Out of Norwegian Woods
Sitting on the sofa by my small desk, I poured myself a glass of sparkling wine. Outside the window, the sun was setting, casting its final rays on the balcony. The buildings around me began to flicker with lights. I opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. This city is never quiet; opening a door or window always brings noise. It's usually annoying, but in that moment, it felt real and comforting, heightening my sense of the world as a giant machine in motion—something I desperately needed.
Just minutes ago, I finished listening to the audiobook of "Norwegian Wood." I never imagined I could complete an audio piece over 13 hours long, especially the English version. Yet from the first minute, I was deeply drawn in, completely immersed. Every word was crystal clear, as if seamlessly translated into my language, the narrator's voice like a familiar melody.
In fact, over the past 25 years, I’ve read this book many times—something like five to ten times. My familiarity with the story allowed each sentence to paint vivid scenes in my mind, enhancing the conveyance of the narrative.
Time slipped away unnoticed. I delved into the world of the story, much like my countless walks in the forest over the years. Each visit to the forest brought different feelings, shaped by the seasons and my age. This experience felt very different; perhaps because I had never listened to such an audiobook before, or maybe because I had never read a whole book in English. I had to focus, following the narration step by step, unlike reading on my own. I noticed details I might have overlooked before, discovering new elements in familiar landscapes.
This audiobook journey reminded me of my first long drive. Before that 1300-kilometer journey, I never imagined driving beyond 200 kilometers alone. Since then, my perception of distance changed; now, a 500 to 800-kilometer drive seems short. I believe that after these 13 hours of audiobook listening, my definition of long audio has changed too.
My sense of time has shifted. Just like that long journey, when I was young, I could hardly imagine plans for the coming years. Living in the moment was my only focus, though I looked forward to summer and winter holidays, anticipated letters. Back then, I couldn’t envision future life. Now, 25 years after I first encountered "Norwegian Wood," my concept of time has completely changed. I can hardly recall when I read "Norwegian Wood" so many times over these years, but those moments indeed happened, blending with other memories. As I age, memories flatten in my mind, their order blurs, distinguishing between memory, dream, and imagination becomes difficult. But it doesn't matter; they exist in my mind regardless, unnoticed and uncared for by others. No matter how much I ponder the reality or timing of past events, I can't return, not even for a second. I just need to live, leaving intentional blanks.
Yet, some scenes remain vivid in my memory, more alive than my personal recollections. I remember Aureliano Buendía facing the firing squad, an old woman being approached by a man in the entrance hall of a public place, and an old man with 622 love affairs telling an old woman he had waited for her for fifty-one years, nine months, and four days. I also remember a 12 or 13-year-old boy declaring that the cousin visiting his home for the first time was a girl he had met somewhere before. Among all these scenes, what I truly want to highlight is Watanabe and Naoko walking through forests and fields, the Boeing 747 landing at Berlin airport, the night of Naoko's birthday, and Midori calling out to no one. "Norwegian Wood" has greatly impacted my life, affecting how I make friends, write, love, and view the world.
Looking back from the age of 37, my life seems distant. When I first read "Norwegian Wood," it was hard to imagine reaching that age one day. But now, 37 is long past and irretrievable. Only in stories do people live from 17 to 20 and back to 17 again, only in stories does a 37-year-old man constantly revisit his youth without aging. But in the real world, time never stops.
This past week, I listened to that audiobook whenever I had time, and it ended too quickly. Suddenly, I had an epiphany, a voice telling me I had stayed in the forest too long and it was time to leave. Indeed, I suddenly realized this truth. Yes, I had lost myself in "Norwegian Wood" for too long, and although I’ve read all of Murakami’s other novels, none affected me as deeply. I read the books mentioned in "Norwegian Wood," like "The Magic Mountain" and "The Great Gatsby," listened to the music, and fell in love with some of the songs. I wanted to help everyone I cared about, seeing them as victims like Naoko. However, most people are quite normal, neither needing nor understanding this peculiar idea of help.
It seems I've been trapped in the world of "Norwegian Wood," indeed, it's time to leave, just as Watanabe decided to live bravely without Naoko. This realization struck me again; as long as I keep thinking this way, I might never leave. But it doesn't matter; this isn't a real forest anyway, and I can choose whether to stay or go. Again, like the metaphor of the well in the forest in the book, its reality doesn't matter.
The audiobook chapters eventually ended, and my forest journey concluded with them. After finishing this drink, I'll go to sleep, hoping for a good night's rest. After all, tomorrow is another day.
