Mr. Wind Up Bird’s wife, Kumiko, is a jellyfish on a mission to overthrow a powerful ruthless shark that is her brother- who hides by turning into their cat every time the telephone rings. Having run out of things to do, Mr. Wind Up Bird sucks on a lemon drop and goes into his neighbour’s well. His young friend, May Kasahara, lights another cigarette, adjusts her wig, closes the well and resumes sunbathing.
Mr. Wind Up Bird gets hungry, and so he goes back home. He knows that pasta tastes better when cooked to classical music, preferably the same piece on a loop. He flavours it with extra cinnamon and nutmeg, and pairs it with two glasses of Cutty Sark on a lot of rocks.
Before he could take a second bite, the duck people start knocking on his door. They all wear huge red hats and stay till the moon appears. Just as they were leaving, a naked lady wearing only a baseball bat shows up, asking if she could have some buttered toast. Mr. Wind Up Bird shows her the kitchen, goes to sleep in his wife’s silk pajamas and wakes up with a love bite on his cheek.
Just kidding, but not really.
The actual review (for those who insist):
This book exists in the beautiful, magical world that is the subconscious. Also, the ending is irrelevant, just like in real life, so just sit back, relax, and go with the flow. Should you try to piece things together, you will be frustrated, again, just like in real life, for what is life but a mysterious absurdity that is meant to be laughed at especially when one is shrouded in melancholy?
I highly recommend playing Tom Waits' Nighthawks at the Diner (on repeat) in the background.