Problematic Female Characters in Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood

Norwegian Wood is the third book by Haruki Murakami that I’ve read, the others being Kafka on the Shore and What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, so I’m by no means an expert on Murakami’s oeuvre. I am, however, what you’d call an enthusiast—the bookshelf just to my left holds the majority of his notable works, which have been at the top of my TBR for some time.

All this is to say while I’m no expert, I started reading Norwegian Wood knowing more-or-less what to expect: that it offers the least ‘magical realism’ of any of his books; that it paints a concerning patriarchal depiction of its female characters (as many of his novels apparently do, for which he has been, and continues to be, criticised); and that its characters are in many ways broken and struggling. One of the book’s central themes is of suicide and mental health issues, so let that also be a trigger warning for the remainder of this spoiler-free reflective essay.

Knowing all of the above before I even opened the book, Norwegian Wood still managed to surprise the heck out of me. After I’d finished it, I actually thought to myself “What did I just read?”, but not for the reasons I’d have guessed.

As with Kafka on the Shore, the protagonist is a bit of an empty vessel. He has enough personality and history to make him feel like a genuine person, but comes across as reserved, introspective, and a little enigmatic. Peeking behind the curtain, it’s clear that Toru Watanabe acts as the vehicle or delivery system for the story in a way that isn't divisive for readers. He’s like vanilla ice-cream or weak tea: rarely anyone’s favourite but unlikely to offend. From my limited reading of Murakami, I’m guessing this is a trend I’ll see throughout his other books.

Toru journeys from adolescent to young adult throughout the book, but he's shown to be mature for his age and has a (mostly) firm grasp on his personal values and beliefs, even if he doesn’t yet fully grasp who he is or what he wants from life. He's quiet and likes being solitary well enough, and the handful of friendships he chooses to pursue are all meaningful in some way. And he doesn’t like to stir the pot, often playing the role of peacemaker or mediator with the people in his life. He is held in stark contrast to the other male characters in the story, of which there are only a few, and all have distinct personalities that help paint a more favourable picture of Toru than perhaps he would otherwise deserve. However, it is the female characters and Toru’s relationships with them that is central to the story. And this is where I’m confused and conflicted.

On the one hand, there’s a lot to like about the characters of Naoko, Midori, and Reiko. Each of them are struggling in their own way, and they deal with these struggles very differently and with varying levels of success. They each show the varied interpretations of what is often considered valuable by society at large, and how falling short of an ideal can impact a person. For example, cultural traditions and expectations, femininity and what it means to be a woman, health and wellbeing, success and the concept of a successful life, and so on. I was drawn to Reiko in particular, with her wit, charm, and world-weary confidence.

At the same time, each of these female characters—and a couple of additional minor ones which I won't name to avoid spoilers—seem a little bit… wrong. And in each case, it’s related to their depictions of, or relationships with, femininity, sex, or sexuality. There are too many scenes where the characters’ actions resulted in unnecessary sexual encounters, or obsessions with body parts and sexual practices. They range from mildly unsettling to deeply disturbing. That feeling of ‘wrongness’ stems from the fact that the female characters are predominantly the ones who initiate these conversations or actions: they freely offer up stories about prior sexual encounters or fantasies they have, they put the needs of the men in their lives before their own, and they speak as though their sexual experiences are the most impactful or memorable moments of their lives. While reading, I remember thinking more than once: “If the book had been written by a female author, these scenes would not be in it,” or "these characters would not have been written this way."

Despite my firm belief that authors should be encouraged to write characters with views that differ wildly to their own (and a reminder here that a book's narrator or point-of-view character ≠ the author's voice), Norwegian Wood left me scratching my head as to why Murakami made the specific choices he did. The best I can offer is that the book is a product of its time, having been published in 1987 and set in Tokyo in the late 1960s. Perhaps time and cultural differences, as well as being a translated work, can help explain away this sense of unease I feel after reading it in 2025 during a time when we're all accustomed to being suspicious of problematic authors after the harrowing disappointments of J.K. Rowling, Neil Gaiman, Orson Scott Card, and many, many more.

One explanation I've read for how the female characters in Norwegian Wood behave is to help the reader understand Toru better, to highlight the part of his character where others, in particular women, trust him and feel comfortable opening up and sharing secrets willingly, to show that he's different from other guys, especially in contrast to Nagasawa, one of Toru's friends. But therein lies another problem. Even in this more charitable interpretation, the female characters in the book are now being used as tools for another purpose, in this case to aid our understanding of a male character and to illuminate his better qualities. The reverse is rarely true: the qualities the female characters possess are almost always shown as physical or sexual. For example, breast size, beauty, or whether or not they're a virgin.

Where I’m conflicted is that I still liked the book a lot, despite the issues I’ve mentioned. If you're able to set those aside (and I don't blame anyone who can't or chooses not to), there seems to be a kind of truth Murakami is able to get close to in a way few authors can. A truth that feels honest and that means something despite the book not taking a firm stance on a topic or making any bold statements. The characters in Norwegian Wood are, more than anything, victims of societal pressures and expectations. Like we all are.

This story resonated and felt deeply personal. It’s a story about youth and self-discovery, first loves and romance, grief and mental illness. It explores the shifting states of independence, dependence, and co-dependence in relationships. It’s about the type of human suffering that’s often invisible to those on the outside looking in. And it’s a reminder that no-one truly gets through their adolescent and young adult years unscathed.