In one word: Perfection. ( )

* I would like to thank NetGalley and the publisher for the opportunity to review this book. *

The Forest of Wool and Steel is a metaphor for a piano, which creates music through wool felt hammers striking steel strings.

Tomaru is an aimless student from the mountain country, until he hears a piano tuner at work in his high school gym. The experience transports him and he instantly knows what he wants to do with his life. After getting some training, he gets a job as an apprentice. The book then recounts his slow progress towards mastery of his chosen trade, including years of self-doubt and reservations about his abilities from his co-workers. In this path he finds a muse, Kazune, a student whose talent he recognises and who sparks a desire in him to be a tuner that she will want to work with.

This is quite an unusual concept for a novel. Miyashita's characters are warm and empathetic, and her story provides a gentle and observant account of the twisting path to attaining one's goals in life. ( )

"'The day I leapt down of my own accord was the day I decided to become a piano tuner.' He stood up. 'Ok, time to go to work.'"

"There are entrances to the forest all over. And there must be so many routes to walk through it."

"They say that if you put in ten thousand hours towards any goal, things will fall into place. If you're going to worry, best to wait until after you've done your ten thousand hours and then see."

I was looking for something very different than what The Forest of Wool and Steel gave me. I had hopes that it would be filled with motivation, life guidance, and reassurance that no one really knows what we are doing in life. Instead I got a fairly slow paced walk through piano tuning. There wasn't even that much focus on Japanese culture as a whole. I wasn't particularly sad to say goodbye to this book and its characters. Nothing much to see here, apart from a beautiful cover. ( )

Ce roman est un magnifique hommage au piano, non seulement à sa musique mais à l'instrument lui-même. Avec une infinie patience, l'auteure nous ramène du moment présent à sa conception dans la forêt, là où a poussé le bois qui deviendra musique. C'est un roman délicat où tâtonne l'accordeur cherchant son chemin entre les cordes et les pédales jusqu'à sa forêt natale. C'est une superbe composition qui fait rêver. ( )

‘If a piano can bring to light the beauty that has become invisible to us, and give it audible form, then it is a miraculous instrument and I thrill to be its lowly servant.’

This is a quiet, understated novel, which garnered much praise in its native Japan upon its release in 2015, has since been made into a movie, and now receives its publication in an English translation from long-time translator of Haruki Murakami, Philip Gabriel. For fans of Japanese literature this will be familiar territory; for someone expecting a rip-roaring, page-turning thrillathon then, well, this isn’t for you.

The novel spans three years in the life of Tomura, an aimless teenager about to finish his schooling in the mountains of Hokkaido. By chance he is asked to escort a piano tuner to the school’s piano and, on hearing Mr Itadori adjust the piano, he is transfixed. His experience is almost synesthetic: he pictures the forest of his childhood as he listens to the notes. His future set, Tomura goes on a training course and then, a year later, ends up back in a city near his hometown working in the same shop as Mr Itadori. He and the two other main tuners – Mr Yanagi and Mr Akino – watch over as Tomura slowly becomes more confident and proficient as a tuner. Throw in the character of the secretary Miss Kitagawa, and the piano playing twins Yuni and Kazune, and that’s pretty much it. But this is a contemplative novel, about a young man finding his calling in life, about learning lessons from our mistakes, about finding the beauty and meaning in the world around us. The title alludes to both the forest of Tomura’s youth, but also to the mechanics of the piano itself: ‘Hammers made from sheep’s wool striking strings of steel. And that becomes music.’

There is wonder in the small things, beauty in the things we take for granted in our busy lives and rush past – cherry blossom, rain and snow, plump berries ripening and falling to the ground. Much of what emerges is from conversation, slow moments of revelation, the music of the piano washing over you. It is subtle, metaphorical, imagistic. The ending is suitably uneventful, but also appropriate. At times the life-lessons can be a little obvious, but that doesn’t detract from the charm of the piece. I haven’t seen the film yet, but I can easily imagine it. In fact, reading this reminded me of the film ‘Departures’, which is about a young man learning the skill of being a traditional funeral mortician in Japan.

Don’t expect fireworks, don’t expect cliff-hangers. Just enjoy the tranquillity, like sitting in a Zen garden, listening to the water gently tumbling over carefully placed stones. ( )