The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is a twisting dream from Haruki Murakami. A series of odd phone calls and the disappearance of a cat signal change, though Toru Okada doesn't realize it yet. When his wife Kumiko doesn't come home one day, Toru is forced to search for the source. His journey takes him into a literal deep well of dreams to find and return his life to normal.
My life has been nothing more than a convenient passageway.
I love this book. Even translated from the source Japanese, the language is beautiful. Murakami's characters are colorful. Many scenes stirred me to react physically. The story takes us through a dream labyrinth without losing us in its corridors. It is one of the best book of dreams I've encountered.
This book captured the soul of much of the Japanese media I've consumed over the years, reminding me the most of the anime adaptation of Welcome to the N.H.K. Toru reminded me of the lonely Hikikomori, pulling inward to resolve the confusing torments of social life. There are even a few references to the NHK broadcaster contributing to Toru's strife.
Patti Smith described it this way:
I finished it and was immediately obliged to reread it. For one thing I did not wish to exit its atmosphere. But also, the ghost of a phrase was eating at me. Something that untied a neat knot and let the frayed edges brush against my cheek as I slept.
I agree. In fact, as I write this, I am picking at one of those untied knots, gaining a deeper understanding of the universe a just left. I recommend you go down the well.