Norwegian Wood (Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami)

Member Name: ruth_cole

Product:	Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami
Date:	28/09/04 (407 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: affecting, intelligent, lyrical

Disadvantages: none

The first thing I should say about my reading of Norwegian Wood was that in a single particular it was not faithful to the Japanese print run, which is that mine was a single printed and bound edition, and not the red-half, green-half you might come across.... having got that out of the way, I can tell you about the contents.

Norwegian Wood is a rather condensed moment of poised literary brilliance. I approached it with trepidation, since it was so widely lauded and applauded and that, in the spirit of wilful cynicism, always throws a spanner into my appreciative works. But in this case, I was willing to go with the crowd, not in a loud, baying way, because it's simply not the kind of book that I feel merits that kind of reaction; it's a quiet, thoughtful, lyrical read, and as such deserves a quiet, thoughtful, admiring reaction.

This is the story of one or two years in the life of Toru Watanabe, who grew up in 1960s Tokyo. He is sent back there in his memory when he hears his favourite Beatles's song, inextricably linked with his first love, Naoko. The elusive, troubled Naoko is the girlfriend of his beloved best friend, Kizuki... please don't assume there's any dodgy love triangles; it's all far more strange and beautiful than that. Watanabe blunders through his awkward early adulthood, peopled with characters as wide-ranging as the retentive room-mate nicknamed Storm-Trooper and the arch, intelligent Nagasawa, who mistrusts any author not dead for at least 30 years (he makes an exception for Fitzgerald). Then someone else, the sparkling-eyed, rambling and brutally honest Midori, blunders into his...

The first thing to note is that it is largely the simple clarity of the writing that draws you in, even before you know a thing about any of the characters. Everything seems to be the literary equivalent of a rough sketch that in a few straight lines and a scribble suddenly is also self-evidently a very clear image of a particular object. A lot of this can, perhaps, be put down to the translation - or perhaps the Japanese language is naturally economical? I'm in no position to comment on this. But I've chosen a short example to reproduce, just to make my point:

"Streaming in through the window, the moonlight cast long shadows and splashed the walls with a touch of diluted Indian ink. I took a thin metal flask from my rucksack, let my mouth fill with the brandy it contained, allowed the warmth to move slowly down my throat to my stomach, and from there felt it spreading to every extremity."

This mixture of matter-of-factness and almost accidental poetry is the hallmark and heart of the book, and for that alone it is worth reading.

Characterisation is similarly Spartan. People are revealed gently, and only insofar as they need to be. Thus little moments become quite shocking, big surprises occasionally devastating. Whilst the general run of the plot is not unpredictable, it's more the way in which every moment is rendered human and immediate that grips the senses. I read all but 20 pages of the entire book in two train journeys of just over 2 hours, in one day. That's nearly 400 pages of beautifully pitched language, and I enjoyed every minute of devouring it in one bite. And yet the next time I read it, I will probably savour it a lot more, and take in the words all over again; it does deserve that.

Watanabe is not necessarily a particularly sympathetic character, either, deserving the odd kick up the backside for being thoughtless and insensitive. Naoko's vagueness is realistically frustrating, her room-mate Reiko's wicked humour warm and affecting. Midori is a whole bundle of bizarreness, her wittering and bluntness endearing, her family tragedy overwhelming, and her emotional openness stunning and moving.

Murakami's evocative character-scapes take in everything from 60s popular culture, to love, to heartbreak, sex (casual and otherwise, in quite graphic and yet moving detail), strangeness, and of course mental illness. And yet there is not one hint of coarse sentimentality. Norwegian Wood is moving because it taps into universal experiences; even if you have never been depressed you will certainly be able to identify with some of the emotions laid out in almost excruciating bluntness before you. I'm hesitant to say much more about this; I already wonder if I've said too much about the plot since I approached it knowing nothing but the blurb (I've given you little more than that) and it blindsided me with its beauty.

Really, all that's left to say is that if you want to read an intelligent, moving novel full of emotional clarity, economically-observed detail, wit, bizarreness and character, you will find yourself rewarded by this.

The Harvill Press edition of Norwegian Wood bears an interesting translator's note from Jay Rubin, who documents the success of the novel, and the very negative impact it had on its reserved creator.

rrp £7.99
isbn 1-86046-818-7

Alex
xxx

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