Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage [NOOK Book]

Overview

The new novel-a book that sold more than a million copies the first week it went on sale in Japan-from the internationally acclaimed author, his first since IQ84.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

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Overview

The new novel-a book that sold more than a million copies the first week it went on sale in Japan-from the internationally acclaimed author, his first since IQ84.

From the Hardcover edition.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble

In high school, the happiness and identity of Tsukuru Tazaki focused on his close-knit group of five friends; three boys and two girls with whom he assumed he would always be best friends forever. But when he returned from college in Tokyo, everything had changed; the friendships seemed spoiled and no one would explain why. Years later, a new girlfriend convinces Tsukuru to seek out his old buddies and uncover the truth behind their mysterious rejection. What he learns is something more subtle and complicated than a single secret and reveals much about all human interactions. Now in trade paperback and NOOK Book. (P.S. Haruki Murakami is a major world author. His works have been translated into fifty languages and have sold millions of copies. In fact, this novel sold one million copies in its first week!)

Library Journal
★ 06/15/2014
In high school, Tsukuru Tazaki was part of a "perfect community" of five best friends. Each had a color attached to their family names—red, blue, white, black—except for Tsukuru, rendering him "colorless." After Tsukuru begins college in Tokyo, he's brutally excised without explanation. Sixteen years later, he's a successful train station engineer living a comfortable life still in Tokyo. Contentment, however, eludes him: "I have no sense of self…I feel like an empty vessel. I have a shape…but there's nothing inside." He's on the verge of his most significant relationship, but his lover warns he "need[s] to come face-to-face with the past" in order to consider a future. His name may lack color, but it also promises agency: tsukuru is the infinitive for "make" or "build." With Facebook and Google as guides, his pilgrimage will take him home and as far as a Finnish lakeside. VERDICT Murakami devotees will sigh with relief at finding his usual memes—the moon, Cutty Sark, a musical theme, ringing telephones, a surreal story-within-a-story (this time about passing on death and possibly six fingers). That the novel sold over one million copies its first week in Japan guarantees—absolutely, deservedly so—instant best-seller status stateside as well. [See Prepub Alert, 4/14/14.]—Terry Hong, Smithsonian BookDragon, Washington, DC
The New York Times Book Review - Patti Smith
This is a book for both the new and experienced reader. It has a strange casualness, as if it unfolded as Murakami wrote it; at times, it seems like a prequel to a whole other narrative. The feel is uneven, the dialogue somewhat stilted…Yet there are moments of epiphany gracefully expressed, especially in regard to how people affect one another…The book reveals another side of Murakami, one not so easy to pin down. Incurably restive, ambiguous and valiantly struggling toward a new level of maturation. A shedding of Murakami skin. It is not Blonde on Blonde, it is Blood on the Tracks.
From the Publisher
“Mesmerizing, immersive, hallucinogenic.” —Entertainment Weekly

“Readers wait for [Murakami’s] work the way past generations lined up at record stores for new albums by the Beatles or Bob Dylan. . . . Reveals another side of Murakami, one not so easy to pin down. . . A book for both the new and experienced reader.” —Patti Smith, The New York Times Book Review 

“Hypnotic.” —The Boston Globe
 
“Brilliant.” —The Miami Herald
 
“A masterpiece.” —Elle
 
“Wistful, mysterious, winsome, disturbing, seductive.” —The Atlantic
 
Remarkable.” — The Washington Post
 
 “Intoxicating. . . . Full of beauty, strangeness, and color.” —NPR

“[Murakami] is ever alert to minds and hearts, to what it is, precisely, that they feel and see, and to humanity’s abiding and indomitable spirit. . . . A deeply affecting novel, not only for the dark nooks and crannies it explores, but for the magic that seeps into its characters’ subconsciouses, for the lengths to which they will go to protect or damage one another, for the brilliant characterizations it delivers along the way.” —The Washington Post
 
“More than just a story but rather a meditation. . . . There is a rawness, a vulnerability, to these characters.” —Los Angeles Times
 
“Tsukuru’s pilgrimage will never end, because he is moving constantly away from his destination, which is his old self. This is a narrow poignancy, but a powerful one, and Murakami is its master. Perhaps that's why he has come to speak not just for his thwarted nation, but for so many of us who love art—since it's only there, alas, in novels such as this one, that we're allowed to live twice.” —Chicago Tribune
 
“Bold and colorful threads of fiction blur smoothly together to form the muted white of an almost ordinary realism. Like J.M. Coetzee, Murakami smoothly interlaces allegorical meanings with everyday particulars of contemporary social reality. . . . Tsukuru’s situation will resonate with anyone who feels adrift in this age of Google and Facebook.” —San Francisco Chronicle
 
Colorless Tsukuru spins a weave of . . . vivid images around a great mystery. . . . The story flows along smoothly, wrapping around details like objects in a stream.” —The Boston Globe
 
 “The premise is simple enough, but in the works of Murakami, nothing is simple. . . . A perfect introduction to Murakami’s world, where questions of guilt and motivation abound, and the future is an open question.” —The Miami Herald
 
“Beautiful, rich with moving images and lush yet exquisitely controlled language. . . . Fans of elegant, intelligent fiction will welcome this book.” —Tampa Bay Times
 
“Moving. . . . One of Murakami’s most endearing and enduring traits as a writer is an almost reportorial attention to detail, the combined effect of which gives you a complete picture while still feeling a little ethereal.” —Milwaukee Journal Sentinel
 
“Shockingly seductive. . . . Murakami has a knack for swift, seamless storytelling. . . . Don’t be surprised if you devour Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage in the course of a night or two. . . . Charming and unexpected.” —Richmond Times-Dispatch
 
“Satisfying. . . . Murakami can find mystery in the mundane and conjure it in sparse, Raymond Carveresque prose.” —Financial Times
 
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki alights in some mysterious places but doesn’t settle there. . . . [It] is replete with emotionally frank, philosophical discussions. . . . Reflective.” —The Dallas Morning News
 
“A piercing and surprisingly compact story about friendship and loneliness. . . . Murakami skillfully explores the depths of Tsukuru’s isolation and pain.” —St. Louis Post-Dispatch
 
“Truly captivating . . . Calling Murakami a ‘universally respected author’ or even a ‘paragon of literature’ is no longer apt. The man is a cultural force unto himself. . . . [In Colorless Tsukuru] the staples of his work . . . all come together to form a beautiful whole.” —A.V. Club
 
“Spare and contained. . . . Quiet, with disturbing depths.” —The Columbus Dispatch
 
“A testament to the mystery, magic, and mastery of this much-revered Japanese writer’s imaginative powers. Murakami’s moxie is characterized by a brilliant detective-story-like blend of intuition, hard-nosed logic, impeccable pacing, and poetic revelations.” —Elle

Kirkus Reviews
★ 2014-06-15
Murakami (IQ84, 2011, etc.) turns in a trademark story that blends the commonplace with the nightmarish in a Japan full of hollow men.Poor achromatic Tsukuru. For some inexplicable reason, his four best friends, two males, two females, have cut him off without a word. Perhaps, he reckons between thoughts of suicide, it’s because they can pair off more easily without a fifth wheel; perhaps it’s because his name means “builder,” while all theirs have to do with colors: red pine, blue sea, white root, black field. Alas for Tsukuru, he “lacked a striking personality, or any qualities that made him stand out”—though, for all that, he’s different. Fast-forward two decades, and Tsukuru, true to both his name and his one great passion in life, designs train stations. He’s still wounded by the banishment, still mystified at his friends’ behavior. Helpfully, his girlfriend suggests that he make contact with the foursome to find out what he’d done and why he’d deserved their silence. Naturally, this being a Murakami story, the possibilities are hallucinogenic, Kafkaesque, and otherwise unsettling and ominous: “Gray is a mixture of white and black. Change its shade, and it can easily melt into various gradations of darkness.” That old saying about not asking questions if you don’t want to know the answers—well, there’s the rub, and there’s Tsukuru’s problem. He finds that his friends' lives aren’t so golden (the most promising of them now hawks Lexuses and knowingly owns up to it: “I bet I sound like a car salesman?”); his life by comparison isn't so bad. Or is it? It’s left to the reader to judge. Murakami writes with the same murky sense of time that characterized1Q84, but this book, short and haunting, is really of a piece with older work such asNorwegian Woodand, yes,Kafka on the Shore. The reader will enjoy watching Murakami play with color symbolism down to the very last line of the story, even as Tsukuru sinks deeper into a dangerous enigma.Another tour de force from Japan’s greatest living novelist.
The Barnes & Noble Review

If you've never read Haruki Murakami before, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, which sold more than a million copies during its first week on sale in Japan, isn't a bad introduction. With its focus on mutating, amorphous friendships and the sometimes blurred lines between dreams and reality, this deceptively simple tale of a solitary, self-effacing man's search for connection and meaning in his life is more like the perennial Nobel contender's earlier novels — including Norwegian Wood, The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, and my favorite, Kafka on the Shore — than his more recent doorstop, 1Q84, a complex detective story that featured alternate realities and parallel worlds. Colorless Tsukuru is a wonderfully accessible choice for book groups because it wears its profundity lightly.

Tsukuru Tazaki is an uncommonly sympathetic character, as steady as a surgeon's hand, as trustworthy as a pencil. He's forthright about his sorrows, but he's not a whiner. When Tsukuru's tight-knit group of high school friends — two men and two women — categorically cut him off without explanation during his sophomore year in college, his self- esteem takes a nosedive, sending him into a suicidal depression for months. "Alienation and loneliness became a cable that stretched hundreds of miles long, pulled to the breaking point by a gigantic winch," Murakami writes.

Tsukuru recovers his equilibrium, but the experience changes him permanently: "The pain of having been so openly rejected was always with him. But now, like the tide, it ebbed and flowed." He settles into a "small and lonely" life in Tokyo: cooking his meals, swimming his daily laps, drinking his half bottles of beer (all he can tolerate), and showing up for work. Murakami explains, "Habit, in fact, was what propelled his life forward. Though he no longer believed in a perfect community, nor felt the warmth of chemistry between people."

Tsukuru has no clue why his friends have banished him — and he's too shattered to press the issue — but that doesn't stop him from conjecturing. Could it be because he's the only one who left their hometown of Nagoya for college? Or because "there was not one single quality he possessed that was worth bragging about or showing off to others. At least that was how he viewed himself. Everything about him was middling, pallid, lacking in color." After the shutout, he regards himself as "an empty vessel. A colorless background," bringing too little to relationships to sustain them. But Murakami easily sustains our interest in this low-key but deeply drawn character, who comes across with seductive limpidity in Philip Gabriel's admirably nuanced translation.

Murakami hits the color theme hard — a fine starting point for book group discussions. Everyone in the group except Tsukuru has names that contain a color. Interestingly, while Tsukuru's male buddies' names evoke red and blue — bright primary colors — the two women, each a source of suppressed romantic involvement, are linked to monochrome shades of black and white. So, too, is Haida, Tsukuru's only friend in Tokyo — a philosopher, music lover, and fellow swimmer at the university pool — whose name means "gray field." As with the two women from Tsukuru's high school circle, there's also a suggestion of sexual tension between Tsukuru and Haida — though it is possibly all in Tsukuru's head, either imagined or dreamed, and in any event, never discussed.

Tsukuru's name, chosen by his father, a successful businessman in real estate, means "builder" — appropriate for a man who, following his lifelong fascination with train stations, becomes an engineer who designs them. The web of railroad lines spread over Tokyo not only supplies the image for Chip Kidd's striking cover design but an overarching metaphor for how people connect, travel along parallel paths for a stretch, and peel off in different directions, sometimes converging again at a station farther along life's tracks, sometimes missing their stops or connections. Murakami's narrative suggests that the more stations you build — "The kind of station where trains want to stop, even if they have no reason to do so," the greater the likelihood that people will intersect.

Colorless Tsukuru is a quest novel about Tsukuru's journey at thirty-six toward confronting what his new girlfriend calls "unresolved emotional issues." Sara Kimoto, who, not coincidentally, also works in the transportation industry — for a travel agency — is an oddly charmless character, coolly efficient to the point of detachment. On their fourth date, she essentially issues an ultimatum: Find out what really happened sixteen years earlier with his friends and stop living like "a refugee from his own life" — or sayonara. The wonder is that Tsukuru doesn't switch trains, yet Murakami certainly makes us feel his relief at his newfound ability to experience overpowering desire.

As in Murakami's earlier work, music plays a central role. At one point, he compares our lives to "a complex musical score . . . Filled with all sorts of cryptic writing, sixteenth- and thirty-second notes and other strange signs." The "Years of Pilgrimage" in the title refers to Franz Liszt's mid-nineteenth-century set of three suites for solo piano — which in turn refers to the Romantic literature of self-realization, including works by Goethe and Byron. The haunting section titled "Le mal du pays" (homesickness), which occurs late in the first suite, recurs like a leitmotif through Colorless Tsukuru, perfectly capturing the subdued mood of the novel and its theme of yearning for lost innocence. It is a piece that Tsukuru's high school crush, Shiro — graceful, serious and ultimately disturbed — played beautifully, and that Haida later plays on Tsukuru's stereo, eventually giving him the boxed set of Lazar Berman's ethereal recording.

I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that there's a sentimental as well as Romantic-with-a-capital-R aspect to this novel, and some classic Murakami bizarre sidebars, including a long discourse on hyperdactyls, people with six fingers. In fact, it's a difficult book to quote, because out of context, much of the dialogue, especially, sounds either flat or trite: "I'm fond of you, too, very much," Sara responds pallidly at a key moment.

Murakami fans who love his mix of the hyper-real with the occasional dash of the dreamlike might also want to check out Alessandro Baricco's wryly amusing, beguilingly strange pair of interconnected novellas, Mr. Gwyn — which also centers on alienation and music, though with a more determinedly surreal spin — and, coincidentally, also features a gorgeous cover design and appealing small-format hardcover edition. Both Colorless Tsukuru and Mr. Gwyn encourage us to follow their solitary protagonists down intricately branching, often mysterious tracks that lead to surprising destinations — the kind of journey the best books offer.

Heller McAlpin is a New York–based critic who reviews books for NPR.org, The Los Angeles Times, Washington Post, San Francisco Chronicle, Christian Science Monitor, and other publications.

Reviewer: Heller McAlpin

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780385352116
  • Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 8/12/2014
  • Series: Vintage International
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 400
  • Sales rank: 12,961
  • File size: 4 MB

Meet the Author

Haruki Murakami
Haruki Murakami was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into more than fifty languages, and the most recent of his many international honors is the Jerusalem Prize, whose previous recipients include J. M. Coetzee, Milan Kundera, and V. S. Naipaul.

Biography

The The story of how Haruki Murakami decided to become a novelist says a lot about his work, because it is as strange and culturally diffuse as the works he writes. While watching a baseball game in Toyko in 1978 between the Yakult Swallows and the Hiroshima Carp, Murakami witnessed an American hit a double. At the crack of the bat, Murakami -- who had never had any ambition to write because he assumed he didn't have the talent -- decided that he should begin a novel. He then started his first book, in the night hours after work.

If you're waiting for a connection between the double and the epiphany, there isn't one. It's often that way in Murakami's fiction, where cultures blend and seemingly incongruous, inexplicable events move the story forward. People disappear or transform as quickly as the worlds around them, and the result is a dreamlike atmosphere that blends mystery, magic realism and sci-fi while remaining unmistakably distinct from all three.

Murakami was brought up in a suburb of Kobe by parents who were teachers of Japanese literature; but the literature of his parents did not interest him and he read mostly American authors, listened to American jazz and watched American shows. For this reason, though his books are set in Japan and originally written in Japanese, they do not seem terribly foreign to English speakers. South of the Border, West of the Sun's title derives from a Nat King Cole song; and you're as likely to find a reference to McDonald's, Cutty Sark or F. Scott Fitzgerald as you are to anything Japanese.

Murakami began his career with the coming-of-age novels Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball 1973, but he hit his stride with A Wild Sheep Chase, a novel about a twentysomething ad executive who is drawn into the quest for an elusive, mutant sheep. The novel appeared in the U.S. seven years after its 1982 publication, introducing American audiences to this unclassifiable author. It contained many of the traits that mark Murakami's novels: a solitary male protagonist who drifts just outside society; first-person narration; and philosophical passages nestled within outlandish, unconventional plots. An admiring New York Times Book Review called Murakami a "mythmaker for the millennium."

The author's commercial breakthrough in Japan had come with the publication of Norwegian Wood in 1987, which sold two million copies. The story of a man who becomes involved with his best friend's girlfriend after the friend's suicide, it stands alone as the author's most straightforward, realistic work. Murakami acknowledges the book's impact on his career, and stands behind it; but he is also aware that it represented a departure from the surreal books that had made him a "cult" author with a modest following. "After Norwegian Wood, I have not written any purely realistic novels," Murakami said in a 2001 publisher's interview, "and have no intention of writing any more at this time."

Murakami's return to surrealism with Dance Dance Dance (the sequel to A Wild Sheep Chase), however, did not slow his career growth. Further translations of his work and publication of his stories in the New Yorker assured a growing following in the States, where his best known (and, to some, his best) work is The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which appeared here in 1997. It's a masterful work that draws together all of the themes Murakami had been exploring in his fiction up until then: modern ennui, the unpredictability of relationships, a haunting backdrop of Japanese history.

In addition to his sublime and profoundly strange short stories and novels (Sputnik Sweetheart; Kafka on the Shore; Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman, etc.), Murakami has made occasional forays into nonfiction -- most notably with Underground, a compilation of interviews with victims of the 1995 sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subway, and his 2008 memoir of the New York City Marathon, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. He has also translated several works by American authors into Japanese, including title by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Carver, and John Irving.

Good To Know

Murakami owned a small jazz bar in Tokyo for seven years after college, an experience that he enjoyed and called upon when creating the main character of South of the Border, West of the Sun, who also owns a Tokyo jazz bar.

Murakami's first three novels, -- Hear the Wind Sing, Pinball 1973, and A Wild Sheep Chase -- comprise The Trilogy of the Rat.

His most often cited influences are Raymond Chandler, Kurt Vonnegut and Richard Brautigan.

Murakami told an interviewer from Publishers Weekly in 1991 that he considers his first two novels, Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball 1973 "weak," and was not eager to have them translated into English. The translations were published, but are not available in the U.S. Third novel A Wild Sheep Chase was "the first book where I could feel a kind of sensation, the joy of telling a story. When you read a good story, you just keep reading. When I write a good story, I just keep writing."

Daniel Handler, aka children's author Lemony Snicket, is a vocal fan of Murakami's who once wrote a review/paean to the author in the Village Voice entitled "I Love Murakami." "Haruki Murakami is our greatest living practitioner of fiction," he wrote. "....The novels aren't afraid to pull tricks usually banned from serious fiction: They are suspenseful, corny, spooky, and hilarious; they're airplane reading, but when you're through you spend the rest of the flight, the rest of the month, rethinking life."

Murakami has taught at Princeton University, where he wrote most of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and Tufts University. The twin disasters of a gas attack on the Tokyo subway and the Kobe earthquake in 1995 drew the author back to Japan from the United States.

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    1. Hometown:
      Tokyo, Japan
    1. Date of Birth:
      January 12, 1949
    2. Place of Birth:
      Kyoto, Japan
    1. Education:
      Waseda University, 1973
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

From July of his sophomore year in college until the following January, all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying. He turned twenty during this time, but this special watershed—becoming an adult—meant nothing. Taking his own life seemed the most natural solution, and even now he couldn’t say why he hadn’t taken this final step. Crossing that threshold between life and death would have been easier than swallowing down a slick, raw egg.

Perhaps he didn’t commit suicide then because he couldn’t conceive of a method that fit the pure and intense feelings he had toward death. But method was beside the point. If there had been a door within reach that led straight to death, he wouldn’t have hesitated to push it open, without a second thought, as if it were just a part of ordinary life. For better or for worse, though, there was no such door nearby.

 
I really should have died then, Tsukuru often told himself. Then this world, the one in the here and now, wouldn’t exist. It was a captivating, bewitching thought. The present world wouldn’t exist, and reality would no longer be real. As far as this world was concerned, he would simply no longer exist—just as this world would no longer exist for him.

At the same time, Tsukuru couldn’t fathom why he had reached this point, where he was teetering over the precipice. There was an actual event that had led him to this place—this he knew all too well—but why should death have such a hold over him, enveloping him in its embrace for nearly half a year? Envelop—the word expressed it precisely. Like Jonah in the belly of the whale, Tsukuru had fallen into the bowels of death, one untold day after another, lost in a dark, stagnant void.

It was as if he were sleepwalking through life, as if he had already died but not yet noticed it. When the sun rose, so would Tsukuru—he’d brush his teeth, throw on whatever clothes were at hand, ride the train to college, and take notes in class. Like a person in a storm desperately grasping at a lamppost, he clung to this daily routine. He only spoke to people when necessary, and after school, he would return to his solitary apartment, sit on the floor, lean back against the wall, and ponder death and the failures of his life. Before him lay a huge, dark abyss that ran straight through to the earth’s core. All he could see was a thick cloud of nothingness swirling around him; all he could hear was a profound silence squeezing his eardrums.

When he wasn’t thinking about death, his mind was blank. It wasn’t hard to keep from thinking. He didn’t read any newspapers, didn’t listen to music, and had no sexual desire to speak of. Events occurring in the outside world were, to him, inconsequential. When he grew tired of his room, he wandered aimlessly around the neighborhood or went to the station, where he sat on a bench and watched the trains arriving and departing, over and over again.

He took a shower every morning, shampooed his hair well, and did the laundry twice a week. Cleanliness was another one of his pillars: laundry, bathing, and teeth brushing. He barely noticed what he ate. He had lunch at the college cafeteria, but other than that, he hardly consumed a decent meal. When he felt hungry he stopped by the local supermarket and bought an apple or some vegetables. Sometimes he ate plain bread, washing it down with milk straight from the carton.  When it was time to sleep, he’d gulp down a glass of whiskey as if it were a dose of medicine. Luckily he wasn’t much of a drinker, and a small dose of alcohol was all it took to send him off to sleep. He never dreamed. But even if he had dreamed, even if dreamlike images arose from the edges of his mind, they would have found nowhere to perch on the slippery slopes of his consciousness, instead quickly sliding off, down into the void.
 
 
 
The reason why death had such a hold on Tsukuru Tazaki was clear. One day his four closest friends, the friends he’d known for a long time, announced that they did not want to see him, or talk with him, ever again. It was a sudden, decisive declaration, with no room for compromise. They gave no explanation, not a word, for this harsh pronouncement. And Tsukuru didn’t dare ask.

He’d been friends with the four of them since high school, though when they cut him off, Tsukuru had already left his hometown and was attending college in Tokyo. So being banished didn’t have any immediate negative effects on his daily routine—it wasn’t like there would be awkward moments when he’d run into them on the street. But that was just quibbling. The pain he felt was, if anything, more intense, and weighed down on him even more greatly because of the physical distance. Alienation and loneliness became a cable that stretched hundreds of miles long, pulled to the breaking point by a gigantic winch. And through that taut line, day and night, he received indecipherable messages. Like a gale blowing between trees, those messages varied in strength as they reached him in fragments, stinging his ears.
 
 
 
The five of them had been classmates at a public high school in the suburbs of Nagoya. Three boys, and two girls. During summer vacation of their freshman year, they all did some volunteer work together and became friends. Even after freshman year, when they were in different classes, they remained a close-knit group. The volunteer work that had brought them together had been part of a social studies summer assignment, but even after it ended, they chose to volunteer as a group.

Besides the volunteer work, they went hiking together on holidays, played tennis, swam at the Chita Peninsula, or got together at one of their houses to study for tests. Or else—and this was what they did most often—they just hung out someplace, and talked for hours.  It wasn’t like they showed up with a topic in mind—they just never ran out of things to talk about.

Pure chance had brought them together. There were several volunteer opportunities they could have chosen from, but the one they all chose, independently, was an after-school tutoring program for elementary school kids (most of whom were children who refused to go to school). The program was run by a Catholic church, and of the thirty-five students in their high school class, the five of them were the only ones who selected it. To start, they participated in a three-day summer camp outside Nagoya, and got to be good friends with the children.

Whenever they took a break, the five of them gathered to talk. They got to know each other better, sharing their ideas and opening up about their dreams, as well as their problems. And when the summer camp was over, each one of them felt they were in the right place, where they needed to be, with the perfect companions. A unique sense of harmony developed between them—each one needed the other four and, in turn, shared the sense that they too were needed. The whole convergence was like a lucky but entirely accidental chemical fusion, something that could only happen once. You might gather the same materials and make identical preparations, but you would never be able to duplicate the result.

After the initial volunteer period, they spent about two weekends a month at the after-school program, teaching the kids, reading to them, playing with them. They mowed the lawn, painted the building, and repaired playground equipment. They continued this work for the next two years, until they graduated from high school.

The only source of tension among them was the uneven number—the fact that their group was comprised of three boys and two girls. If two of the boys and two of the girls became couples, the remaining boy would be left out. That possibility must have always been hanging over their heads like a small, thick, lenticular cloud. But it never happened, nor did it even seem a likely possibility.
 
 
 
Perhaps coincidentally, all five of them were from suburban, upper-middle-class families. Their parents were baby boomers; their fathers were all professionals. Their parents spared no expense when it came to their children’s education. On the surface, at least, their families were peaceful, and stable. None of their parents got divorced, and most of them had stay-at-home mothers. Their high school emphasized academics, and their grades were uniformly good. Overall there were far more similarities than differences in their everyday environments.

And aside from Tsukuru Tazaki, they had another small, coincidental point in common: their last names all contained a color. The two boys’ last names were Akamatsu—which means  “red pine”—and Oumi—“blue sea”; the girls’ family names were Shirane—“white root”—and Kurono—“black field.” Tazaki was the only last name that did not have a color in its meaning. From the very beginning this fact made him feel a little bit left out. Of course, whether or not you had a color as part of your name had nothing to do with your personality. Tsukuru understood this. But still, it disappointed him, and he surprised himself by feeling hurt. Soon, the other four friends began to use nicknames: the boys were called Aka (red) and Ao (blue); and the girls were Shiro (white) and Kuro (black). But he just remained Tsukuru. How great it would be, he often thought, if I had a color in my name too. Then everything would be perfect.

Aka was the one with the best grades. He never seemed to study hard, yet was at the top of his class in every subject. He never bragged about his grades, however, and preferred to cautiously stay in the background, almost as if he were embarrassed to be so smart. But as often is the case with short people—he never grew past five foot three—once he made up his mind about something, no matter how trivial it might be, he never backed down. And he was bothered by illogical rules and by teachers who couldn’t meet his exacting standards. He hated to lose; whenever he lost a tennis match, it put him in a bad mood. He didn’t act out, or pout—instead, he just became unusually quiet. The other four friends found his short temper amusing and often teased him about it. Eventually Aka would always break down and laugh along with them. His father was a professor of economics at Nagoya University.

Ao was impressively built, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest, as well as a broad forehead, a generous mouth, and an imposing nose. He was a forward on the rugby team, and in his senior year he was elected team captain. He really hustled on the field and was constantly getting cuts and bruises. He wasn’t good at buckling down and studying, but he was a cheerful person and enormously popular among his classmates. He always looked people straight in the eye, spoke in a clear, strong voice, and had an amazing appetite, seeming to enjoy everything set down in front of him. He also had a quick recall of people’s names and faces, and seldom said anything bad about anyone else. He was a good listener and a born leader. Tsukuru could never forget the way he’d gather his team around him before a match to give them a pep talk.

“Listen up!” Ao would bellow. “We’re going to win. The only question is how and by how much. Losing is not an option for us. You hear me? Losing is not an option!”

“Not an option!” the team would shout, before rushing out onto the field.

Not that their high school rugby team was all that good. Ao was clever and extremely athletic, but the team itself was mediocre. When they went up against teams from private schools, where players had been recruited from all over the country on athletic scholarships, Ao’s team usually lost. “What’s important,” he’d tell his friends, “is the will to win. In the real world we can’t always win. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.”

“And sometimes you get rained out,” Kuro remarked, with typical sarcasm.

Ao shook his head sadly. “You’re confusing rugby with baseball or tennis. Rugby’s never postponed on account of rain.”

“You play even when it’s raining?” Shiro asked, surprised. Shiro knew next to nothing about  sports, and had zero interest in them.

“That’s right,” Aka said seriously. “Rugby matches are never canceled. No matter how hard it rains. That’s why every year you get a lot of players who drown during matches.”

“My God, that’s awful!” Shiro said.

“Don’t be silly. He’s joking,” Kuro said, in a slightly disgusted tone.

“If you don’t mind,” Ao went on, “my point is that if you’re an athlete you have to learn how to be a good loser.”

“You certainly get a lot of practice with that every day,” Kuro said.

Shiro was tall and slim, with a model’s body and the graceful features of a traditional Japanese doll. Her long hair was a silky, lustrous black. Most people who passed her on the street would turn around for a second look, but she seemed to find her beauty embarrassing. She was a serious person, who above all else disliked drawing attention to herself. She was also a wonderful, skilled pianist, though she would never play for someone she didn’t know. She seemed happiest while teaching piano to children in an after-school program. During these lessons, Shiro looked completely relaxed, more relaxed than Tsukuru saw her at any other  time. Several of the children, Shiro said, might not be good at regular schoolwork, but they had a natural talent for music and it would be a shame to not develop it. The school only had an old upright piano, almost an antique, so the five of them started a fund-raising drive to buy a new one. They worked part-time during summer vacation, and persuaded a company that made musical instruments to help them out. In the spring of their senior year, their hard work finally paid off, resulting in the purchase of a grand piano for the school. Their campaign caught people’s attention and was even featured in a newspaper.

Shiro was usually quiet, but she loved animals so much that when a conversation turned to dogs and cats, her face lit up and the words would cascade out from her. Her dream was to become a veterinarian, though Tsukuru couldn’t picture her with a scalpel, slicing open the belly of a Labrador retriever, or sticking her hand up the anus of a horse. If she went to vet school, that’s exactly the kind of training she’d have to do. Her father ran an ob-gyn clinic in Nagoya.

Kuro wasn’t beautiful, but she was eager and charming and always curious. She was large-boned and full-bodied, and already had a well-developed bust by the time she was sixteen. She was independent and tough, with a mind as quick as her tongue. She did well in humanities subjects, but was hopeless at math and physics. Her father ran an accounting firm in Nagoya, but there was no way she would ever be able to help out. Tsukuru often helped her with her math homework. She could be sarcastic but had a unique, refreshing sense of humor, and he found talking with her fun and stimulating. She was a great reader, too, and always had a book under her arm.

Shiro and Kuro had been in the same class in junior high and knew each other well, even before the five of them became friends. To see them together was a wonderful sight: a unique and captivating combination of a beautiful, shy artist and a clever, sarcastic comedian.

Tsukuru Tazaki was the only one in the group without anything special about him. His grades were slightly above average. He wasn’t especially interested in academics, though he did pay close attention during class and always made sure to do the minimum amount of practice  and review needed to get by. From the time he was little, that was his habit, no different from washing your hands before you eat and brushing your teeth after a meal. So although his grades were never stellar, he always passed his classes with ease. As long as he kept his grades up, his parents were never inclined to pester him to attend cram school or study with a tutor.

He didn’t mind sports but never was interested enough to join a team. He’d play the occasional game of tennis  with his family or friends,  and go skiing or swimming every once in a while. That was about it. He was pretty good-looking, and sometimes people even told him so, but what they really meant was that he had no particular defects to speak of. Sometimes, when he looked at his face in the mirror, he detected an incurable boredom. He had no deep interest in the arts, no hobby or special skill. He was, if anything, a bit taciturn; he blushed  easily, wasn’t especially outgoing, and could never relax around people he’d just met.

If pressed to identify something special about him, one might notice that his family was the most affluent of the five friends, or that an aunt on his mother’s side was an actress—not a star by any means,  but still fairly well known. But when it came to Tsukuru himself, there was not one single quality he possessed that was worth bragging about or showing off to others. At least that was how he viewed himself. Everything about him was middling, pallid, lacking in color.

The only real interest he had was train stations. He wasn’t sure why, but for as long as he could remember, he had loved to observe train stations—they had always appealed to him. Huge bullet-train stations; tiny, one-track stations out in the countryside; rudimentary freight-collection stations—it didn’t matter what kind, because as long as it was a railway station, he loved it. Everything about stations moved him deeply.

Like most little boys he enjoyed assembling model trains, but what really fascinated him weren’t the elaborate locomotives or cars, the intricately intersecting rail tracks, or the cleverly designed dioramas. No, it was the models of ordinary stations set down among the other parts, like an afterthought. He loved to watch as the trains passed by the station, or slowed down as they pulled up to the platform. He could picture the passengers coming and going, the announcements on the speaker system, the ringing of the signal as a train was about to depart, the station employees  briskly going about their duties. What was real and what was imaginary mingled in his mind, and he’d tremble sometimes with the excitement of it all. But he could never adequately explain to people why he was so attracted to the stations. Even if he could, he knew they would think he was one weird kid. And sometimes Tsukuru himself wondered if something wasn’t exactly right with him.

Though he lacked a striking personality, or any qualities that made him stand out, and despite always aiming for what was average, the middle of the road, there was (or seemed to be) something about him that wasn’t exactly normal, something that set him apart. And this contradiction continued to perplex and confuse him, from his boyhood all the way to the present, when he was thirty-six years old. Sometimes the confusion was momentary and insubstantial, at other times deep and profound.
 
 
 
Sometimes Tsukuru couldn’t understand why he was included in their group of five. Did the others  really need him? Wouldn’t they be able to relax and have a better time if he weren’t there?  Maybe they just hadn’t realized it yet, and it was only a matter of time before they did? The more he pondered this dilemma, the less he understood. Trying to sort out his value to the group was like trying to weigh something that had no unit value. The needle on the scale wouldn’t settle on a number.

But none of these concerns  seemed to bother the other four. Tsukuru could see that they genuinely loved it when all five of them got together as a group. Like an equilateral pentagon, where all sides are the same length, their group’s formation had to be composed of five people exactly—any more or any less wouldn’t do. They believed that this was true. 

And naturally Tsukuru was happy, and proud, to be included as one indispensable side of the pentagon. He loved his four friends, loved the sense of belonging he felt when he was with them. Like a young tree absorbing nutrition from the soil, Tsukuru got the sustenance he needed as an adolescent from this group, using it as necessary food to grow, storing what was left as an emergency heat source inside him. Still, he had a constant, nagging fear that someday he would fall away from this intimate community, or be forced out and left on his own. Anxiety raised its head, like a jagged, ominous rock exposed by the receding  tide, the fear that he would be separated from the group and end up entirely alone.

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Reading Group Guide

The introduction, author biography, discussion questions, and suggested reading that follow are designed to enhance your group’s discussion of Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage, the eagerly anticipated new novel by Haruki Murakami.

1. What is the significance of the name of the novel, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage? Why is Tsukuru branded “colorless”? Would you say that this an accurate description of him? Is this how Tsukuru sees himself or is it how he is seen by others? What kind of pilgrimage does Tsukuru embark upon and how does he change as a result of this pilgrimage? What causes these changes?

2. Why does Tsukuru wait so many years before attempting to find out why he was banished from the group? How does he handle the deep depression he feels as a result of this rejection and how is he changed by this period of suffering? Is Tsukuru the only character who suffers in this way? If not, who else suffers at what is the cause? Do you believe that their distress could have been avoided? If so, how?

3. Do you consider Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki a realistic work of fiction? Why or why not? What fantastical or surreal elements does Murakami employ in the novel and what purpose do they serve? What do these elements reveal that strictly realistic elements might not? Kuro says, “I do think that sometimes a certain kind of dream can be even stronger than reality” (310). In considering genre, do you believe that this is true?

4. Tsukuru reveals that his father chose his name, which means “to make things.” Is this an apt name for Tsukuru? Why or why not? How does Tsukuru’s understanding of his own name affect the way that he sees himself? Where else in the story does the author address making things? Are they portrayed as positive or useful activities?

5. Why is Tsukuru’s friendship with Haida so important? What is the outcome of this relationship? How does the relationship ultimately affect Tsukuru’s perception of himself? Does it alter Tsukuru’s response to the rejection he was subjected to years earlier in any way?

6. Why does Haida share with Tsukuru the story about his father and the strange piano player who speaks of death? What might this teach us about the purpose of storytelling? How does Tsukuru react to this story? Is he persuaded by Haida’s tale? What does the story teach us about belief and the power of persuasion?

7. Sara says that we live in an age where “we’re surrounded by an enormous amount of information about other people. If you feel like it, you can easily gather than information about them. Having said that, we still hardly know anything about people” (148). Do the characters in the story know each other very well? Do you believe that technology in today’s world has helped or hindered us in knowing each other better?

8. When Tsukuru finally sees three of his friends again, how have each of them changed? How do they react to seeing one another after all this time? Are their reactions strange and unexpected or predictable? What unexpected changes have taken place over the years, and why are they surprising to Tsukuru? Has anything remained consistent?

9. When Tsukuru visits the pizzeria in Finland, how does he react after realizing he is the only one there who is alone? How is this different from his usual response to isolation throughout the story? Discuss what this might indicate about the role that setting plays in determining Tsukuru’s emotional state.

10. Does Tsukuru’s self-image and understanding of his role within the group align with how they saw Tsukuru and perceived his role in their group? If not, what causes differences in their perceptions? Do Tsukuru’s thoughts about his rejection from the group align with his friends’ understanding of why he was banished? How did Tsukuru’s banishment affect the other members of the group?

11. Why do Tsukuru and Kuro say that they may be partly responsible for Shiro’s murder? Do you believe that the group did the right thing by protecting Shiro? Why or why not?

12. The Franz Liszt song “Le mal du pays” is a recurring motif in the novel. Shiro plays the song on the piano; Haida leaves a recording of it behind; Tsukuru listens to it again and again; Kuro also has a recording. Why might the author have chosen to include this song in particular in the story? What effect does its repetition have on the reader—and the characters in the novel?

13. Sara tells Tsukuru: “You can hide memories, but you can’t erase the history that produced them” (44). What does she mean by this? Do you agree with her statement?

14. Kuro says that she believes an evil spirit had inhabited Shiro, and as Tsukuru is leaving her home, Kuro tells him not to let the bad elves get him. Elsewhere in the story, the piano player asks Haida’s father whether he believes in a devil. Does the novel seem to indicate whether there is such a thing as evil—existing apart from mankind, or is darkness characterized as an innate part of man’s psyche?

15. While visiting Kuro, Tsukuru comes to the realization “One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds” (322). This, he says, “is what lies at the root of true harmony.” What does he mean by this? Do you agree with his statement?

16. Why does Tsukuru seem to be so interested in railroad stations? How does his interest in these stations affect his relationship with his high school friends? Later in his life, how does this interest affect his understanding of friendship and relationships? The author revisits Tsukuru’s interest in railroad stations at the end of the book and refers to the sarin gas attack on the Tokyo subways in 1995 great disaster of 3/11 in Japan. Why do you think that Murakami makes mention of this incident? Does this reference change your interpretation of the story?

17. Is Tsukuru’s decision with respect to Sara at the end of the story indicative of some kind of personal progress? What is significant about his gesture? How has Tsukuru changed by the story’s end? Do you believe that the final scene provides sufficient resolution of the issues raised at the start of the story? Does it matter that readers are not ultimately privy to Sara’s response to Tsukuru’s gesture?

18. Tsukuru wishes that he had told Kuro, “Not everything was lost in the flow of time” (385). What does he believe was preserved although time has gone by? What did the members of the group ultimately gain through their friendship despite their split?

19. How does Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki compare to Haruki Murakami’s earlier novels? What themes do the works share? What elements of Murakami’s latest novel are different or unexpected?

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 31 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(14)

4 Star

(7)

3 Star

(7)

2 Star

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1 Star

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 31 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 12, 2014

    Not great

    I looked forward to a new book from this author and was overall disappointed because it just wasnt that good. Sad to be letdown

    5 out of 19 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted October 3, 2014

    Not his best, but still great

    If you've liked Murakami's other books you probably will like this one. If you like books that have straightforward plots and neat endings then you probably won't like this one. There are some pretty obvious cliches in the beginning but if you pass over them you enjoy the story.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 5, 2014

    Interesting, but not as great as his IQ84

    I really enjoyed Haruki Murakami's book IQ84, and couldn't wait to read this new book Colorless Tsukuri, but found it interesting with a less than satisfactory ending. Some people may like an ending that is vague, so it can be Imagined, but I found it to be an anticlimax. Mr. Murakami is a very creative author and describes his characters and settings with great detail, non of which is repetitive and some of his observations of mundane daily human life are thought provoking. I gave it a 5/5 as it was well written, but just not the mind gripping tale I had hoped it would be. His IQ84 would be a 10/5 in comparison.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 1, 2014

    I'll give this book three stars. It's a good book in its own ri

    I'll give this book three stars. It's a good book in its own right, but for Mr. Murakami, I was a bit disappointed. There was a lot of redundancy and the ending seemed rushed. It reads like a short story that was unnecessarily stretched and pulled into 240 page novel.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 25, 2014

    The plot was as lackluster as the main character. This immature

    The plot was as lackluster as the main character. This immature character was no anyone I would want to spend time with. The problem character development never matured either.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 17, 2014

    Haruki Murakami adjusted the pace of the main character Tourkur

    Haruki Murakami adjusted the pace of the main character Tourkuri ever so slightly
    throughout the book but even with this subtle pace the book kept your
    interest & intrigued me until the very end.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 17, 2014

    Another solid contribution

    Is the sometimes stunted writing intentional or the result of poor translation? Does it matter? I can't answer the first; but the second is no! There is so much to appreciate, so much beautiful prose,so many astute but mystical observations about life, so much of Murakami's surrealistic metaphors, all wrapped in his unresolved plot, unsurpassed simplicity and marvelous structure that the book adds up to a wonder.
    Caution: Those who don't want to ponder the symbolism, who prefer neatly tied up conclusions, and who want an uncomplicated protagonist - - - Stay Away.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted October 7, 2014

    Great Read - Another Murakami winner

    Murakami is a master of metaphor with deep meanings behind names, locations, actions, food, music, and every other aspect of his stories. While some have criticized this book as being too long, I believe the length does justice to the story being told. If it were shorter, the flavor or Tazaki, his four friends, and his girlfriend would be lost.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 29, 2014

    Surprisingly, this novel is more like "Norwegian Wood"

    Surprisingly, this novel is more like "Norwegian Wood" and less like "1Q84."  It is surprising because I have read that Murakami has said that he would not write another novel like "Norwegian Wood." There are some surreal elements in the form of dreams and tales and the reader is tempted to ponder whether they may intersect with reality in some way but, ultimately, it's easier to believe that they are just what they appear to be.  Typically, Murakami leaves most of the readers questions unanswered, one so blatantly that it feels like a deliberate parody.  Atypically, I do not believe that there is a single cat mentioned in the whole novel.  If you are reading it after you read this, please correct me if I am wrong.  Like all of Murakami's writings, I found it frustrating at times but ultimately a good read.I did not enjoy it as much as, say, "1Q84" or "The Wind up Bird Chronicle" but it is definitely worth the read.    

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted August 24, 2014

    Nothing less than exceptional 

    Nothing less than exceptional 

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted April 17, 2015

    Text book Murakami

    I have come to know Murakami for his engaging stories, tranquil pace and open ended stories. This book is no different. The protagonist is unable to able to view himself as others see him and as he traces back his past history with former friends, he becomes more and more enlightened. It is a enjoyable story of a man finding himself and what he wants, but as always there is room for interpretation at the end. I always recommend reading this book in a group so these type of events can be discussed.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 29, 2014

    Firepaw to ravenwing

    Ravenwing we want you back at tigerclan and besides do you really want to lead a clan with no cats this place is desserted.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 24, 2014

    Me

    "I'll be the leader. My name is Ravenwing", the black she-cat meowed.

    Name: Ravenwing
    Age: 25 moons
    Gender: she-cat
    Looks: black with a white chest, white front paws, and a white muzzle with ice-blue eyes.
    Occupation: warrior, possible leader
    Other Clans I've been in: TigerClan
    Former names: Raven, Ravenkit, Ravenpaw
    History: was born as a loner and taken to TigerClan at 2 moons old.
    Personality: kind, calm, fierce, brave, naturally suspicious of everyone, easily annoyed.
    Notes: PLEEEEASE LET ME BE YOUR LEADER!!!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 7, 2014

    THis book is only for deep thinkers!

    I found the concepts in Murakami's book unusual and interesting, but it made for
    slow reading. I'm reading it as part of a book club and I'm anxious to hear what
    pthers say.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 4, 2014

    Book came slightly damaged

    I received the book in almost pristine condition however, I was disappointed to find that the corner of the paper cover was ripped. I was really disappointed, however I am quite excited to read the book .

    0 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 3, 2014

    Engrossing

    A very human story almost completely blurring cultural differences. Well worth your time.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 26, 2014

    Must Read!

    I at first was not sure what to expect when I got this book. I had read a great review on it from one of my favorite Time magazine writers, so I trusted his judgment, and I am happy to say that I truly enjoyed this book. Murakami's voice as an author is incredible, and the way he lets the reader feel as though he/she is on a journey with the main character is amazing. I would recommend this book to anyone who has ever questioned a relationship with friends, family, or anyone in his/her life or who has forgotten about something from their past that made them who they are.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 25, 2014

    Murakami has to be one of my favorite writers and storytellers o

    Murakami has to be one of my favorite writers and storytellers of all time, but I'm only giving this particular book three stars; leaving me saddened, in my own personal feelings during my reading; saddened for the main character's feelings; and saddened in the overall writing of this story. The boredom I continually felt, fought with my knowledge of my wanting to find something worth salvaging from this story.  There were fits and spurts of words of wisdom, but confused with sexual meaningless.  I felt as if I were in the midst of a Murakami personal journal, not good, not bad, just lacklusterly there and resigned.  I think “lackluster” pretty much covers it in a word.  Yes, writers can leave endings to the reader’s own imagination, but my imagination was split right down the middle, almost hoping Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki would simply die in the end from one of his “shooting pains to the heart”  Yes, again, this main character depressed me to that point.....instead he fades away...into his colorless unconscious.  Was there hope in the end?  Only Murakami can answer that.....  

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  • Posted September 19, 2014

    A good read.

    If you don't like books with cliff hangers, this is not the book for you. However, if you do then, read on. The writing itself was great, I actually liked the prose.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted September 11, 2014

    I would suggest that readers listen to Years of Pilgrimage on Yo

    I would suggest that readers listen to Years of Pilgrimage on YouTube. I wish i had listened to it as a read the book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 31 Customer Reviews

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