My complete review of Norwegian Wood is published at Before We Go Blog.

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

Memories fade but constantly haunt Toru Watanabe, the narrator of Haruki Murakami’s renowned novel, Norwegian Wood. The more the memories recede, the stronger the haunting feels:

“Even so, my memory has grown increasingly distant, and I have already forgotten any number of things. Writing from memory like this, I often feel a pang of dread. What if I've forgotten the most important thing? ... Naoko herself knew, of course. She knew that my memories of her would fade. Which is precisely why she begged me never to forget her, to remember that she had existed. The thought fills me with an almost unbearable sorrow. Because Naoko never loved me.”

Twenty years after the events of Norwegian Wood, Toru looks back on his first year of college in 1969. It's essentially the Summer of Love, with a Japanese twist.

On the surface, Norwegian Wood is a simple coming-of-age story and love tale. It's one of the few novels by Haruki Murakami without any elements of magical realism.

Toru falls deeply in love with Naoko, a young woman who has been emotionally scarred by the suicides of two people closest to her. To her credit, Naoko realizes she needs psychological help and moves to a hippie-style sanatorium in the hope of healing.

Toru loves Naoko and wishes he could assist her. But he has to learn the hard truth that he can't control another person's emotions.

Of course, Norwegian Wood has a love triangle. Naoko's depressive state is contrasted with the lively Midori, who is full of life and tries to bring out the best in Toru. Midori is like Venus to Naoko's Saturn. But Toru can't let go of Naoko and move on, even as he sets his own life on a path of regret and unhappiness.

Toru is so fixated on Naoko that he doesn't pay attention to his own emotional health. He doesn't recognize when he gets into a very unhealthy relationship, and no amount of love and longing will make it better.

Norwegian Wood is emotionally overwhelming, shattering me every time I read it. I'm actually a bit afraid to pick it up because of the inevitable emotional impact. It always takes my resilient spirit some time to recover after closing its back cover.

Norwegian Wood is one of my all-time favorite novels. It's almost too excellent, just like the Beatles song it's named after.

“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.

My personal belief is that this is the strongest thing Murakami has written and one of the strongest novels I have read in my life.

It truly surpasses Kafka, being more touching and this is due to its greater realism compared to Kafka or most of Murakami's works.

If it were possible to give more than 5/5, I would rate it without hesitation. I don't think I can easily fit into any other novel after it.

And I think the reason it has stayed with me for a while is that I really don't want it to end.

Murakami's writing has a unique charm that draws the reader in and makes them reluctant to let go. This novel is no exception. It explores deep themes and emotions in a way that is both accessible and profound.

The characters are well-developed and the story is engaging from start to finish. It makes you think about life, love, and the human condition.

In conclusion, this is a must-read novel for any fan of literature. It will leave a lasting impression on you and make you appreciate the power of great writing.

Honestamente, this book is a masterpiece.

Why? Because it evoked so many complex and contradictory emotions in me that it made me reevaluate my own ideas.

And that's precisely what I love about books. They have the power to challenge our perspectives and make us think deeply.

It's like a journey of self-discovery.

Pd: I'm going to have to Google an explanation of the last half page of the book because I didn't understand it

**LIFE BLUES**

Toru Watanabe, at thirty-seven, lands at Hamburg Airport on a Boeing 747. The radio plays the Beatles' magnificent "Norwegian Wood," the original title of this novel. Tokyo Blues is an Italian invention. As the song plays, a long flashback takes us twenty years back.

The first memory is of the chance encounter with Naoko, the girlfriend of Kizuki, Toru's only true friend who committed suicide months before. Discovering Naoko is still a virgin, the university years, the impossible love for Naoko who ends up in a psychiatric clinic, the love for Midori, a fellow student with a series of family losses, and the friendship with Nagasaka, a controversial and open-minded guy. Eros and Thanatos go hand in hand, in an endless dance.

The memory transforms and modifies. Maybe it emphasizes some things and ignores others. Murakami, in doubt, geniusly adopts the first solution. The childhood of Toru Watanabe is seen through the lens of memory, and so, what must happen when handling such a delicate instrument as memory occurs.

The conclusion Murakami seems to reach is that growing up means giving up our youthful dreams, ideals, and everything we thought was worth fighting for. But who can say that reality is better than the dream?

I did everything to prolong the reading, but eventually, I had to reach the end. I played the Beatles' songs non-stop. I felt the scent of "Jules et Jim" and Truffaut, always with a sense of longing. I had the feeling that I wasn't really reading, but that Toru Watanabe was telling me this story, a long and magnificent tale just for me.

It's Murakami's "Before the Revolution." The film by Tran Anh Hung is a festival product that leaves the theaters empty, a kind of frozen music video, with every passion spent and no possibility of engagement: an "emo" film without emotion.

Beyond Awful and Abhorrent: A Harsh Critique of a So-Called "Classic"

This book is truly a disaster. The author's portrayal of female characters is a crime against all fiction. The women in this book are nothing but manic pixie dream girls, catering to the author's and some men's strange and pitiful desires. The sex scenes are not only stupid, gross, and disturbing but also completely out of place. It's mind-boggling how this book could be so critically acclaimed.

The content is extremely inappropriate, especially when it comes to the description of a 13-year-old girl sexually assaulting a 30-year-old woman and the latter being turned on by it. What on earth was the author thinking? And why do we as a society let such things be published and even praised?

The vocabulary in this book is also a major issue. The overuse of words related to sex and body parts is simply excessive. It's as if the author was trying to shock the readers rather than tell a meaningful story. Compared to the average smut book, this one is even worse.

Putting aside the representation of female characters, the so-called "deeper concepts" in this book are so overshadowed by the other garbage that they are hardly noticeable. The plot is unoriginal, mediocre, and empty. It's just another example of a male author trying to pass off his uninteresting and unoriginal ideas as profound and philosophical.

In conclusion, this is a terribly written pornographic book that offers nothing but cringe and suffering. I would never recommend it to anyone. I hope people will start to see it for what it really is and stop glorifying such garbage.

When you lose your only friend to whom you opened your heart, and he takes with him a part of your heart, a part of your soul that cannot be replaced, and you live in his shadow, you know that the easiest betrayal you can commit is to forget his name.

A story about death, about suicide, about mental illness, all of that runs in the life of a person who has suffered this but still tries to live, tries to work, tries to love, to live even though he does not desire this life.

\\n  "Death exists not as a negation of life, but as a part of it. "\\n  "When we live our lives, we feed death. "\\n

The story may have in the beginning the wonderful Murakami feature of mixing reality and dream, connecting you here between life and death where death becomes a part of life and not the end of it, but then you hit a dull and aimless narration for the most part.

I did not find the magical Murakami series here but only a narration of boring daily events in the life of a boring person and it ends without meaning or purpose.

Add to that the many inappropriate situations in all parts of the story.

Murakami mentioned in his blog that he was afraid that he could not write far from the series so he took the Norwegian forest as a challenge for himself to prove his ability to narrate reality and he has undoubtedly achieved his goal but on the other hand he has lost the charm of his story and that is what always attracted me to read him.

The translation of the name of the novel should be "Norwegian Wood" which is the name of a famous song by the Beatles, and not the forest and the translation was average.

I hope the next readings will be less dull than this

I don't know how he does it, but once again Murakami had me totally enthralled with a story I doubt many authors could have interested me in.

It's about a young man named Watanabe and his relationships with several women, both sexual and platonic. It's a "finding oneself and one's place in the world" story.

Norwegian Wood is beautifully written, achingly so. It is atmospheric, heart-breaking, and lyrical, but without the magical realism I've come to expect in Murakami's novels. There is magic though. It is in the words and the way Murakami unraveled the story, taking the reader to the depths of despair and back into a world of hope.

The narrative explores the complex emotions and experiences of Watanabe, as he navigates through love, loss, and self-discovery. The characters are vividly drawn, and their relationships are portrayed with such authenticity that it's easy to become invested in their lives.

I doubt it's a story that will appeal to everyone. It seems people either love or hate Haruki Murakami. For those who love him, this book will not disappoint. It's a masterful work that showcases Murakami's unique storytelling abilities and his deep understanding of the human condition.

This novel is truly one of my all-time favorite books.

I initially attempted to write a review, but it paled in comparison to others, so I ended up deleting it. After much reflection, I'm hopeful that I can finally do justice to Murakami's remarkable work.

The title, "Norwegian Wood," immediately invoked a sense of loneliness in me. The image of being alone in a vast forest is inherently isolating. However, the book elicits far more profound emotions of sadness and helplessness than mere loneliness.

Named after the Beatles song with its simple lyrics of a guy meeting a girl, hanging out at her place, and crashing in the bathroom while she goes to work, Murakami takes this feeling and expands it, making it palpable. The scent of the sea, the gentle breeze, the texture of skin, the dust, the hazy nights, a vague longing, and dreamlike imagery all come together to create Watanabe's world. It's a subtle, almost indescribable sensation – hazy yet real, alluring yet difficult to put into words. "Norwegian Wood" seems to symbolize this very feeling.

Some classify it as a love story, while others see it as a realist novel. In truth, it's a bit of both. Murakami himself doesn't view it as just a love story, and I understand his perspective. The story's core is about love, but the way it's told has a strong realist undertone.

The narrative follows Watanabe, a college student in 1960s Tokyo, as he copes with the suicide of his best friend, Kizuki, and the impact it has on Naoko, who was close to both of them. Their shared grief leads to a complex relationship.

Watanabe later finds himself in a new relationship with Midori, who is full of life and optimism. Nevertheless, his feelings for Naoko persist, creating a classic love triangle. The novel delves into themes of loss, love, loneliness, and the search for meaning in a world shadowed by death.

Set in Japan during the 1960s and 1970s, it portrays the often-confused love lives of young adults. Post-war Japan was experiencing rapid economic growth, and the social atmosphere had many similarities to that of the West. Sexual openness, even promiscuity, was not uncommon. This context is crucial for understanding the characters' choices, which might seem shocking when viewed through a modern lens.

Like their American counterparts at the time, Japanese youth grappled with a sense of emptiness and nihilism, partly influenced by the hippie movement. Depression, mental illness, and suicide rates were on the rise. This is reflected in the story's pervasive sense of death, adding to the overall melancholy.

The novel addresses Japanese sexual and suicide culture frankly. "Sex" can signify a multitude of things – emotions, ethics, and more. Many writers struggle to depict sex in a way that is both erotic and tasteful, but Murakami achieves this with finesse. His descriptions are objective and straightforward, presenting sex as a natural part of life, sexy but not excessive.

A central theme is the "separation of sex and love." Love isn't always the traditional union of body and spirit. Naoko clearly loves Nagasawa, but her body rebels against him. Conversely, she may not truly love Watanabe, yet she feels physically comfortable with him. Because sex carries emotional weight, Naoko questions the authenticity of her feelings. This disconnect is likely a significant factor contributing to her eventual suicide.

Although there is a love triangle, the book is not structured like a typical love story. It focuses less on the relationships between the three characters and more on their inner thoughts, feelings, and personal growth over time.

Watanabe possesses certain qualities that attract women. He is a reader, a music lover, a thinker, and someone who values solitude. He is both sensitive and rational, obsessed with "The Great Gatsby," and, most importantly, truly sincere with himself and others. He loves both Naoko and Midori, but Hatsumi is perhaps his ideal. She appears only briefly in the book but comes across as quiet, rational, humorous, kind, and elegant.

Hatsumi represents a youthful longing for purity. Watanabe has expressed his longing for purity, but those who embody it are all gone. Nagasawa's death, and later Hatsumi's suicide, symbolize the loss of this ideal. This is why Watanabe severs his friendship with Kizuki after Hatsumi's death – because, in Murakami's words, Kizuki is "morally bankrupt." Gatsby, in "The Great Gatsby," is another example of someone who endures hardship while maintaining his purity. Watanabe's pursuit of purity is an essential part of his own personal development.

One might wonder how Watanabe can be considered "pure" when he has slept with multiple women. It's important to note that these encounters occur before he becomes serious about Naoko. Even with Midori, he holds back until he is certain of his feelings. Once he commits to someone, his attitude towards sex changes, and he assumes a sense of responsibility.

Midori is a character I particularly admire. She is quirky, kind, sincere, optimistic, strong, and passionate. She attends a prestigious girls' school and leads a difficult life, dealing with her parents' illnesses and deaths, family burdens, and the pain of loss. Yet, she remains remarkably optimistic. Her words and actions are filled with strength and youthful vitality. She saves money intended for a bra to buy cooking utensils, prepares delicious meals, and playfully claims that her father emigrated to Uruguay instead of being ill. Her thoughts flit around, she boldly flirts with Watanabe, and she is truly sincere with others, which I find incredibly charming.

The novel's conclusion doesn't occur in the final paragraph but a few paragraphs earlier, when Watanabe, now an international journalist, hears "Norwegian Wood" at an airport. He thinks of all the people he has lost and is overcome with tears. He realizes that he cannot let go and that Naoko never truly loved him. So, he turns to writing and records his memories of her.

Murakami employs a documentary-like style and poetic language to depict young people's search for love and individuality in a complex modern world. He transcends the boundaries of typical love stories and delves into deeper themes of life.

Despite its weighty subject matter, the novel is a classic for a reason. It resonates with young readers, perhaps because it captures their own uncertainties and anxieties. But the real magic lies in Murakami's masterful use of language. (I read it in Chinese translation, incidentally.) His writing is vivid and precise, breathing life into the characters, their actions, and their emotions. Every nuance, every imperfection, is perfectly captured. This is the hallmark of a truly great writer, with passages that are meant to be reread and savored.

5 / 5 stars

My other reviews of Murakami's Work:

The City and Its Uncertain Walls

Norwegian Wood

1Q84

Hear the Wind Sing

Kafka on the Shore

Sputnik Sweetheart

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

South of the Border, West of the Sun

After Dark

Norwegian Wood, although not as profound as The Windup Bird Chronicle or as absurd as Kafka on the Shore, still manages to work and impress as a love story with its splendid writing. It has a unique charm that draws readers in and makes them fall in love with the characters and their story.

Now that Roth is gone, they really HAVE to give Murakami a Nobel. He is an incredibly talented writer, with a body of work that spans multiple genres and styles.

Fino's Murakami Reviews - Novels includes a comprehensive list of Murakami's novels, from his early works like Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball, 1973 to his more recent releases like Killing Commendatore. Each novel is reviewed in detail, giving readers an insight into the story, the characters, and the themes explored.

Fino's Murakami Reviews - Short Story Collections and Misc also features reviews of some of Murakami's short story collections and other miscellaneous works. These reviews provide a glimpse into the different aspects of Murakami's writing, from his ability to create vivid and engaging short stories to his exploration of the human psyche in his non-fiction works.

Overall, Fino's Murakami Reviews is a great resource for anyone who loves Murakami's writing or is interested in exploring his works.

The Beginning heralds the end. The End initiates a beginning. In between lies a cycle. A cycle where words rain, feelings gush like a river towards the ocean called life, and the ocean hides the abyss of uncertainty. You just sway along this journey, along with Murakami.

Sometimes when you are sitting in peace, ensconced in the metaphorical warmth of a house and you hear the clock chime, making you realize that the time is running fast. It saddens you and sends a disturbing ripple on the lake of peace. Events. Murakami is a master horologist.

Ever get a feeling that someone has tapped into your thoughts by sending a probe in your mind? Dr. Murakami specializes in this. He evaluates your questions, analyzes your thoughts and dynamically modifies his words to answer some of the questions, at the same time planting some more. Making you stop and think.

Who is Toru Watanabe? To me, he felt like a mid way between the protagonist of Camus' Outsider and Holden Scholfield.

There is a surreal feeling hinting at an underlining, hidden meaning or information whenever Murakami explains or describes even the mundane things. The characters are fully developed representations of life and it's meanings. Watanabe, Kizuki, Naoko, Hatsumi, Nagasawa, Reiko, The Ami Hostel, Midori, Midori's Dad, Storm Trooper... Everyone represents some part of the human behavior or trait or characteristic. They aren't just characters. But then to quote from the book: "I can't tell whether this kind of analysis is trying to simplify the world or complicate it."

Nagasawa is Tyler Durden. You do not talk about...

You tend to lose your way in the dialogues. Where induced feelings and your own feelings seem to resonate. Beautiful articulation of words and meanings. The way fine whiskey dissolves your blurry past and sharpens the most heartfelt memories.

Sometimes within all the mundane stuff comes a hard hitting line. Hard hitting and deeply poignant. Makes you go back and read it again. Just to realize the gravity of the meaning. Leaves you cold.

"So, if you understand me better, what then?" Is this book a commentary on how we look at things around us, try to understand some, understand few of the some, try to adapt, but eventually throw the towel and move on? Never trying to simplify us, our intentions, our motives, or our feelings? Like I just have used the words "intention" and "motives" without really trying to fathom the difference between them. Always inclined towards a complexity that hides and cozily blankets our insecurities and fallacies?

Love. Love is something where reason stops.

I have cited some verses from the Beatles' songs (One of them Doors) mentioned in the book. They form the real review. My words are just fillers.

Still the best Murakami book. He has a remarkable way of handling devastating topics, making them somehow endurable. What he does is distract the reader with strange and unexpected moments right in the middle of all the intense drama. And here, in this particular work, unlike in some of his others, those weird moments occur at precisely the right time. It's as if he knows exactly when the reader needs a break from the emotional turmoil.

Many people have criticized the sex scenes in the book. However, I have a different perspective. I found them to be deeply revealing of the characters. They added an extra layer of depth and authenticity to the story. I simply couldn't suspect Murakami or the protagonist, Toru, of having bad intentions. Everything felt genuine and honest. After all, mistakes were made, and that's a part of life. This book is definitely one of my favorites.