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Norwegian Wood

Haruki Murakami


  • Paperback
    $17.19
PUBLISHED: 17th May 2001
ISBN: 9780099448822
ANNOTATION:
Toru Watanabe is looking back on the love and passions of his life and trying to make sense of it all. As his first love Naoko sinks deeper into mental despair, he is inexorably pushed to find a new meaning and a new love in order to survive.
Norwegian Wood
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  • Paperback
    $17.19
PUBLISHED: 17th May 2001
ISBN: 9780099448822
ANNOTATION:
Toru Watanabe is looking back on the love and passions of his life and trying to make sense of it all. As his first love Naoko sinks deeper into mental despair, he is inexorably pushed to find a new meaning and a new love in order to survive.

Annotation

Toru Watanabe is looking back on the love and passions of his life and trying to make sense of it all. As his first love Naoko sinks deeper into mental despair, he is inexorably pushed to find a new meaning and a new love in order to survive.

Publisher Description

When he hears her favourite Beatles song, Toru Watanabe recalls his first love Naoko, the girlfriend of his best friend Kizuki. Immediately he is transported back almost twenty years to his student days in Tokyo, adrift in a world of uneasy friendships, casual sex, passion, loss and desire - to a time when an impetuous young woman called Midori marches into his life and he has to choose between the future and the past.

Back Cover

When he hears her favourite Beatles song, Toru Watanabe recalls his first love Naoko, the girlfriend of his best friend Kizuki. Immediately he is transported back almost twenty years to his student days in Tokyo, adrift in a world of uneasy friendships, casual sex, passion, loss and desire - to a time when an impetuous young woman called Midori marches into his life and he has to choose between the future and the past. 'Evocative, entertaining, sexy and funny; but then Murakami is one of the best writers around' Time Out 'Such is the exquisite, gossamer construction of Murakami's writing that everything he chooses to describe trembles with symbolic possibility' Guardian 'This book is undeniably hip, full of student uprisings, free love, booze and 1960s pop, it's also genuinely emotionally engaging, and describes the highs of adolescence as well as the lows' Independent on Sunday 'Catches the absorption and giddy rush of adolescent love... It is also, for all the tragic momentum and the apparently kamikaze consciousness of many of its characters, often funny and quirkily observed' Times Literary Supplement 'A heart-stoppingly moving story... Murakami is, without a doubt, one of the world's finest novelists' Glasgow Herald

Author Biography

Haruki Murakami is the author of many novels as well as short stories and non-fiction. His books include Norwegian Wood, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Kafka on the Shore, 1Q84, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, The Strange Library and Wind/Pinball. His work has been translated into more than 50 languages, and the most recent of his many international honours are the Jerusalem Prize and Hans Christian Andersen Literature Award.

Review

Catches the absorption and giddy rush of adolescent love... It is also, for all the tragic momentum and the apparently kamikaze consciousness of many of its characters, often funny and quirkily observed. Times Literary Supplement This book is undeniably hip, full of student uprisings, free love, booze and 1960s pop, it's also genuinely emotionally engaging, and describes the highs of adolescence as well as the lows Independent on Sunday Such is the exquisite, gossamer construction of Murakami's writing that everything he chooses to describe trembles with symbolic possibility Guardian Evocative, entertaining, sexy and funny; but then Murakami is one of the best writers around Time Out A deeply troubling yet poetically beautiful story Marie Claire

Review Text

"A deeply troubling yet poetically beautiful story"

Review Quote

"A masterly novel. . . .Norwegian Woodbears the unmistakable marks of Murakami's hand." The New York Times Book Review "Norwegian Wood. . . not only points to but manifests the author's genius." Chicago Tribune "[A] treat . . . Murakami captures the heartbeat of his generation and draws the reader in so completely you mourn when the story is done." The Baltimore Sun "Vintage Murakami [and] easily the most erotic of [his] novels." Los Angeles Times Book Review

Promotional "Headline"

'Murakami must already rank among the world's greatest living novelists' Guardian

Description for Reading Group Guide

The questions, discussion topics, and suggested reading list that follow are intended to enhance your group's reading of Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood . We hope they will lead to a richer understanding of this remarkable novel.

Discussion Question for Reading Group Guide

  1. When Watanabe arrives in Hamburg and hears the song "Norwegian Wood," memories of a scene with Naoko from eighteen years before come back to him. He feels these memories as "kicks" and says they were "longer and harder than usual. Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. . . . I have to write things down to feel I fully understand them" [p. 5]. Why does this particular song have such a powerful effect on Watanabe? What does he understand-or fail to understand-about it by the end of the novel? In what ways does the process of writing help in understanding? 2. Many readers and critics have observed that Norwegian Wood is Murakami''s most autobiographical book. While we can never know exactly to what degree a work of fiction reflects the lived experience of its author, what qualities of the novel feel autobiographical rather than purely fictional? Do these qualities enhance your enjoyment of the book? 3. After Watanabe sleeps with Naoko, he says that "her cry was the saddest sound of orgasm I had ever heard" [p. 40]. Just before she commits suicide, Naoko tells Reiko: "I just don''t want anybody going inside me again. I just don''t want to be violated like that again-by anybody" [p. 284]. In what sense did Watanabe "violate" her? Do you feel this experience directly relates to her suicide? Was it, as Watanabe still asks himself nearly twenty years later, "the right thing to do"? 4. Throughout the novel, Watanabe is powerfully drawn to both Naoko and Midori. How are these women different from one another? How would you describe the different kinds of love they offer Watanabe? Why do you think he finally chooses Midori? Has he made the right choice? 5. The events Norwegian Wood relates take place in the late sixties, a period of widespread student unrest. The university Watanabe attends is frequently beset with protests and strikes and, in Watanabe''s view, pompous "revolutionary" speeches filled with meaningless cliches. "The true enemy of this bunch," Watanabe thinks, "was not State Power but Lack of Imagination" [p. 57]. At first, he identifies with the student protesters but then grows cynical. What qualities of Watanabe''s character make this cynicism inevitable? What is Midori''s reaction to student activism? 6. How would you describe Watanabe''s friend Nagasawa? What is his view of life, of the right way to live? Why is Watanabe drawn to him? In what important ways-particularly in their treatment of women-are they different? How does Murakami use the character of Nagasawa to define Watanabe more sharply? 7. The Great Gatsby is Watanabe''s favorite book, one that he rereads often. Why do you think he identifies so strongly with Fitzgerald''s novel? What does this identification reveal about his character and his worldview? 8. In many ways, Norwegian Wood is a novel about young people struggling to find themselves and survive their various troubles. Kizuki, Hatsumi, Naoko''s sister, and Naoko herself fail in this struggle and commit suicide. How do their deaths affect those they leave behind? In what ways does Kizuki''s suicide both deepen and tragically limit Watanabe''s relationship with Naoko? 9. Murakami''s prose rises at times to an incandescent lyricism. The description of Watanabe embracing Naoko is one such instance: "From shoulder to back to hips, I slid my hand again and again, driving the line and the softness of her body into my brain. After we had been in this gentle embrace for a while, Naoko touched her lips to my forehead and slipped out of bed. I could see her pale blue gown flash in the darkness like a fish" [p. 163]. Where else do you find this poetic richness in Norwegian Wood ? What does such writing add to the novel? What does it tell us about Watanabe''s sensibility? 10. At the center of the novel, Reiko tells the long and painful story of how her life was ruined by a sexual relationship with a young and pathologically dishonest female student. How does this story within the story illuminate other relationships in the novel? 11. What is unusual about the asylum where Reiko and Naoko are staying? What methods of healing are employed there? How do the asylum and the principles on which it is run illuminate the concerns about being "normal" that nearly all the characters in the novel express? 12. Naoko attributes Kizuki''s suicide and her own depression to the fact that they shared such an idyllic childhood together and eventually, as adults, had to pay the price for that early happiness. "We didn''t pay when we should have, so now the bills are due" [p. 128]. Do you think this is an accurate way of understanding what''s happened to them? What alternative explanations would you propose? 13. After Kizuki and Naoko have both committed suicide, Watanabe writes: "I had learned one thing from Kizuki''s death, and I believed that I had made it part of myself in the form of a philosophy: ''Death is not the opposite of life but an innate part of life''" [p. 273]. What do you think he means? Is this view of life and death resigned or affirmative? How would such a philosophy change one''s approach to life? 14. What makes Midori such an engaging and forceful character? How is she different from everyone else in the novel? What kind of love does she demand from Watanabe? Is she being selfish in her demands or simply asking for what everyone wants but is afraid to pursue? 15. Norwegian Wood appears to end on a happy note with Watanabe calling Midori and telling her: "All I want in the world is you. . . . I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning" [p. 293]. But when Midori asks where he is, Watanabe is plunged into a kind of existential confusion. How do you interpret the novel''s final mysterious sentence: "Again and again, I called out for Midori from the dead center of this place that was no place." Is there anything positive in Watanabe''s not knowing "where he is"? What is the significance of his being at the "dead center" of no place, wishing for a new beginning? 16. The events of the novel take place in the fictional past. What can you infer about Watanabe''s present condition from the way he tells this story? Do you imagine that he and Midori have remained together?

Excerpt from Book

One I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the Hamburg airport. Cold November rains drenched the earth and lent everything the gloomy air of a Flemish landscape: the ground crew in rain gear, a flag atop a squat airport building, a BMW billboard. So-Germany again. Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles'' "Norwegian Wood." The melody never failed to send a shudder through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever. I bent forward in my seat, face in hands to keep my skull from splitting open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and asked in English if I were sick. "No," I said, "just dizzy." "Are you sure?" "Yes, I''m sure. Thanks." She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened up and looked out the plane window at the dark clouds hanging over the North Sea, thinking of what I had lost in the course of my life: times gone forever, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never know again. The plane reached the gate. People began unlatching their seatbelts and pulling baggage from the storage bins, and all the while I was in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be twenty. The stewardess came to check on me again. This time she sat next to me and asked if I was all right. "I''m fine, thanks," I said with a smile. "Just feeling kind of blue." "I know what you mean," she said. "It happens to me, too, every once in a while." She stood and gave me a lovely smile. "Well, then, have a nice trip. Auf Wiedersehen." "Auf Wiedersehen. Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer''s dust by days of gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October breeze set white fronds of head-tall grasses swaying. One long streak of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to look at that faroff sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and send back snatches of distant barking-a hazy sound that seemed to reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright, red birds leap startled from the center of the meadow and dart into the woods. As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells. Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene, I hardly paid it any mind. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that eighteen years later I would recall it in such detail. I didn''t give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. It was the age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind. Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to me. The smell of the grass, the faint chill of the wind, the line of the hills, the barking of a dog: these are the first things, and they come with absolute clarity. I feel as if I can reach out and trace them with a fingertip. And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No one. Naoko is not there, and neither am I. Where could we have disappeared to? How could such a thing have happened? Everything that seemed so important back then-Naoko, and the self I was then, and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It''s true, I can''t even bring back Naoko''s face-not right away, at least. All I''m left holding is a background, sheer scenery, with no people up front. True, given time enough, I can bring back her face. I start joining images-her tiny, cold hand; her straight, black hair so smooth and cool to the touch; a soft, rounded earlobe and the microscopic mole just beneath it; the camel''s hair coat she wore in the winter; her habit of looking straight into your eyes when asking a question; the slight trembling that would come to her voice now and then (as if she were speaking on a windy hilltop)-and suddenly her face is there, always in profile at first, because Naoko and I were always out walking together, side by side. Then she turns to me, and smiles, and tilts her head just a bit, and begins to speak, and she looks into my eyes as if trying to catch the image of a minnow that has darted across the pool of a limpid spring. I do need that time, though, for Naoko''s face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute-like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it: my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand-ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand. And nothing but scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again to me like a symbolic scene in a movie. Each time it appears, it delivers a kick to some part of my mind. "Wake up," it says. "I''m still here. Wake up and think about it. Think about why I''m still here." The kicking never hurts me. There''s no pain at all. just a hollow sound that echoes with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day. At the Hamburg airport, though, the kicks were longer and harder than usual. Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I''m made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them. Let''s see, now, what was Naoko talking about that day? Of course: the "field well." I have no idea whether such a well ever existed, It might have been an image or a sign that existed only inside Naoko, like all the other things she used to spin into existence inside her mind in those dark days. Once she had described it to me, though, I was never able to think of that meadow scene without the well. From that day forward, the image of a thing I had never laid eyes on became inseparably fused to the actual scene of the field that lay before me. I can go so far as to describe the well in minute detail. It lay precisely on the border where the meadow ended and the woods began-a dark opening in the earth a yard across, hidden by the meadow grass. Nothing marked its perimeter-no fence, no stone curb (at least not one that rose above ground level). It was nothing but a hole, a mouth open wide. The stones of its collar had been weathered and turned a strange muddy white. They were cracked and had chunks missing, and a little green lizard slithered into an open seam. You could lean over the edge and peer down to see nothing. All I knew about the well was its frightening depth. It was deep beyond measuring, and crammed full of darkness, as if all the world''s darknesses had been boiled down to their ultimate density. "It''s really, really deep," said Naoko, choosing her words with care. She would speak that way sometimes, slowing down to find the exact word she was looking for. "But no one knows where it is," she continued. "The one thing I know for sure is that it''s around here somewhere." Hands thrust into the pockets of her tweed jacket, she smiled at me as if to say "It''s true!" "Then it must be incredibly dangerous," I said. "A deep well, but nobody knows where it is. You could fall in and that''d be the end of you." "The end. Aaaaaaaah, splat. Finished." "Things like that must actually happen." "They do, every once in a while. Maybe once in two or three years. Somebody disappears all of a sudden, and they just can''t find him. So then the people around here say, ''Oh, he fell in the field well.''" "Not a nice way to die," I said. "No, it''s a terrible way to die," said Naoko, brushing a cluster of grass seed from her jacket. "The best thing would be to break your neck, but you''d probably just break your leg and then you couldn''t do a thing. You''d yell at the top of your lungs, but nobody''d hear you, and you couldn''t expect anybody to find you, and you''d have centipedes and spiders crawling all over you, and the bones of the ones who died before are scattered all around you, and it''s dark and soggy, and way overhead there''s this tiny, tiny circle of light like a winter moon. You die there in this place, little by little, all by yourself." "Yuck, just thinking about it makes my flesh creep," I said. "''Somebody should find the thing and build a wall around it." "But nobody can find it. So make sure you don''t go off the path." "Don''t worry, I won''t." Naoko took her left hand from her pocket and squeezed my hand. "Don''t you worry" she said. "You''ll be O.K. You could go running all around here in the middle of the night and you''d never fall into the well. And as long as I stick with you, I won''t fall in, either." "Never?" "Never!" "How can you be so sure?" "I just know," she said, increasing her grip on my hand and continuing on for a ways in silence. "I know these things. I''m always right. It''s got nothing to do with logic: I just feel it. For example, when I''m really close to you like this, I''m not the least bit sca

Product Details

Author
Haruki Murakami
Pages
400
Year
2001
ISBN-10
0099448823
ISBN-13
9780099448822
Format
Paperback
Publication Date
2001-05-17
Country of Publication
United Kingdom
Translated from
Japanese
Media
Book
Series
Vintage Books
Language
English
Translator
Jay Rubin
Publisher
Vintage Publishing
Audience
General/Trade