Haruki Murakami Books Ranked Novels & Stories

Roy nodded absentmindedly, vision frolicking over the shelves with beginners interest. "Want to check out some books? Let me help you." Jeremy swayed in the direction of a random shelf with a bar hanging―Japanese Fiction written in caps. Jeremy pulled out a white and black designed tiny, thin book from the compactly stocked shelf and waved it at Roy. Roy saw Jeremy coming over with a book and caught it's cover design. A simplistic art with profound hidden meaning. The name 'Birthday Girl' conveyed a sense of aesthetic complexity. "This is a thriller short story by Murakami Sensei. He is a widely known novelist across the globe. His every work is phenomenal." Jeremy said, voice dripping with

Rachel has stopped calling it anything and just checks in daily to make sure I'm eating and sleeping and still functioning like a human being. I'm not sure I am. On Friday, exactly one week after I left Seattle, a package arrives at my apartment. No return address, but I know who it's from before I even open it. Inside is the book I'd been reading in his apartment that first night. Murakami. Norwegian Wood. And a note in his precise handwriting: "You forgot this. I thought you might want it back. The ending's sad, but somehow beautiful. Reminded me of us. I hope Boston is everything you need it to be. - D"

Gareth's POV I was in my office looking for 'Men without women' by Haruki Murakami, the book which mother recommend to me a long time ago. I know very well that she was not trying to mock me about my broken marriage by recommending this book. In fact, she wants me to get married again, but for me, it’s not as easy as it may appear.

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

Sabeerah brought them out one by one. Muslim Girl and If I Speak by Umm Zakiyyah, The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides, Three Daughters Of Eve by Elif Shafak, On Black Sister's Street by Chika Unigwe, And Then There Was None by Agatha Christie, A Time To Kill by John Grisham and finally, A History Of The Wives Of Prophet Muhammad by Umam Kahn. She picked up the last book which was actually a journal and tucked in its side were plack pencils with bookish scribbles on them.

I really need to get out into the sun soon; I’m becoming progressively paler the longer I stay indoors. I finish my shower quickly and wrap the towel tightly around myself. When I step out, William is sitting on the couch, cross-legged, his head and focus deep into a copy of Haruki Murakami’s A Wild Sheep Chase. Either Murakami is weaving hypnotic magic with his words, or William is pretending to be so engrossed in his novel he doesn’t look up or acknowledge me.

“I do. Right now I am rereading ‘Norwegian Wood’ by Murakami. There is something about the melancholy and the way people connect that gets me every time. Do you ever feel like the characters in books understand you better than real people sometimes?” “Yes!” I said excitedly, leaning closer. “All the time. Especially the quiet ones who watch from the sidelines. That is kind of me. I watch a lot more than I participate.” He tilted his head, looking at me with soft affection. “You seem like someone worth participating with. I have noticed you for weeks too, you know. Always at this exact table with your notebooks and that focused little frown when you are thinking. It is cute.” My heart flutter