woman, a prank caller who wants just ten minutes of his time to get to know him. He wants to get back to his spaghetti, but her voice is so familiar, yet he can't place it. Who is she???

Told in the first person, we learn that Toru's cat, ironically named after a disliked brother-in-law, has gone missing, soon followed by his wife who leaves for work one morning and never returns. It's like a country and western song as Toru searches for both, waiting for them to come back. And off we go on a journey that meanders between present-day Japan and a long forgotten war in Manchuria. Murakami shows how all actions have consequences, even those of strangers, and how trauma can affect generations.

There are so many memorable elements in this book - Room 208, bottles of Cutty Sark, a very deep well, precocious neighbours in tiny bikinis, red vinyl hats, characters with names like Malta and Creta, Cinnamon and Nutmeg. There are hints of spiritualism, reincarnation, and otherworldliness that can't be fully explained. Friendship, love, despair, and insatiable lust all交织 in quirky characters with their own secrets. And the Wind-Up Bird calls.

"I felt as if I had become part of a badly written novel, that someone was taking me to task for being utterly unreal. And perhaps it was true." This was a re-read for me, and I was still blown away. While I remembered some scenes and characters, I'd forgotten a lot too. The only surprise was the number of violent scenes, which I'd forgotten about. As I continue reading Murakami's novels in order, I can see the progression of his writing. This can be read as a standalone, but I suggest starting from the first book for a more complete experience. And yes, David Mitchell's writing reminds me of Murakami's, which is why I love his books too. I finished the last few chapters on a lovely mild Saturday a few weeks ago. Maybe this review would have been more cohesive if I'd written it straight away, but who knows? All I can say is BOOM

First, I was extremely sceptical of reading Murakami.

I firmly believed that I wouldn't have any inclination towards these rather weird novels that blend reality and surrealism in such an unconventional manner.

Oh, how wrong I was!

This particular book is truly colossal, presenting a strange tale that initially seems disjointed but miraculously all comes together at the end.

It sweeps you up in a whirlwind of the most peculiar actions, thoughts, personages, and dreams.

Immediately, I found myself drawn to the main character as well.

I wholeheartedly loved this book, and from this moment forward, I will most definitely be a devoted fan of Murakami.

His unique style and ability to create such a captivating and otherworldly literary experience have truly won me over.

I can't wait to explore more of his works and see where his imagination will take me next.

I had been wondering where my cat was when the phone rang.

It was a woman offering to have no strings sex with me. I made some non-committal remarks to her and put the receiver down. I hate those cold callers.

I had nothing to do that day, or any other day for that matter. So I walked down the back alley and fell into a desultory conversation with a random 16-year-old girl who had a wooden leg and a parrot on her shoulder.

She suggested I help her make some easy money by counting bald people. That sounded about as good as anything else to me, after all, as I have already explained, I had nothing to do. At all.

And I was doing it. It was kind of a cool period in my life when I wasn't really doing anything. I didn't have a job, I had become estranged from my family and for some reason I could not quite put my finger on, I had no friends.

So we counted the bald people for a while and then we stopped. We went back home, or should I say, she went back to her home, and I, of course, went back to mine, where I prepared a simple evening meal consisting of grated cucumber, a little olive oil, half a smoked mackerel and a pot of basil.

I didn't put the TV on because I didn't have a TV. If I had had a TV, I might have switched it on and seen something on it that was actually interesting.

Then the cold calling sex woman rang again and this time she said that she couldn't quite tell me how she knew this but she knew something was going to happen to me but she did not say when it would.

I decided to rehang the curtains in the front room. But not right away. Maybe later. I picked up the novel I was reading. It was a long one by a very modish Japanese writer called Haruki Murakami.

It was about this English guy called Paul Bryant. He was kind of dull but all these weird unexplained things kept happening like he was a magnet for all the weirdness around. I don't know how to explain it. Neither did he. Neither did Haruki Marukami.

I read for an hour and found I was on page 303, which in my paperback edition, was the exact centre point of the novel. I put it down.

I had a feeling that in this novel things would continue to happen but the things would all be made of blancmange, a tasteless gooey substance which looks a little like wallpaper paste but isn't.

And the people in the novel would all be not really real but also not really not real, if you know what I mean. My arm felt slightly tired holding the book. I shifted to a different reading posture on my couch but it did not help.

The strength went out of my arm. I do not know why. As you may have noticed, I do not know anything at all. I struggle to recall my name on most days.

The novel fell from my hand. I had the feeling I would never pick it up again. I did not know why I had that feeling, but I was pretty sure that I had it at the time I was having it.

Although later, I was almost sure I had no memory of it. When I looked up a completely naked woman was sitting at the table eating a slice of thinly buttered toast.

I asked her who she was and she said she was not at that point in a position to be able to divulge that information. She asked if she could borrow my car.

I explained it had been taken by my wife who had left me two weeks ago. This did not seem to phase her. I noticed that her body was almost the same as that of my wife.

She had two breasts, two nipples, and although the table was obscuring the lower parts of her anatomy I was sure that the rest of her was also not dissimilar.

She consumed three pieces of toast and told me in a cool voice that I would never see my cat again except possibly in a place that began with the letter H or has a H in the name somewhere.

She borrowed my wife's smart summer coat and a pair of her stilettos and left after about 15 minutes. It began to rain but I did not notice. I thought about paying my electricity bill.

I don't know the exact reason why I resisted reading Haruki Murakami for such a long time. I have several friends who are huge fans of his work, yet I always had the impression that his fiction would be a bit too strange for my taste.

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is indeed extremely strange, but in the most wonderful way possible: it challenges our sense of comfort in the ordinary by twisting familiar elements in the same manner as dreams do. This is the story of a young man who has become lost in his own life and is seeking the way back. It's a hero's journey through a baffling and mystical underworld.

It all begins with a missing cat and a strange phone call. It's 1984. Thirty-year-old Toru Okada has recently quit his job as a law clerk and has been spending his days aimlessly at home while his wife, Kumiko, goes out to work as a magazine editor. A week ago, the cat - named Noboru Wataya after Toru's detestable brother-in-law - vanished. So, as he's cooking himself some spaghetti and thinking about his strategy for finding the cat, he receives a call from what appears to be a phone sex hotline, except that the female speaker claims to know him very well. And unexpected phone calls just keep coming, including one from Malta Kano, a clairvoyant who predicts that he will experience "Bad things that seem good at first, and good things that seem bad at first."

There's a narrow alleyway behind their suburban Tokyo house that runs between two rows of back gardens. On these hot June days, it's an almost eerily still place, with the silence broken only by the mechanical-sounding call of a creature that Toru refers to as the wind-up bird. He heads down the alley to search for the cat, but all he discovers is the deserted (haunted?) Miyawaki house with a bird sculpture and an old, dry well in its yard. He also meets May Kasahara, a forthright sixteen-year-old who has taken a year off from school after a motorcycle accident.

So far, it's mostly realist (for the most part). But things continue to get weirder, mainly through a series of further appearances and disappearances. The first to go is Kumiko, who claims to have been having an affair. Toru doesn't believe her, though. Or, rather, he doesn't think that a pattern of cheating is a sufficient explanation for her leaving everything behind one morning. He knows that there's a deeper force at work here, and he's determined to rescue his wife from it. Meanwhile, he has more encounters with and hears stories of pain from peculiar characters - everyone from a World War II lieutenant and a former fashion designer to Malta Kano's ex-prostitute sister, Creta.

Rather like a Kafka antihero, Toru simply can't understand what's happening to him.

I shook my head. Too many things were being left unexplained. The one thing I understood for sure was that I didn't understand a thing.... "I'm sick of riddles. I need something concrete that I can get my hands on. Hard facts. Something I can use as a lever to pry the door open. That's what I want."

Yet his first-person narration grounds the book, making him an Everyman with whom we embark on a journey in his state of confusion. So even as the plot becomes increasingly outlandish and is somewhat taken over by other voices - via long monologues, letters, or tales stored in computer files - we always have this sympathetic protagonist to return to. Just like in Dickens's novels, I noticed that minor characters like the Kano sisters keep popping up just when you're in danger of forgetting them due to the volume of the intervening pages.

Yesterday, I let out a joyous squeal when a review copy of only 190 pages arrived. "So you love short books?" my husband asked. I do... but I also have a great love for long ones that have a very good reason to be that long - creating a whole world in which you can lose yourself. That's what I'm attempting to celebrate with this year's monthly Doorstopper series: books whose 500+ pages pass by quickly, best devoured in large gulps. Such won't always be the case: City on Fire and Hame both felt like a struggle in parts, though they were ultimately worth engaging with. But my first encounter with Murakami demonstrated expansive storytelling at its finest. I want to read more books like this.

I'm not entirely certain that I understood everything that occurs at the end of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, but that doesn't really matter. The novel left me spellbound, shaking my head as if waking up from the strangest dream but hoping to return to its world someday. And for 99.8% of it, I forgot that I was reading a translated work.

If I were to create a word cloud of important phrases from the book, it would look quite crazy: lemon drops, a necktie, wells, bald men, baseball bats, birthmarks, being skinned alive, zoo animals, a hotel room, a wig factory, and so on. That list might pique your interest; equally, it might put you off in the same way that I was always intimidated by the idea of Japanese magic realism. Let me assure you, this remarkable novel is so much more than the sum of its parts.

How do you feel about Murakami? Which of his books should I read next?

Originally published on my blog, Bookish Beck.

The last novel I read by Murakami was an interesting experience.

I have always had a great admiration for his writing style. However, after reading several of his works, I began to notice a certain repetitiveness.

It took me a considerable amount of time, several months in fact, to complete this particular novel. The reason for this was that I felt as if I was constantly reading the same themes and storylines that I had already encountered in his previous novels.

If you are new to Murakami's work, I would not recommend starting with this particular novel. Instead, I would suggest "Norwegian Wood." That was a truly remarkable novel that I absolutely loved.

It had a unique charm and a depth of emotion that really captivated me.

So, if you are looking to explore the world of Murakami's literature, I would highly recommend giving "Norwegian Wood" a try first.