The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

I read my first Murakami novel, Norwegian Wood, probably 15 years ago and I absolutely loved it. I think it just captured a sort of uncertain adolescent perspective that really resonated with me as a young college kid at the time. I've since read more from him trying to chase that feeling again, but so far nothing has come even close.

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle was one that I've heard mentioned a lot as being a favorite of many people, so I was excited to check it out. Sadly, this is yet another of his that just doesn't work for me.

There is still some great stuff here. There's some quality to Murakami's writing, and Jay Rubin's translation work, that is very pleasing to me. It's a bit dreamlike, a bit of a steam of conscience, and it just flows in a way that I feel along for the ride. There are a few sections of this book where a character tells stories of his time in the second World War that are gripping and harrowing. There are some scenes of genuine emotion and confusion from the narrator that I found to be very effective.

But generally I just found myself lost and disinterested. Much of the narrative seems to be just on the border of reality, it plays out as if in a dream. The way Murakami writes about sex is awkward and off-putting. Characters behave in difficult to understand ways and it's hard to put any stake into their actions. I'm just not sure what to takeaway from this book.

I think I'll take a bit of a break from Murakami for a bit. Maybe I'll try to read Norwegian Wood again to see if it is actually as good as my memory of it.