If some were disappointed because Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood was a straight love story, rather than his usual surreal, and fantastic novels, then I have to disagree. It was straight and it was real because no contortion of the imagination was needed to make the reader understand the story of Toru who fell in love, suffered a painful loss, and finally came of age.
Toru's first love was Naoko, the girlfriend of his best friend who committed suicide. Naoko was the beautiful, but fragile love, the idealized love he could never really attain. This love, along with Toru's innocence, died with Naoko.
Midori, on the other hand, was the pedestrian love that just grew over time. She was the love Toru could grow old with. Finally, Toru's experience with Reiko was the tender, uncomplicated act of making love, one that seemed to be a natural offshoot of friendship, with friendly love taken to its logical end.
Toru's experiences were not the same as mine, but that I felt his loss, his pain, and his happiness, only attests to Murakami's deep understanding of our common human predicament.
No comments:
Post a Comment