Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami is often hailed as one of his defining works, and for many, it’s their entry point into his literary world. It’s a quiet, melancholic coming-of-age story set in 1960s Japan, a time of social change and personal upheaval. But despite its reputation, this novel left me underwhelmed. While the prose is undeniably beautiful, the story feels weighed down by its own nostalgia and emotional heaviness.
What is Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami about?
Norwegian Wood is a melancholic coming-of-age novel that follows Toru Watanabe, a university student in 1960s Tokyo, as he navigates love, loss, and grief after the suicide of his best friend. Torn between the fragile and introspective Naoko, who shares his grief, and the bold, free-spirited Midori, he grapples with the complexities of relationships and the weight of emotional healing. It’s a story about memory, longing, and the ways we cope with the pain of living.
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The novel follows Toru Wa0tanabe, a reserved college student who is still grappling with the suicide of his best friend, Kizuki. Through his connection to Naoko, Kizuki’s fragile girlfriend, Toru becomes enmeshed in a relationship defined by grief, silence, and an unspoken sense of obligation. At the same time, he meets Midori, a vibrant, unpredictable woman who couldn’t be more different from Naoko. This sets up a contrast between two very different kinds of love: one tied to the past and its ghosts, the other offering the possibility of something new and alive.
“If you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking.”
― Norwegian Wood
Murakami has an incredible way of making ordinary moments shimmer. His descriptions of Tokyo, campus life, and even the music that runs through the novel are vivid and immersive. He captures the weight of memory, the ache of unfulfilled desires, and the messiness of human connection. Yet for all that, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the novel was trying too hard to be profound.
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The characters, while memorable, don’t feel particularly fresh. Toru is passive to a fault, often letting life happen to him rather than making any decisive choices. Naoko’s fragility is heartbreaking but predictable, and her mental health struggles, while sensitively written, sometimes feel more like a plot device than a fully realized arc. Midori, the so-called “breath of fresh air” in the story, injects some much-needed energy, but her dialogue often feels too self-consciously quirky to be believable.
“But who can say what’s best? That’s why you need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. My experience tells me that we get no more than two or three such chances in a life time, and if we let them go, we regret it for the rest of our lives.”
― Norwegian Wood
And then there’s the sex. Murakami is known for weaving sexuality into his narratives, but in Norwegian Wood, it’s overdone. The repeated explicit scenes don’t add much to the story and sometimes even detract from the emotional depth the novel is trying to achieve. Instead of enhancing the characters’ relationships, these moments often feel gratuitous.
As I read, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d outgrown the novel. Its exploration of grief, identity, and young love might resonate deeply with someone in their late teens or early twenties, but it didn’t strike the same chord with me. That’s not to say it’s a bad book—it’s clearly well-crafted, and its timeless themes of loss and longing are universal. But it didn’t live up to the hype for me.
“No truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow. All we can do is see it through to the end and learn something from it, but what we learn will be no help in facing the next sorrow that comes to us without warning.”
― Norwegian Wood
Having read other works by Murakami, I can confidently say he has much better books to offer. Kafka on the Shore or The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle are brimming with the surreal, dreamlike quality that makes his writing so unique. Norwegian Wood, while poignant, feels like a more conventional love story wrapped in a lot of sadness. It’s grounded, yes, but almost too grounded for a writer whose strength lies in blurring the lines between reality and the fantastical.
Would I recommend it? Maybe, if you’re new to Murakami or in the mood for something wistful and introspective. But if you’re already a fan, don’t expect this one to match the richness of his other works. It’s a well-written book, but for me, it wasn’t worth the pedestal it’s been put on.