The Humble Rock Dove

And some thoughts on the author, Haruki Murakami

I was maybe 17 or 18 when I first was told about this book. It was recommended by a boy I respected, so the contemplation toward reading it happily sat on my backburner for over a decade.

Then, aged 28 and-a-bit, and having so loved the first of Murakami’s novels, “Hear the Wind Sing”, I decided to go all-in and purchase a hard copy at last. Let it be noted here that the novel I just mentioned (Wind) became instantly the crown jewel of novels I had read in my mid-20’s. Finding that double volume, of Wind/Pinball was literally a world-view altering experience. And so, with a pinch of haste, I also acquired the book touted to be one “every Japanese person has read”: Norwegian Wood. This novel also became a firm and fast favorite; sure, I did not enjoy it as much, but this is a nuance of my own worldview at the time of writing here: I simply do not care about my own feelings enough, as to gain enough of an ego to announce a final judgement upon such as a movie or book. Until the item has worked its way through me, and I can sense and feel the changes taking place, only then does my resolve upon the topic, crystallize, and I can draw it up, as if by string, from the recesses of my brain-stuff solution, and leave it to dry. That is an idiosyncrasy of my own, it is how I live in and develop my own conclusions on, well, stuff.

So that’s my tale of how this review comes at such a late date. I simply did not trust my incomplete opinion on these novels enough, as to warrant a close analysis of the only type of review I can muster: my personal, symbiotic relationship with objects of spiritual worth (art/literature).

I’ll get to the interesting stuff straight away: Murakami drafts protagonists into his books that, across these three novels, have much in common. Most notably, the chap, “Mr Wind-Up Bird”, Toru Okada, we will focus on, has much in common with the others: he has little to make himself seem any degree of “special” or “unusual”, yet his life is the blank canvas on which the events of his life get drawn toward and on.

Yeah, that’s how a Haruki Murakami rolls: the protagonist, in my eyes, seems to act as buffer between the craziness of the events in the pages, and the reader. (You, who will read this book, and soon, ha-ha), should be aware of the formulae at hand. This is a style of writing that we call “magical realism”. I have heard first-hand accounts of readers that get confused while making headway, that they “aren’t sure what is real” from the protagonist’s perspective. I would argue that in spite of this possibly being the case, we receive what is important, especially to our protagonist, Mr. Okada. What ever other truths you wish for may as well be discarded, as theoretical comforts of sorts.

So I have just revealed to you, (I hope) the subtle ways in which this writer has changed or morphed my view of things, and why early on I was quick to recognize the book’s power to bring joy with reading even the first few chapters! Joy, they say, grows and is cultivated in the soil of thankfulness. And from my own spoilt perspective, a book such as this provides a good yield of such emotion. To fully appreciate such an artful mosaic of happenings and bizarre mystery, perhaps the person who reads this must’ve already switched their mind to one of a certain kind of humility, that “stop and smell the flowers” type of way of life.

I don’t plan on giving away any major spoilers here, but for what its worth, I liked the ending. So many webs were spun and mazes ran through, that I was unsure if it could hold up to, and resolve such loose threads. But! Before I give away too much entirely, I would again recommend this book to any of a pro-mystical mindset and an open mind and heart. Suitably so, as this is the kindness in the heart that I feel Murakami reveals to us westerners in post-WWII Japan.

The bottom line here is, if you told me Murakami has saved people’s lives, I would think twice before I would shrug it off. This book comes packed with happiness from the little things in life. A blessing.