Only the Dead stay seventeen forever.
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
In my eyes, a book requires three things to mystify me and envelop me in its world. This timeless creation, Norwegian Wood, had all of these and more, making me finish a book of more than 300 pages in just three days (and I’m the slowest reader I know).
In this dominant era of social media, while I grasped myself in the world of 1960s Japan, I felt every bit of it flying, transcending the boundary of time and space. And what I found is that it’s all the same. Love, the word, as it was back then and now, failed miserably to define what it truly means. One thing, though, this guy Love could make clear—it’s way beyond the flesh and body; there’s more to it beyond that.
The story is told by an 18-year-old varsity boy, Toru, who lives in a boys’ dormitory and reluctantly joins his classes in university, practically indifferent to anything. He loves to read The Great Gatsby and reads it over and over again. He has nothing in particular—just an ordinary guy, just that all, until last summer. Then, his best friend and only friend, Kizuki, commits suicide—just like that. For him, this is the first knock of death, which would haunt him forever, till his last breath, I suppose.
After Kizuki’s death, all Toru ever wanted was to escape the silhouette of Kizuki’s death. Suddenly, he crosses paths with Naoko, Kizuki’s girlfriend—or you may also say, soulmate—because with Naoko, Kizuki had literally spent their entire childhood. They kissed each other when they learned what a kiss was, so their bond was that close. From here, the story unfolds and stirs our human nature in the truest form. The book captures the painful transition from adolescence to adulthood, shaking the core realm of existence. My words to you might seem a bit extraneous, but I mean it. At least when I read the book or as I write this review, I am also going through something like this.
Just after 169 days, I’ll be graduating from this place, which I’ve called home for the last six years. So, for Toru, when he left his hometown for Tokyo, he might have gone through the same rush of emotions. In his new dorm, he finds a roommate named Storm Trooper, who’s a clean freak and always delved into studying maps and wanted to work in the geographical survey board. The book just goes on saying things—real stuff, no exaggeration—just narrating life, knitting words by words. This is one of the three things that made me fall for the book—the simple portrayal of life. Maybe that’s why I’m never into all those fantasy-fiction stories.
Toru, while passing his days in the whirlpool of lectures, spends time with Naoko. They walk, visit places, and both know it’s been a year since Kizuki’s gone, and they must move forward for their betterment. Yet, intimacy could barely touch two bodies though their souls are intertwined. Not long into the book, you meet more characters, and Nagasawa amazes me—as it would amaze anyone who reads the book. Nagasawa, a senior of Toru, sees life through a philosophy of “privilege without guilt,” and he is also a serial womanizer despite having a girl like Hatsumi, who would practically do everything for him. When a book coincides with your personal experience, you just feel like someone is writing your story. It gives a sense of satisfaction—not being odd or having nothing in common with the world. How else would the writer know your story? In my case, I’d rush to my house and grab the book whenever I had the time to read, because I had to read my story fast. This trait amazes me—a book that tells the reader’s story.
I bet while reading, you would also be in Toru’s position when you meet Midori, one of his classmates, with whom Toru used to spend Sundays. Midori’s story has been full of melancholy, and it’s so touching that you might fall into the trap of tears. Unlike me, Midori went to an all-girls’ school, and that made her so curious about her counterpart—men. She had a keen interest in how the whole boys’ system worked, whether sensual or mental. I may not say more about the most amazing and strong girl of the book—her childishness and seriousness are yours to explore.
Toru’s life goes on, as it always would. People come from far away to get acquainted with and then fade away. He turns 20, sees more of life, shifts his house, and this continuity of life is a trait we all forget. If anything that might make us optimistic, it’s understanding that “nothing really matters.” Such a philosophical aspect is rare to find in our real life, and this fiction, taking a minimalistic approach, makes you understand it. That’s what makes this fiction stand out. As you keep reading, your veins would all tangle and straighten by themselves to show you the deep sense of understanding of the moving nature of life. The book would certainly plant a seed of optimism towards life when you go through the pages with your teary eyes and heavy heart. I wish I had never read the book so I could read it again for the first time. And this is the third quality that makes a book outstanding in my mind.
Hope you find peace in sadness as the dreary soul of yours is engulfed by my dear lonely friend Naoko.
PS: I will always remember you, Naoko, no matter what.
