I've been reluctant to start this book for a long time, worried that it would prove too much for my mind to keep up with. But now that I've finally cracked the cover and made it to the other side, I'm so pleased to have taken the plunge and am eager to discuss it with e v e r y o n e.

This is SURREAL. And it's DIFFICULT. And it's not everyone's cup of tea. But oddly, I wouldn't call it "confusing," which is the primary reaction I expected to have. In fact, I not only enjoyed the read, but I was also compelled to keep opening the book and finish the story: a five-star achievement in my view. There are a lot of layers to explore, and the connections between them are murky and shocking and often unexplained. But the main characters are all in some way relatable and are very tangible, and I think the most important thing that holds the book together in a land of surrealist imagination is that you can always keep track of the major players, and you always come back to them in some form—maybe more than one.

According to Murakami, one should read "Kafka on the Shore" multiple times in order to make connections and glean some of the deeper meaning. I have no doubt he's right. Though I'm putting a re-read on hold for now, I still found plenty to unpack in my initial exploration. What's clear is that in addition to the "real" world (how do we know what to call ~real~?! Too deep a rabbit hole for my first reaction/review honestly, so I'll refrain from getting off on that exit ramp for now...), there exists a parallel/alternate level of existence or consciousness that several of our main characters either visit or commune with in some way. How they all manage this is not consistently explained, especially in Nakata's case, but the important thing is not really how they access it but what it means to them. This world is especially relevant for Kafka and Miss Saeki, who use it to build their own relationship but also to simultaneously reveal and bury the pieces of themselves that cause them pain they're not able to face. When Miss Saeki deposited her baggage in this alternate land, she froze a piece of herself in time and thus limited the possibilities for and existence of her "real" self. This makes sense: a part of her could never develop, and was metaphorically dead, for the rest of her life. [I've just realized that part of this review will be me puzzling some stuff out, so get out now if you're not game for that.]

Her struggle is a really moving part of this book, and though her travels through time and space are not always "explained" in the way you'd traditionally expect a novel to explain them, I still found her journey at times the easiest to track and to relate to. She accessed an alternate world where she thought she could keep everything that she wanted and maintain the best happiness she'd known, but she had to sacrifice things without really understanding; in other words, she made choices for her future self that she could not foresee but that devastated the rest of her days. This is a relatable instinct, to stop time and remain in a happy moment or memory. But it's obviously something that we—non-book-character mere mortals—do not have the power to do. In a world where you can do it, it has consequences. Which begs the question: is it worth it? Do you know what you're giving up in pursuit of keeping what you already have?

This poignant theme of time, and its relation to desire and to loss, is one of a zillion themes explored in this book; even in that single thematic exploration, there are so many layers and other themes that come into play. I'd love to discover and discuss them all (or at least the ones I can wrap my head around), but I call particular attention to that one because it was the most impactful for me. As I'm sure is part of Murakami's intent, there are several themes that overlap and will jump out to different readers for different reasons. This layer of variant appeal is a really beautiful and intricate aspect of this book, and I have no idea how Murakami wrote in this way without his head spinning off his body.

Other themes I picked up on include: the power of dreams and the way they, and our subconscious, can bleed into and overtake the reality of our life (another very major theme, and one I'm still in the process of unpacking); how to react to things we can't control, and prevent them from directing our life; identity, and what it means to define yourself (e.g. are we defined by our desires? Our unique abilities? Our families? Our pasts? Our hopes and dreams? Our fears? How do all these aspects of self blend together to form a person, and what piece is this most important?); the interplay of life and death; and probably a ton of other things.

For all the moments and aspects I didn't understand—and there were many—I don't want to break my brain or break the spell of the book trying to puzzle them out. I'll certainly be thinking about them for a while to come, and I'll likely attempt a re-read at some point to see what more I can unearth and connect.

One of my favorite things about reading "Kafka on the Shore" is that it's absolutely unlike anything I've read before. Its completely surreal narrative prevented me from taking many guesses about where the story was headed, which was a strangely liberating experience that allowed me to just sit and enjoy the reading itself. I was hooked, I was taunted and turned around, and I was mesmerized. If you're thinking about opening this book, don't be intimidated and don't be too serious. Enjoy the ride.

You know what, I'm bumping my star rating up from my original 4 to a 5. What a dream.