My main impression of reading Haruki Murakami's Norwegian
Wood can be summarized in three words: Unrealistic, uneasy, and "give
me more." I am genuinely impressed by Murakami's story of becoming the
writer he is, his journey, personal circumstances, habits, and philosophy, and
I can by reading this book realize why he deserves his literary rock star
status.
Let me explain why I felt this book was unrealistic, and how
realizing something made me uneasy and wanting more Murakami.
Without spoiling the story, the protagonist, Toru, comes
across as depressed, numb, but somehow, remarkably in control of himself. He
has gone through some truly traumatic experiences in his young life, leaving
him both numb and strangely optimistic. He moves through life, connecting with
people and seemingly leaving them better off, but we don’t really see how he
himself changes—despite the story being written from his point of view. Until the
reader makes the uneasy realization which I will describe below.
Despite a certain non-appealing, uninteresting quality about
him, he uncharacteristically ends up sleeping with every major female character
and is also implied to have unromantic relationships with many other women off
the narrative screen. This seemed unrealistic to me, even within the almost
melancholic setting of late-20th-century Japanese life.
The women in Toru’s life seem one-dimensional, shaped by
their own major traumas. So are most of the other characters. However, here is
the uneasy realization. Their traits and actions are just reflections of
different parts of Toru’s own personality. Naoko, his main female interest,
represents the part of him that is reflective of his trauma—his sadness and the
part of him that wants to give up, and eventually does. Kizuki, his childhood
friend, embodies the root of his early trauma. Midori, his other female love
interest, represents the carefree, wild side of Toru, but one that is tinged
with the limitations of reality. For example, Midori and Toru are unable to
fully give in to their desires for each other due to real-life constraints,
such as Midori’s dying father. Nagasawa, his wealthy and powerful university
friend, symbolizes Toru’s masculinity—a part of himself that he despises and
ultimately banishes from his life. Hatsumi, Nagasawa's fiancée, embodies the
ideal partner Toru desires. She is the only one he doesn’t sleep with, because
he does not respect what he desires. It’s remarkably poignant that Toru’s
inability to save Hatsumi—whether from Nagasawa’s disdain —leads to the loss of
his feminine ideal forever. Reiko, a much older woman and a recluse from
society, symbolizes maturity—or the lack thereof. As Naoko’s close companion,
she represents the memory of his troubled youth. His intimate encounter with
her at the end is symbolic of holding onto the past. Storm Trooper, his quirky
roommate, represents discipline and routine, which Toru mostly treats as a joke
before it disappears from his life.
What left me uneasy was how unrealistic the characters feel
when taken at face value as part of a conventional story—until the realization
dawns that Norwegian Wood is really about Toru interacting with
different parts of himself. This, to me, is the masterstroke of Murakami’s
writing in this book, and left with the need to read more of his work.
Give me more!
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