I used to have a Japanese tutor. I would drive over to her home, drink hot green tea, and sit in her cozy kitchen and work on my kanji. One day, as I plopped my bag down by my seat by the window, my tutor excitedly showed me two tiny paperbacks, one red, the other green. I noticed immediately that both books were autographed; she began to explain how she was friends with the author and that this novel, broken into two parts, was a huge success in Japan and I needed to read it.
Thus began my love affair with Haruki Murakami.
I was at the absolute perfect age, in the absolute most perfect situation, with just enough wide-eyed optimism to fall in love with Norwegian Wood. Every novel I read and every thought I had was shaped, significantly by the works of Haruki Murakami.
Twelve years later, I'm now thirty-three years old. I purchased, for probably way too much money, the same Alfred Birnbaum translated editions, just as red and just as green, the same copies I had read twelve years earlier. In rereading the text, I'm charmed by the memory of optimistic twenty-one year old Adam gripping this book, eagerly turning its pages. This book is an extension of me! I had been in love AND I've been lonely! I AM Toru Watanabe!
I can see why so many young people have had similar experiences with Norwegian Wood; it's super relateable and Murakami almost glorifies coming-of-age.
Who hasn't felt alone amidst a crowded train, confused as to what the future may bring?
Who hasn't lost someone close and suddenly felt confronted by the agonizing reality of death?
Who hasn't tried to escape the truth only to be reminded that you can't keep running forever?
On page 222, Murakami perfectly conveys a twenty year old's coming-to-terms with death:
"When Kizuki died, his death taught me one thing. Something I took upon myself with resignation, or rather thought I'd taken on. And that was this: Death is not the opposite of life, but something underlying this life we live.
This much is certain truth. That the very act of our living at the same time creates death...All we can do is suffer through it and hope to learn something from it, even though that lesson will be of no use alleviating the next unforeseeable onslaught of suffering."
None of this is mind-shattering. But that's the point. We all logically come to similar conclusions based on specific shared experiences. Friendship, love, happiness all lead to suffering. At twenty-one I found comfort reveling in this common wisdom.
At thirty three I find comfort in the memory of it.