The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle: A Novel

Toru Okada is searching for a lot of things. As the hapless protagonist of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami’s sprawling and often magnificent mess of a novel, the unemployed Toru must first find his missing cat—which his wife Kumiko regards as a symbol of the their gradually failing marriage—and then Kumiko herself, who disappears one morning without warning. Along the way, Toru’s quest introduces him to a variety of unusual characters—a wise-beyond-her-years teenage neighbor, two sisters with apparent psychic abilities, a retired war veteran with a dark history, the creepy assistant of his evil brother-in-law, a mother and son team with unusual tastes and talents—and bizarre situations, including a considerable show more amount of time spent at the bottom of a deep, dark, dry well where his dreams become indistinguishable from his reality. What Toru must endure and discover about himself in the effort to find Kumiko and reestablish their previous life constitutes the ostensible plot of the book.

I say “ostensible” because I actually find it difficult to summarize this novel in a tidy fashion. It certainly is about Toru’s search for Kumiko, but it is also about so much more. Most notably, the story involves the search for identity and purpose, how personal histories are tied to those of entire countries, and how those individuals (and countries) must cope with pain and reconcile the horrors of the past. The story-telling is frequently brilliant and always engaging, even if it is highly non-linear and a little disjoint at times. Murakami appears to have pulled out all of the literary stops in crafting this novel; it is replete with allusions, symbols (such as the well and the wind-up bird of the title, for instance), magical realism elements, multiple plot lines told in myriad styles, and characters who disappear and reappear at will. He has also provided the reader with an ending that is mildly disappointing in that it does not bring all of threads of the story to a full conclusion. Still, I really enjoyed the several days I spent immersed in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. The author’s gift for crafting an imaginative tale with fully developed characters that the reader comes to care deeply about is remarkable and easily overcomes any shortcomings the rest of the book might have. show less

Un vortice narrativo in cui è progressivamente sempre più difficile distinguere fra realtà e non realtà. Un vortice da cui, se accetterete di lasciarvi andare, verrete travolti. E non vi dimenticherete più di Toru Okada, del pozzo, del suo gatto scomparso, della piccola vicina Kasahara May, del composito affresco di storie che si intrecciano con stile illogicamente sublime.

An astonishing book. Essentially an urban epic about losing your cat and your wife and your grip on reality, the plot moves dreamily through the mundane world of a man living an aimless, blameless life as he experiences erotic phone-calls, the philosophical musings of a teenage neighbour, horrifying stories from Japan's military campaign in China, a fascination with an abandoned well, two sisters named after islands and their strange vocation, and, frankly, a whole lot of other stuff. The writing is plain but addictive, and though the plot is full of ambiguities, complexities and perplexing enigmas, many of which are left for the reader to resolve, it is nonetheless a supremely satisfying read.

A fascinating look at characters and the brutalities of war and violence that seep into our lives. Murakami’s characters aren’t necessarily deep, but they feel like real people. The women are mediums, he claims, allowing the male protagonist to experience new concepts. They take some getting used to.
The whole book is memorable, and seems like the condensation of all of Murakami’s signature ideas: cats, violence, pasta, random sexual encounters, wells… His style is well-polished and Rubin’s translation is of the highest quality. Though once I found out that a lot had been removed from the novel I wanted all the more to read it in the original. Rubin claims he translated all of the best parts of the novel in his book Haruki show more Murakami and the Music of Words – still, I don’t see his reasoning for cutting things out. The novel is composed of disconnected segments with only tenuous relations to one another. Murakami’s masterpiece should be given it’s due. I hope once enough time has passed another translation will come out. As much as I admire Rubin, I think he may be trying to make one of his favorite authors safer for American audiences. I could be wrong, but Murakami’s MO is weirdness. He is Raymond Carver fed through the meat grinder with pop-culture and dream-logic.
I’ve read Wind-up Bird twice and might read it again. It really affords me an opportunity to escape from the mundane world. I even enjoyed reading interviews with Murakami - because this book always comes up. It's the sort of work that invites discussion. He's really on a whole different level with this one. There are already so many reviews out there, but in the end you'll have to decide for yourself if you're completely taken by his bold literary surprises or turned off by his jazz-like improvisations.
You get snatches of humor in this book as well to lighten the tone. The personality really shines through. As a writer with journalistic tendencies, he knows how to cater to the gut-level desires of his seething hoards of frothing-at-the-mouth fans. show less

Though the plot is essentially driven by Toru's desire to uncover Kumiko, I can't help but feel that he is using the logical agenda of finding his wife (like any abandoned&confused men would) as a cover to pursue his underlying wayward tendencies i.e. repressed jealousy towards Noboru Wataya, sexual fantasies (with Creta & May), superstition (the well & water). Despite his outright dismissals of these subjects at the start, his subconscious mind seem to take a very different turn.
Initially clueless about fitting into societal norms (no job/ambition/wife), he becomes courageous, sexually attractive, and equipped with supernatural powers within a 'bubbled universe' with no 'real' witness--the ppl that he becomes involved with either show more dwell in the historical past or are shamans/mysterious individuals who lacked credentials.
Is the entire narrative then merely a transcript of Toru's ceaseless dreams from his veranda? The overwhelming sense of déjà vu I get from reading about events that unfathomably overlap makes the whole thing seem eerily dreamlike... show less

Toru Okada has quit his job a while ago, hoping to find something better. Until a new opportunity arises (preferably in a law firm), he's content enough to play the house-husband. And why wouldn't he, when even his wife encourages him to do so?

Then one day their cat disappears, and Toru starts getting odd erotic phone calls from a strangely familiar-sounding woman. He starts meeting a clairvoyant of sorts, who's supposed to help him find the cat, but the feline seems to be the last thing she wants to discuss with Toru. Meanwhile, our protagonist is happy enough to spend time sitting in the courtyard of an abandoned house, chatting with a rebellious 16-year-old girl and half-heartedly looking for the cat.

And none of that even scratches show more the surface, of what this book is all about. If I kept going though, I fear I'd end up revealing everything, which'd be a shame.

Interestingly enough, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle gripped me right from the get-go. Normally, it tends to take me a while to "warm up" to a book, but I was hooked practically from the first word. Despite its rather mundane beginning, the author could just as well have tried to write a thesis about his dish-washing technique, there was something in the atmosphere that instantly drew me in.

Lots of reviewers complain about the lack of ending for most of the side-stories, that Toru encounters along the way. I disagree: the only one lacking a 'proper' ending was Malta Kano, but even there I feel I can make an argument to the contrary.
Or perhaps, it's a problem with Kumiko's story? But then, is there really a need to say something other than what Toru himself suspects by the end?

And thus, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle gets 5 stars, because I can't bring myself to consider any of its faults a "deal breaker". My only regret is that I kind of rushed through the book. show less

The first pages of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle are filled with quotes from critics: “Mesmerizing,” “Compelling,” “Bold and generous,” the list goes on and on like posters at the box office of a Broadway play. I'm not sure I would have finished this novel if I hadn't known the level of critical acclaim it has received. Haruki Murakami breaks so many rules, it feels as if halfway through a football game the team owners decided to drop all controls and allow the players to have a street brawl. Yet once I made the effort it takes to read this novel, I found the accolades were justified. It's not a book to get lost in. It's a book to learn from, to appreciate for its unique qualities and for the way these qualities might influence show more other writers.

This is the story of Toru Okada, a young Japanese husband who loses both his cat and his wife. He seems to have a similar response to both those losses, going out in search of the cat while also maintaining a concern for his missing wife. This is the first taste of an aspect of this story that is unusual. People care about each other, but not with a great deal of emotion. Throughout the novel we pull for Okada to find his wife and reconcile with her, but it is more about reestablishing order than it is about love. A Newsday critic said this book presents “A vision no American novelist could have invented...” As a reader, I also have a very American perspective, which may be why I find this a bit strange.

Okada's wife, Kumiko, has a brother, Noburu Wataya, who is a prominent politician and someone involved with Kumiko's disappearance. He is an excellent speaker and very popular, but also quite corrupt. He is Toru's nemesis throughout the story. Noburu Wataya is also the name of the cat, which is an attempt at irony on the part of Kumiko and Toru.

Another interesting character is May Kasahara, a young, school age girl, whom Toru meets while searching for his cat. She calls him “Mr. Wind-Up Bird,” because she has trouble remembering his real name. The name comes from a story he tells her about a bird whose call sounds like the winding of a giant spring. May tells Toru things like, “You might think you made a new world or a new self, but your old self is always gonna be there, just below the surface and if something happens, it'll stick its head out and say. 'Hi.'” May is a foil for Toru's odd thoughts.

Two other important characters are the sisters, Malta and Creta Kano. Malta is the first of the two to contact Okada, who has been told in a phone conversation with Kumiko that he needs to speak with her. They meet and have a very odd conversation where he learns about Creta. Later he has an erotic dream with Creta in it and when he meets her she knows of the dream and says, “I am a prostitute. I used to be a prostitute of the flesh, but now I am a prostitute of the mind. Things pass through me.” The book is filled with strange, seemingly disconnected events and people, who come together in odd ways.

In the latter part of the novel, the story branches off to tell about the Japanese control over Manchuria beginning in 1931 and the joint Mongolian-Soviet resistance. These are some of the most violent, but authentic parts of the book. These sections lack the dreamlike qualities of the rest of the novel, but they include people and incidents that are interconnected with the rest of the story.

Steve Lindahl – author of Motherless Soul, White Horse Regressions, Hopatcong Vision Quest, and Under a Warped Cross. show less