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hophope98 's review for:
Norwegian Wood
by Haruki Murakami
I think this is the first time I’ve read a novel in which none of the characters truly inspired affection in me — with the possible exception of Naoko. Or rather, it’s one of the first times I’ve encountered characters who aren’t written to be liked. They are raw, flawed, shaped by difficult histories, and nothing about the narrative encourages us to become emotionally attached to them. Their behaviour is at times unpleasant, even cruel — intentionally or not. The women, in particular, often come across as fragile, childlike, almost like defenceless creatures.
Sexuality is ever-present in the novel, but the way it is portrayed struck me as deeply troubling. None of the relationships depicted feel healthy, and time and again we see a dynamic in which men take advantage of women in ways that are, at best, questionable.
The story itself is tragic, the pace deliberately slow. The protagonist, Toru Watanabe, often appears detached from the suffering of those around him, absorbed in his own internal world.
And yet — despite all of this — I liked the book. I liked it because it is unfiltered, because it doesn’t attempt to romanticise its characters or offer us a comforting narrative. Norwegian Wood is a dive into the messiness of real life, in all its beauty and all its ugliness.
Murakami’s writing is deceptively simple — calm and restrained on the surface, yet filled with emotional weight beneath. His prose creates a quiet melancholy that lingers long after the final page, capturing isolation, longing, and memory with remarkable subtlety.
This isn’t a book I’d recommend to everyone. It’s heavy, unsettling, and emotionally raw. But if you’re open to sitting with discomfort, and letting a story unfold without seeking tidy resolutions, Norwegian Wood offers something rare: honesty.
Sexuality is ever-present in the novel, but the way it is portrayed struck me as deeply troubling. None of the relationships depicted feel healthy, and time and again we see a dynamic in which men take advantage of women in ways that are, at best, questionable.
The story itself is tragic, the pace deliberately slow. The protagonist, Toru Watanabe, often appears detached from the suffering of those around him, absorbed in his own internal world.
And yet — despite all of this — I liked the book. I liked it because it is unfiltered, because it doesn’t attempt to romanticise its characters or offer us a comforting narrative. Norwegian Wood is a dive into the messiness of real life, in all its beauty and all its ugliness.
Murakami’s writing is deceptively simple — calm and restrained on the surface, yet filled with emotional weight beneath. His prose creates a quiet melancholy that lingers long after the final page, capturing isolation, longing, and memory with remarkable subtlety.
This isn’t a book I’d recommend to everyone. It’s heavy, unsettling, and emotionally raw. But if you’re open to sitting with discomfort, and letting a story unfold without seeking tidy resolutions, Norwegian Wood offers something rare: honesty.