Norwegian Wood: A Timeless Masterpiece of Love and Loss

Wow!

It's January 6th, 2025, and I already feel confident saying I won’t read a better book this year. Norwegian Wood might be one of the best books I’ve ever read. Maybe it’s recency bias talking, but honestly, I can’t remember the last time a book left me feeling this way—both during and after reading it. It’s simply masterful.

This is the first book I’ve read by Haruki Murakami, and I’m already convinced he’s one of my favourite authors. That might sound premature, but I have no doubt I’ll be diving into more of his works in the future.

Norwegian Wood is fantastic. It’s relatively short, yet it conveys so much emotion and tells its story with remarkable precision. I wouldn’t change a single thing.

At its core, the book could be described as a love story or romance, but it’s so much more than that. It’s a meditation on life itself and the human experience. The ups and downs of existence are perfectly distilled into this narrative, evoking a spectrum of emotions within fewer than 300 pages.

The writing is beautiful. Given that this is a translation, I wasn’t sure how the prose would come across, but it didn’t disappoint in the slightest. I’m also not typically a fan of first-person narratives, as they often lack depth, limiting the perspective to the main character’s view. However, this book changed my mind. When executed well, first-person storytelling can be as effective—if not more so—than third-person. Through Toru’s eyes, you not only understand him but also gain insight into everyone he interacts with. The conversations are crafted so intricately that you feel the impact of every exchange, both on Toru and those around him.

The story is a wild ride, yet it feels grounded, with a dreamlike quality that lingers long after you’ve turned the final page. Strangely enough, the closest comparison I can draw is to Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Both the book and the film explore themes of love and lust, life and death, and the complexities of human connection—especially through the lens of sex. The atmosphere of Norwegian Wood also mirrors Kubrick’s work: melancholy and soft, with an almost ethereal dreaminess.

While reading, I often envisioned Toru wandering through late 1960s and early 1970s Japan, illuminated by neon signs in dimly lit streets. It reminded me of how Kubrick portrayed Tom Cruise navigating desolate, dreamlike streets in Eyes Wide Shut, where the glow of Christmas lights created an eerie yet beautiful contrast.

I hesitate to say much more about the plot because this book is best experienced with as little context as possible. What I can say is this: Norwegian Wood is profoundly human. It’s the kind of story where, even if you don’t directly relate to certain aspects, you’ll find something that resonates deeply simply because it captures universal truths about life.

I don’t know if I’ll encounter a better book this year, but I hope I find others that are just as impactful. I’m not sure which of Murakami’s novels I’ll tackle next, but I’d love recommendations. This book was emotionally heavy, so it might be a while before I revisit his works, but I’m already looking forward to it.

Norwegian Wood is a masterpiece in every sense of the word. Perfect.