Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami (trans. by Philip Gabriel).

[midnight_birth]

Title: Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage.
Author: Haruki Murakami (translated by Philip Gabriel).
Genre: Fiction.
Country: Japan.
Language: English.
Publication Date: 2013.
Summary: The story of a young man haunted by a great loss; of dreams and nightmares that have unintended consequences for the world around us; and of a journey into the past that is necessary to mend the present. When Tsukuru Tazaki was in school, he and his four best friends shared an uncommon closeness. Suddenly and without explanation, however, the group cuts Tazaki off, a traumatic shock that sends waves of pain, loss, and betrayal down the years of his life. After more than a decade of life devoid of intimacy, the 36-year-old civil engineer decides to track his friends down, and finally discover the reasoning behind the event that changed the course of his mind and his life.

My rating: 8/10.
My review:


♥ 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 let 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.

♥ 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.

♥ 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.

♥ 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.

♥ "We had several unspoken rules among us, one of them being As much as we possibly can, we do things together, all five of us. We tried to avoid having just two of us, for instance, going off somewhere. Otherwise, we were worried that the group might fall apart. We had to be a centripetal unit. I'm not sure how to put it-we were trying our best to maintain the group as an orderly, harmonious community."

"An orderly, harmonious community?" Genuine surprise showed in her voice.

Tsukuru blushed a little. "We were in high school, and had all kinds of weird ideas."

Sara looked intently at Tsukuru, cocking her head a degree or two. "I don't find it weird. But what was the purpose of that community?"

"The original purpose, like I said, was to help out at an after-school program. This was where we all met and we all felt strongly about it-it remained an important collective goal. But as time passed, simply being a community ourselves became one of our goals, too."

"You mean maintaining the group itself, and keeping it going, became one of your aims."

"I guess so."

Sara narrowed her eyes in a tight line. "Just like the universe."

"I don't know much about the universe," Tsukuru said. "But for us it was very important. We had to protect the special chemistry that had developed among us. Like protecting a lit match, keeping it from blowing out in the wind."

"Chemistry?"

"The power that happened to arise at that point. Something that could never be reproduced."

"Like the Big Bang?"

♥ "But didn't you feel lonely?" Sara asked.

"I felt alone, but not especially lonely. I guess I just took that for granted."

He was young, and there was so much about the world he still didn't know. And Tokyo was a brand-new place for him, so very different from the environment he'd grown up in, and those differences were greater than he'd ever anticipated. The scale of the city was overwhelming, the diversity of life there extraordinary. There were too many choices of things to do, the way people talked struck him as odd, and the pace of life was too fast. He couldn't strike a good balance between himself and the world around him. But there was still a place for him to return. He knew this. Get on the bullet train at the Tokyo station and in an hour and a half he'd arrive at an orderly, harmonious, intimate place. Where time flowed by peacefully, where friends he could confide in eagerly awaited him.

♥ "That was the first time in my life that anyone had rejected me so completely," Tsukuru said. "And the ones who did it were the people I trusted the most, my four best friends in the world. I was so close to them that they had been like an extension of my own body. Searching for the reason, or correcting a misunderstanding, was beyond me. I was simply, and utterly, in shock. So much so that I thought I might never recover. It felt like something inside me had snapped."

♥ "It was a long time ago, and it's all sunk within the past."

Sara's thin lips came together, and then she spoke. "I think that's dangerous."

"Dangerous? How so?"

"You can hide memories, but you can't erase the history that produced them." Sara looked directly into his eyes. "If nothing else, you need to remember that. You can't erase history, or change it. It would be like destroying yourself."

♥ That summer, after he returned to Tokyo from Nagoya, Tsukuru was transfixed by the odd sensation that, physically, he was being completely transformed. Colors he'd once seen appeared completely different, as if they'd been covered by a special filter. He heard sounds that he'd never heard before, and couldn't make out other noises that had always been familiar. When he moved, he felt clumsy and awkward. As if gravity were shifting around him.

For the five months after he returned to Tokyo, Tsukuru lived at death's door. He set up a tiny place to dwell, all by himself, on the rim of a dark abyss. A perilous spot, teetering on the edge, where, if he rolled over in his sleep, he might plunge into the depth of the void. Yet he wasn't afraid. All he thought about was how easy it would be to fall in.

All around him, for as far as he could see, lay a rough land strewn with rocks, with not a drop of water, nor a blade of grass. Colorless, with no light to speak of. No sun, no moon or stars. No sense of direction, either. At a set time, a mysterious twilight and a bottomless darkness merely exchanged places. A remote border on the edges of consciousness. At the same time, it was a place of strange abundance. At twilight birds with razor-sharp beaks came to relentlessly scoop out his flesh. But as darkness covered the land, the birds would fly off somewhere, and that land would silently fill in the gaps in his flesh with something else, some other indeterminate material.

Tsukuru couldn't fathom what this substance was. He couldn't accept or reject it. It merely settled on his body as a shadowy swarm, laying an ample amount of shadowy eggs. Then darkness would withdraw and twilight would return, bringing with it the birds, who once again slashed away at his body.

He was himself then, but at the same time, he was not. He was Tsukuru Tazaki, and not Tsukuru Tazaki. When he couldn't stand the pain, he distanced himself from his body and, from a nearby, painless spot, observed Tsukuru Tazaki enduring the agony. If he concentrated really hard, it wasn't impossible.

Even now that feeling would sometimes spring up. The sense of leaving himself. Of observing his own pain as if it were not his own.

♥ A sudden thought struck him-maybe I really did die. When the four of them rejected me, perhaps the young man named Tsukuru Tazaki really did pass away. Only his exterior remained, but just barely, and then over the course of the next half year, even that shell was replaced, as his body and face underwent a drastic change. The feeling of the wind, the sound of rushing water, the sense of sunlight breaking through the clouds, the colors of flowers as the seasons changed-everything around him felt changed, as if they had all be recast. The person here now, the one he saw in the mirror, might at first glance resemble Tsukuru Tazaki, but it wasn't actually him. It was merely a container that, for the sake of convenience, was labeled with the same name-but its contents had been replaced. He was called by that name simply because there was, for the time being, no other name to call him.

♥ Jealousy-at least as far as he understood it from his dream-was the most hopeless prison in the world. Jealousy was not a place he was forced into by someone else, but a jail in which the inmate entered voluntarily, locked the door, and threw away the key. And not another soul in the world knew he was locked inside. Of course if he wanted to escape, he could do so. The prison was, after all, his own heart. But he couldn't make that decision. His heart was as hard as a stone wall. This was the very essence of jealousy.

♥ He speculated that, just as a powerful west wind blows away thick banks of clouds, the graphic, scorching emotion that passed through his soul in the form of a dream must have canceled and negated the longing for death, a longing that had reached out and grabbed him around the neck.

All that remained now was a sort of quiet resignation. A colorless, neutral, empty feeling. He was sitting alone in a huge, old, vacant house, listening as a massive grandfather clock holllowly ticked away time. His mouth was closed, his eyes fixed on the clock as he watched the hands move forward. His feelings were wrapped in layer upon layer of thin membrane and his heart was still a blank, as he aged, one hour at a time.

♥ In any case, the boy named Tsukuru Tazaki had died. In the savage darkness he'd breathed his last and was buried in a small clearing in the forest. Quietly, secretly, in the predawn while everyone was still fast asleep. There was no grave marker. And what stood here now, breathing, was a brand-new Tsukuru Tazaki, one whose substance had been totally replaced. But he was the only one who knew this. And he didn't plan to tell.

Just as before, he made the rounds sketching railroad stations and never missed a lecture at college. When he got up, he'd take a shower, wash his hair, and always brush his teeth after eating. He made his bed every morning, and ironed his own shirts. He did his best to keep busy. At night he read for two hours or so, mostly history or biographies. A long-standing habit. 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.

Every morning he'd stand at the bathroom sink and study his face in the mirror. And slowly he grew used to this new self, with all its changes. It was like acquiring a new language, memorizing the grammar.

♥ When he was back in his hometown for his father's funeral, he half expected his four friends to show up to pay their condolences. He wondered how he should greet them if they did. But none of them showed up. Tsukuru felt relieved, but at the same time a little sad, and it hit him all over again: what they had had really was over. They could never go back again. All five of them were already, at this point, thirty years old-no longer the age when one dreamed of an ordered, harmonious community of friends.

♥ That's how he became the person known as Tsukuru Tazaki. Before that, he'd been nothing-dark, nameless chaos and nothing more. A less-than-seven-pound pink lump of flesh barely able to breathe in the darkness, or cry out. First he was given a name. Then consciousness and memory developed, and, finally, ego. But everything began with his name.

♥ "It's too bad you're on the physics department. You should open a restaurant," Tsukuru said, half joking.

Haida laughed. "That sounds good. But I don't like to be tied down in one place. I want to be free-to go where I want, when I want, and be able to think about whatever I want."

"Sure, but that can't be easy to actually do."

"It isn't. But I've made up my mind. I always want to be free. I like cooking, but I don't want to be holed up in a kitchen doing it as a job. If that happened, I'd end up hating somebody."

"Hating somebody?"

"The cook hates the waiter; and they both hate the customer," Haida said. "A line from the Arnold Wesker play The Kitchen. People whose freedom is taken away always end up hating somebody. Right? I know I don't want to live like that."

"Never being constrained, thinking about things freely-that's what you're hoping for?"

"Exactly."

"But it seems to me that thinking about things freely can't be easy."

"It means leaving behind your physical body. Leaving the cage of your physical flesh, breaking free of the chains, and letting pure logic soar free. Giving a natural life to logic. That's the core of free thought."

"It doesn't sound easy."

Haida shook his head. "No, depending on how you look at it, it's not that hard. Most people do it at times, without even realizing it. That's how they manage to stay sane. They're just not aware that's what they're doing."

.."But unless you can do that intentionally," Tsukuru said, "you can't achieve the real freedom of thought you're talking about, right?"

Haida nodded. "Exactly. But it's as difficult as intentionally dreaming. It's way beyond your average person."

"Yet you want to be able to do it intentionally."

"You could say that."

"I don't imagine they teach that technique in the physics department."

Haida laughed. "I never expected they would. What I'm looking for here is a free environment, and time. That's all. In an academic setting if you want to discuss what it means to think, you first need to agree on a theoretical definition. And that's where things get sticky. Originality is nothing but judicious imitation. So said Voltaire, the realist. .. Everything has boundaries. The same holds true with thought. You shouldn't fear boundaries, but you also should not be afraid of destroying them. That's what is most important if you want to be free: respect for and exasperation with boundaries. What's really important in life is always the things that are secondary. That's about all I can say."

.."Can I ask you a question? ..In different religions prophets fall into a kind of ecstasy and receive a message from an absolute being. ..And this takes place somewhere that transcends free will, right? Always passively. ..And that message surpasses the boundaries of the individual prophet and functions in a broader, universal way. ..And in that message there is neither contradiction nor equivocation. ..I don't get it," Tsukuru said. "If that's true, then what's the value of human free will?"

"That's a great question," Haida said, and smiled quietly. The kind of smile a cat gives as it stretches out, napping in the sun. "I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't. Not yet."

♥ "It's strange, isn't it? No matter how quiet and conformist a person's life seems, there's always a time in the past when they reached an impasse. A time wen they went a little crazy. I guess people need that sort of stage in their lives."

♥ Aren't you interested in what's going on now in Tokyo? Midorikawa asked. It's quite a spectacle. One uproar after another, every day. Like the whole world's turned upside down. Don't you feel bad that you're missing out?

The world isn't that easily turned upside down, Haida replied. It's people who are turned upside down. I don't feel bad about missing that.

♥ "So you believe in logic, do you?" Midorikawa said.

"I do. I believe in logic, and I rely on it. That's what philosophy's all about, after all," Haida replied.

"So you don't much like anything that's at odds with logic?"

"Apart from whether I like it or not, I don't reject thinking about things that aren't logical. It's not like I have some deep faith in logic. I think it's important to find the point of intersection between what is logical and what is not."

"Do you believe in the devil?"

"The devil? You mean the guy with horns?"

"That's right. Whether he actually has horns or not, I don't know."

"If you mean the devil as a metaphor for evil, then of course I believe in him."

"How about if this metaphor for evil takes on actual form?"

"I couldn't say, unless I actually saw him," Haida said.

"But once you saw him, it might be too late."

"Well, we're speaking in hypotheticals here. If we wanted to pursue this further, we'd need some concrete examples. Like a bridge needs girders. The further you go with a hypothesis, the more slippery it gets. Any conclusions you draw from it become more fallacious."

"Examples?" Midorikawa said. He took a drink of sake and frowned. "But sometimes when an actual example appears, it all comes down to a question of whether or not you accept it, or if you believe it. There's no middle ground. You have to make a mental leap. Logic can't really help you out."

"Maybe it can't. Logic isn't some convenient manual you just consult. Later on, though, you should be able to apply logic to any given situation."

"But by then it might be too late."

"But that has nothing to do with logic."

♥ "Talent might be ephemeral," Haida replied, "and there aren't many people who can sustain it their whole lives. But talent makes a huge spiritual leap possible. It's an almost universal, independent phenomenon that transcends the individual."

Midorikawa pondered that for a while before replying. "Mozart and Schubert died young, but their music lives on forever. Is that what you mean?"

"That would be one example."

"That kind of talent is always the exception. Most people like that have to pay a price for their genius-through accepting foreshortened lives and untimely deaths. They strike a bargain, putting their lives on the line. Whether that bargain's with God or the devil, I wouldn't know."

♥ "At the point when you agree to take on death, you gain an extraordinary capacity. A special power, you could call it. Perceiving the colors that people emit is merely one function of that power, but at the root of it all is an ability to expand your consciousness. You're able to push open what Aldous Huxley calls 'the doors of perception.' Your perception becomes pure and unadulterated. Everything around you becomes clear, like the fog lifting. You have an omniscient view of the world and see things you've never seen before. ..Perception is complete in and of itself; it doesn't reveal itself in an outward, concrete manifestation. There are no tangible benefits to it, either. It's not easy to explain in words. You have to experience is to understand. One thing I can say, though, is that once you see that true sight with your own eyes, the world you've lived in up till now will look flat and insipid. There's no logic or illogic in that scene. No good or evil. Everything is merged into one. And you are one part of that merging. You leave the boundary of your physical body behind to become a metaphysical being. You become intuition. It's at once a wonderful sensation and a hopeless one, because, almost at the last minute, you realize how shallow and superficial your life has been. And you shudder at the fact that up to that point you've been able to stand such a life."

"And you think it's worth experiencing this sensation, even if it means taking on death? And you only have it for a little while?"

Midorikawa nodded. "Absolutely. It's that valuable. I guarantee it."

♥ "Aren't you afraid of dying?"

"Not really. I've watched lots of good-for-nothing, worthless people die, and if people like that can do it, then I should be able to handle it."

"Do you ever think about what comes after death?"

"The afterworld, and the afterlife? Those kinds of things?"

Haida nodded.

"I made up my mind not to think about them," Midorikawa said as he rubbed his beard. "It's a waste of time to think about things you can't know, and things you can't confirm even if you know them. In the final analysis, that's no different from the slippery slope of hypotheses you were talking about."

♥ "You'll be going back to college in Tokyo before much longer," Midorikawa quietly stated. "And you'll return to real life. You need to live it to the fullest. No matter how shallow and dull things might get, this life is worth living. I guarantee it. And I'm not being either ironic or paradoxical. It's just that, for me, what's worthwhile in life has become a burden, something I can't shoulder anymore. Maybe I'm just not cut out for it. So, like a dying cat, I've crawled into a quiet, dark place, silently waiting for my time to come. It's not so bad. But you're different. You should be able to handle what life sends your way. You need to use the thread of logic, as best you can, to skillfully sew onto yourself everything that's worth living for."

♥ He had no problem with feeling those desires-they were, after all, the natural urges and cravings of a healthy adult male. But maybe at the core, at the very root-as Sara had suggested-lay something illogical, something twisted. He couldn't really say. The more he thought about the boundary between the conscious and the unconscious, the less certain he became of his own identity.

♥ The fresh smell of coffee soon wafted through the apartment, the smell that separates night from day.

♥ "It's sort of weird if you think about it," Sara said. "We live in a pretty apathetic age, yet we're surrounded by an enormous amount of information about other people. If you feel like it, you can easily gather that information about them. Having said that, we still hardly know anything about people."

♥ "'Creative business seminar.'"

"The name's new, but it's really not much different from a personal development seminar," Sara said. "Basically a quick, impromptu brainwashing course to educate your typical corporate warriors. They use a training manual instead of sacred scriptures, with promotion and a high salary as their equivalent of enlightenment and paradise. A new religion for a pragmatic age. No transcendent elements like in a religion, though, and everything is theorized and digitalized. Very transparent and easy to grasp. And quite a few people get positive encouragement from this. But the fact remains that it's nothing more than an infusion of the hypnotic into a system of thought that suits their goal, a conglomeration of only those theories and statistics that line up with their ultimate objectives."

♥ He walked along the main street to Tokyo Station, passed through the Yaesu entrance, and sat down on a bench on the Yamanote line platform. He spent over an hour watching as, almost every minute, another line of green train cars pulled up to the platform, disembarking hordes of people and hurriedly swallowing up countless more. His mind was a blank as he watched, absorbed in the scene. The view didn't soothe the pain in his heart, but the endless repetition enthralled him as always and, at the very least, numbed his sense of time.

Unceasing crowds of people arrived out of nowhere, automatically formed lines, boarded the trains in order, and were carried off somewhere. Tsukuru was moved by how many people actually existed in the world. And he was likewise moved by the sheer number of green train cars. It was surely a miracle, he thought-how so many people, in so many railroad cars, are systematically transported, as if it were nothing. How all those people have places to go, places to return to.

♥ He discovered that Lexus didn't give their different models names, like Corolla or Crown, but instead used numbers to distinguish models. Like like Mercedes-Benz and BMW. And Brahms symphonies.

♥ The sky was covered wit a thin layer of clouds, not a patch of blue visible anywhere, though it did not look like rain. There was no wind, either. The branches of a nearby willow tree were laden with lush foliage and drooping heavily, almost to the ground, though they were still, as if lost in deep thought. Occasionally a small bird landed unsteadily on a branch, but soon gave up and fluttered away. Like a distraught mind, the branch quivered slightly, then returned to stillness.

♥ "You have no idea why we did that?" he said, finally.

"I've thought about it for sixteen years, but I have no clue."

Ao narrowed his eyes, seemingly perplexed, and rubbed the tip of his nose-his habit, apparently, when he was thinking hard. "When I told you that back then you said, I see, and hung up. You didn't object or anything. Or try to dig deeper. So naturally I thought you knew why."

"Words don't come out when you're hurt that deeply," Tsukuru said.

♥ "You know, in a sense we were a perfect combination, the five of us. Like five fingers." Ao raised his right hand and spread his thick fingers. "I still think that. The five of us all naturally made up for what was lacking in the others, and totally shared our better qualities. I doubt that sort of thing will ever happen again in our lives. It was a one-time occurrence. I have my own family now, and of course I love them. But truthfully, I don't have the same spontaneous pure feeking for them that I had for all of you back then."

♥ "One last question: What in the world does the word 'Lexus' mean?"

Ao laughed. "People ask that a lot. Actually, it doesn't mean anything. It's a made-up word. An ad agency in New York came up with it at Toyota's request. It sounds high class, expressive, and has a nice ring to it. What a strange world we live in. Some people plug away at building railroad stations, while others make tons of money cooking up sophisticated-sounding words."

♥ Aka held up a hand to cut him off.

"No need to mince words. And you don't need to force yourself to like me. No one likes me now. It's only to be expected. I don't even like myself much. I used to have a few really good friends. You were one of them. But at a certain stage in life I lost them. Like how Shiro at a certain point lost that special spark.... But you can't go back. Can't return an item you've already opened. You just have to make do."

♥ "Kind of a major paradox, wouldn't you say? As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves."

♥ "It's the first thing I always say at our new employee training seminars. I gaze around the room, pick one person, and have him stand up. And this is what I say: I have some good news for you, and some bad news. The bad news first. We're going to have to rip off either your fingernails or your toenails with pliers. I'm sorry, but it's already decided. It can't be changed. I pull out a huge, scary pair of pliers from my briefcase and show them to everybody. Slowly, making sure everybody gets a good look. And then I say: Here's the good news. You have the freedom to choose which it's going to be-your fingernails, or your toenails. So, which will it be? You have ten seconds to make up your mind. If you're unable to decide, we'll rip off both your fingernails and your toenails. I start the count. At about eight seconds most people say, 'The toes.' Okay, I say, toenails it is. I'll use these pliers to rip them off. But before I do, I'd like you to tell me something. Why did you choose your toes and not your fingers? The person usually says, 'I don't know. I think they probably hurt the same. But since I had to choose one, I went with the toes.' I turn to him and warmly applaud him. And I say, Welcome to the real world.'"

Tsukuru gazed wordlessly at hid old friend's delicate face.

"Each of us is given the freedom to choose," Aka said, winking and smiling. "That's the point of the story."

♥ The topic turned to lost property, more specifically to the huge amount of lost-and-found items left behind on trains and in stations, and the unusual, strange items among them-the ashes of cremated people, wigs, prosthetic legs, the manuscript of a novel (the stationmaster read a little bit of it and found it dull), a neatly wrapped, bloodstained shirt in a box, a live pet viper, forty color photos of women's vaginas, a large wooden gong, the kind Buddhist priests strike as they chant sutras...

"Sometimes you're not sure what to do with them," the stationmaster said. "A friend of mine who runs another station turned in a Boston bag once that had a dead fetus inside. Thankfully, I've never had that kind of experience myself. But once, when I was a stationmaster at another station, someone brought in two fingers preserved in formaldehyde. ..Two small fingers floating in liquid, kept in what looked like a small mayonnaise jar, all inside a pretty cloth bag. Looked like a child's fingers severed at the base. Naturally we contacted the police, since we thought it might be connected to a crime. The police came over immediately and took the jar away. ..A week later the same police officer who'd taken the fingers stopped by. He questioned the station employee who'd found the jar in the restroom again. I was present for the questioning. According to the officer, the fingers in the jar weren't those of a child. The forensics lab determined that they belonged to an adult. The reason they were so small was that they were sixth, vestigial fingers. The officer said that sometimes people have extra fingers. Most of the time the parents want to get rid of the deformity, so they have the fingers amputated when the child's still a baby, but there are some people who, as adults, still have all six fingers. The ones that were found were an example-the fingers of an adult who had had them surgically removed, then preserved in formaldehyde. The lab estimated the fingers to be those of a man, age mid-twenties to mid-thirties, though they couldn't tell how long it had been since the fingers had been amputated. I can't imagine how they'd come to be forgotten, or perhaps thrown away, in the station restroom. But it doesn't seem that they were connected to any crime. In the end the police kept them, and no one ever came forward to claim them. For all I know, they may still be in a police warehouse somewhere."

♥ After holding forth at such length, Sakamoto stepped back into silence.

♥ "I don't know what the others were thinking, deep down inside. But like I said, it was a kind of unspoken agreement between us that we wouldn't let male-female relationships be a part of the group. We were pretty insistent about that."

"But isn't that unnatural? If boys and girls that age get close to each other, and are together all the time, it's only natural that they start to get interested in each other sexually."

"I wanted to have a girlfriend and to go out on dates, just the two of us. And of course I was interested in sex. Just like anybody else. And no one was stopping me from having a girlfriend outside the group. But back then, that group was the most important part of my life. The thought hardly ever occurred to me to go out and be with anyone else."

"Because you found a wonderful harmony there?"

Tsukuru nodded. "When I was with them, I felt like an indispensable part of the whole. It was a special feeling that I could never get anywhere else."

"Which is why all of you had to look past any sexual interest," Sara said. "In order to preserve the harmony the five of you had together. So as not to destroy the perfect circle."

"Looking back on it now, I can see there was something unnatural about it. But at the time, nothing seemed more natural. We were still in our teens, experiencing everything for the first time. There was no way we could be that objective about our situation."

"In other words, you were locked up inside the perfection of that circle. Can you see it that way?"

Tsukuru thought about this. "Maybe that's true, but we were happy to be locked up inside it. And I don't regret it, even now."

♥ "And each time I saw her, she'd faded a little more. From a certain point on, it was clear to everyone that she wasn't pretty anymore, that she was no longer attractive. It was like she'd gotten less intelligent, too. The topics she talked about were boring, her opinions stale and trite. She married at twenty-seven, and her husband was some elite government official, an obviously shallow, boring man. But the woman couldn't seem to grasp the fact that she was no longer beautiful, no longer attractive, no longer the sort of person people notice. She still acted like she was the queen. It was pretty pathetic to watch. ..Her friends gradually stopped seeing her. It was just too painful to witness. Maybe it wasn't exactly pain they felt when they saw her, but more a kind of fear, the kind of fear most women have. The fear that your peak attractiveness as a woman is behind you, and you either don't realize it or refuse to accept it, and go on acting the way you always have, and then people snub you and laugh at you behind your back. For her, that peak came earlier than for others. That's all it was. In her teens, all her natural gifts burst into bloom, like a garden in spring, and once those years had passed, they quickly withered."

♥ All that remained now was a quiet sorrow. He felt a sudden, stabbing pain in the left side of his chest, as if he'd been pierced by a knife. It felt like hot blood was gushing out. Most likely it was blood. He hadn't felt such pain in a long time, not since the summer of his sophomore year in college, when his four friends had abandoned him. He closed his eyes and, as if floating in water, drifted in that world of pain. Still, being able to feel pain was good, he thought. It's when you can't even feel any pain anymore that you're in real trouble.

All sorts of sounds mixed together into a sharp, terrible static deep within his ears, the kind of noise that could only be perceived in the deepest possible silence. Not something you can hear from without, but a silence generated from your own internal organs. Everyone has their own special sound they live with, though they seldom have the chance to actually hear it.

♥ Everything would fit neatly into one carry-on shoulder bag. He didn't even take a camera. What good were photos? What he was seeking was an actual person, and actual words.

♥ The ache in his heart returned. Not an intense pain, but the memory of intense pain.

♥ What's left is an empty, perhaps even emptier, Tsukuru Tazaki, all alone. Isn't that all there is to it?

Still, sometimes they leave behind a small memento, like Haida and the boxed set of Years of Pilgrimage. He probably didn't simply forget it, but intentionally left it behind in Tsukuru's apartment. And Tsukuru loved that music, for it connected him to Haida, and to Shiro. It was the vein that connected these three scattered people. A fragile, thin vein, but one that still had living, red blood coursing through it. The power of music made it possible. Whenever he listened to that music, particularly "Le mal du pays," vivid memories of the two of them swept over him. At times it even felt like they were right beside him, quietly breathing.

At a certain point the two of them had vanished from his life. Suddenly, without warning. No-it was less that they had left than that they had deliberately cut him off, abandoned him. Of course that had hurt Tsukuru deeply, and that wound remained to this day. In in the end, wasn't it the two of them-Shiro and Haida-who had, in a real sense of the term, been wounded or injured? Recently, that view had taken hold of his mind.

Maybe I am just an empty, futile person, he thought. But it was precisely because there was nothing inside of me that these people could find, if even for a short time, a place where they belonged. Like a nocturnal bird seeks a safe place to rest during the day in a vacant attic. The birds like that empty, dim, silent place. If that were true, then maybe he should be happy he was hollow.

♥ "That's a long way to come with so little luggage."

"I don't like heavy baggage."

The driver laughed. "Who does? But before you know it, you're surrounded by it. That's life. C'est la vie."

♥ "Vacations and friends are the two best things in life."

♥ "It sounds kind of complicated."

"Maybe too complicated for me to explain in English."

Olga laughed. "Some things in life are too complicated to explain in any language."

Tsukuru nodded. Coming up with witty sayings about life seemed, after all, to be a trait shared by all Finns. The long winters might have something to do with it. But she was right. This was a problem that had nothing to do with language. Most likely.

♥ Everyone was drinking either beer or wine, and many were puffing away on cigarettes. The only one Tsukuru could see sitting alone, drinking iced tea while he ate his pizza, was himself. Everyone else was talking loudly, boisterously, and the words he overheard were all (he imagined) Finnish. The restaurant seemed to cater to locals, not tourists. It finally struck him: he was far from Japan, in another country. No matter where he was, he almost always ate alone, so that didn't particularly bother him. But here he wasn't simply alone. He was alone in two senses of the word. He was also a foreigner, the people around him speaking a language he couldn't understand.

It was a different sense of isolation from what he normally felt in Japan. And not such a bad feeling, he decided. Being alone in two senses of the word was maybe like a double negation of isolation. In other words, it made perfect sense for him, a foreigner to feel isolated here. There was nothing odd about it at all. The thought calmed him. He was in exactly the right place.

♥ But these thoughts didn't lead him anywhere. The human heart is like a night bird. Silently waiting for something, and when the time comes, it flies straight toward it.

♥ What Tsukuru saw in front of him now was the healthy body of a woman who had walked a completely different path in life from the one he'd taken. Seeing her now, the true weight of sixteen years of time struck him with a sudden immensity. There are some things, he concluded, that can only be expressed through a woman's form.

♥ "There are all kinds of things we have to deal with in life," Eri finally said. "And one thing always seems to connect with another. You try to solve one problem only to find that another one you hadn't anticipated arises instead. It's not that easy to get free of them. That's true for you-and for me, too."

"You're right, it's not easy to get free of them. But that doesn't mean we should leave them hanging, unresolved," Tsukuru said. "You can put a lid on memory, but you can't hide history."

♥ "But the trigger for this change was the fact that I had been cut off from our group. That incident changed me forever. ..How should I put it? It felt like I was on the deck of a ship at night and was suddenly hurled into the ocean, all alone. ..I don't know if someone pushed me off, or whether I fell overboard on my own. Either way, the ship sails on and I'm in the dark, freezing water, watching the lights on deck fade into the distance. None of the passengers or crew know I've fallen overboard. There's nothing to cling to. I still have that fear, even now-that suddenly my very existence will be denied and, through no fault of my own, I'll be hurled into the night sea once more. Maybe that's why I haven't been able to form deep relationships with people. I always keep a distance between me and others. ..Maybe it's part of my personality, something I was born with. Maybe I've always had an instinctive tendency to leave a buffer zone between me and others. But one thing I do know is that I never thought this when I was with all of you in high school. At least that's how I remember it. Though it seems so long ago."

♥ The past became a long, razor-sharp skewer that stabbed right through his heart. Silent silver pain shot through him, transforming his spine to a pillar of ice. The pain remained, unabated. He held his breath, shut his eyes tight, enduring the agony. Alfred Brendel's graceful playing continued. The CD shifted to the second suite, "Second Year: Italy."

And in that moment, he was finally able to accept it all. In the deepest recesses of his soul, Tsukuru Tazaki understood. One heart is not connected to another through harmony alone. They are, instead, linked deeply through their wounds. Pain linked to pain, fragility to fragility. There is no silence without a cry of grief, no forgiveness without bloodshed, no acceptance without a passage through acute loss. That is what lies at one root of true harmony."

♥ They sat back down again, across from each other at the table, and took turns opening up about what was in their hearts. Things they had not put into words for ages, things they'd been holding back deep in their souls. Removing the lids on their hearts, pulling open the doors of memory, revealing honest feelings, as the other, all the while, listened quietly.

♥ "If you had told me then how you felt, of course I would have loved for you to be my girlfriend. And I think we would have been happy together."

The two of them would have likely been a close couple, with a fulfilling love life, Tsukuru decided. There would have been so much they could have shared. On the surface, their personalities seemed so different-Tsukuru introverted and reticent, Eri sociable and talkative-yet they both shared a desire to create and build things with their own hands, things that were meaningful. Tsukuru had the feeling, though, that this closeness would have been short-lived. An unavoidable fissure would have grown between what he and Eri wanted from their lives. They were still in their teens then, still discovering their own paths, and eventually they would have reached a fork and gone off in separate directions. Without fighting, without hurting each other, naturally, calmly. And it did turn out that way, didn't it, Tsukuru thought, with him going to Tokyo and building stations, and Eri marrying Edvard and moving to Finlasnd.

It wouldn't have been strange if things had worked out that way. It was entirely possible. And the experience would never have been a negative one for either of them. Even if they were no longer lovers, they would have remained good friends. In reality, though, none of this ever happened. In reality something very different happened. And that fact was more significant now than anything else.

♥ There were no reasons at all why he would have done that, of course. Tsukuru had never wanted to kill anyone, ever. But maybe he had tried to kill Yuzu, in a purely symbolic way. Tsukuru himself had no idea what deep darkness lay hidden in his heart. What he did know was that inside Yuzu, too, lay a deep inner darkness, and that somewhere, on some subterranean level, her darkness and his may have connected. And being strangled was, perhaps, exactly what Yuzu had wanted. In the mingled darkness between them, perhaps he had sensed that desire.

"You're thinking about Yuzu?" Eri asked.

"I've always thought of myself as a victim," Tsukuru said. "Forced, for no reason, to suffer cruelly. Deeply wounded emotionally, my life thrown off course. Truthfully, sometimes I hated the four of you, wondering why I was the only one who had to go through that awful experience. But maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe I wasn't simply a victim, but had hurt those around me, too, without realizing it. And wounded myself again in the counterattack."

Eri gazed at him without a word.

"And maybe I murdered Yuzu," Tsukuru said honestly. "Maybe the one who knocked on her door that night was me."

"In a certain sense," Eri said.

Tsukuru nodded.

"I murdered Yuzu too," Eri said. "In a sense." She looked off to one side. "Maybe I was the one who knocked on her door that night."

Tsukuru looked at her nicely tanned profile. He'd always liked her slightly upturned nose.

"Each of us has to live with that burden," Eri said.

♥ Like a weight had been removed, the flow of time grew a fraction lighter.

♥ "What I'm trying to say is, it wasn't a waste for us to have been us-the way we were together, as a group. I really believe that. Even if it was only for a few short years."

Eri held her face in her hands again. She was silent for a time, then looked up and continued.

"We survived. You and I. And those who survive have a duty. Our duty is to do our best to keep on living. Even if our lives are not perfect."

♥ "You know, Tsukuru, you need to hang on to her. No matter what. I really believe that. If you let her go now, you might not ever have anyone else in your life."

"But I don't have any confidence."

"Why not?"

"Because I have no sense of self. I have no personality, no brilliant color. I have nothing to offer. That's always been my problem. I feel like an empty vessel. I have a shape, I guess, as a container, but there's nothing inside. I just can't see myself as the right person for her. I think that the more time passes, and the more she knows about me, the more disappointed Sara will be, and the more she'll choose to distance herself from me."

"You need to have courage, and be confident in yourself. I mean-I used to love you, right? At one time I would have given myself to you. I would have done whatever you wanted me to do. An actual, hot-blooded woman felt that strongly about you once. That's how valuable you are. You're not empty-not at all."

"I appreciate you saying that," Tsukuru said. "I really do. But that was then. What about now? I'm thirty-six, but when I think about who I am, I'm as confused-or maybe more confused-than I've ever been. I can't figure out what I should do. I've never felt this strongly about anybody before."

"Let's say you are an empty vessel. So what? What's wrong with that?" Eri said. "You're still a wonderful, attractive vessel. And really, does anybody know who they are? So why not be a completely beautiful vessel? The kind people feel good about, the kind people want to entrust with precious belongings."

Tsukuru understood what she was getting at. But whether or not this applied to him was another question.

"When you get back to Tokyo," Eri said, "tell her everything. Being open and honest is always the best way to go. But don't tell her you saw her with that other man. Keep that to yourself. There are some things women don't want other people to see. Besides that, tell her everything you're feeling."

"I'm scared, Eri. If I do something wrong, or say something wrong, I'm scared it will wreck everything and our relationship will vanish forever."

Eri slowly shook her head. "It's no different from building stations. If something is important enough, a little mistake isn't going to ruin it all, or make it vanish. It might not be perfect, but the first step is actually building the station. Right? Otherwise trains won't stop there. And you can't meet the person who means so much to you. If you find some defect, you can adjust it later, as needed. First things first. Build the station. A special station just for her. The kind of station where trains want to stop, even if they have no reason to do so. Imagine that kind of station, and give it actual color and shape. Write your name on the foundation with a nail, and breathe life into it. I know you have the power to do that. Don't forget-you're the one who swam across the freezing sea at night."

♥ "But it's strange, isn't it?" Eri said.

"What is?"

"That amazing time in our lives is gone, and will never return. All the beautiful possibilities we had then have been swallowed up in the flow of time."

Tsukuru nodded silently. He thought he should say something, but no words came.

..Tsukuru silently followed her gaze to the surface of the lake. It was only later, after he boarded the direct flight back to Narita and had buckled his seat belt, that the words came, the words he should have said. The words always seemed to come too late.

♥ "Tsukuru, there's one thing I want you to remember. You aren't colorless. Those were just names. I know wee often teased you about it, but it was just a stupid joke. Tsukuru Tazaki is a wonderful, colorful person. A person who builds fantastic stations. A healthy thirty-six-year-old citizen, a voter, a taxpayer-someone who could fly all the way to Finland just to see me. You don't lack anything. Be confident and be bold. That's all you need. Never let fear and stupid pride make you lose someone who's precious to you."

♥ I'll probably never be back here again, Tsukuru thought. And never see Eri again. We each have our paths to follow, in our places. Like Ao said, There's no going back. Sorrow surged then, silently, like water inside him. A formless, transparent sorrow. A sorrow he could touch, yet something that was also far away, out of reach. Pain struck him, as if gouging out his chest, and he could barely breathe.

When he reached the paved road, he steered the car to the side, switched off the engine, leaned against the steering wheel, and closed his eyes. His heart was racing and he took slow, deep breaths. And as he inhaled, he suddenly noticed a cold, hard object near the center of his body-like a hard core of earth that remains frozen all year long. This was the source of the pain in his chest, and the difficulty breathing. He had never known, until this moment, that such a thing existed inside him.

Yet it was this pain, and this sense of being choked, that he needed. It was exactly what he had to acknowledge, what he had to confront. From now on, he had to make that cold core melt, bit by bit. It might take time, but it was what he had to do. But his own body heat wasn't enough to melt that frozen soil. He needed someone else's warmth.

First he had to get back to Tokyo. That was the first step. He turned the key and started the engine again.

On the road to Helsinki, Tsukuru prayed that Eri wouldn't be caught by any bad elves of the forest. All he could do at this point was pray.

♥ His thoughts turned to Eri. Eri Kurono Haatainen. The mother of two small girls. He pictured the blue lake beyond the stand of white birch trees, and the little boat slapping against the pier. The pottery with its lovely designs, the chirps of the birds, the dog barking. And Alfred Brendel's meticulous rendition of Years of Pilgrimage. The feel of Eri's breasts pressed against him. Her warm breath, her cheeks wet with tears. All the lost possibilities, all the time that was never to return.

♥ Our lives are like a complex musical score, Tsukuru thought. Filled with all sorts of cryptic writing, sixteenth and thirty-second notes and other strange signs. It's next to impossible to correctly interpret these, and even if you could, and then could transpose them into the correct sounds, there's no guarantee that people would correctly understand, or appreciate, the meaning therein. No guarantee it would make people happy. Why must the workings of people's lives be so convoluted?

♥ Shinjuku Station is enormous. Every day nearly 3.5 million people pass through it, so many that the Guinness Book of World Records officially lists JR Shinjuku Station as the station with the "Most Passengers in the World." A number of railroad lines cross there, the main ones being the Chuo line. Sobu line, Yamanote line, Saikyo line, Shonan-Shinjuku line, and the Narita Express. The rails intersect and combine in complex and convoluted ways. There are sixteen platforms in total. In addition, there are two private rail lines, the Odakyu line and the Keio line, and three subway lines plugged in, as it were, from the side. It is a total maze. During rush hour, that maze transforms into a sea of humanity, a sea that foams up, rages, and roars as it surges toward the entrances and exits. Streams of people changing trains become entangled, giving rise to dangerous, swirling whirlpools. No prophet, no matter how righteous, could part that fierce, turbulent sea.

♥ Tsukuru wondered how much time people spend simply commuting to work every day. Say the average commute was between an hour and an hour and a half. That sounded about right. If your typical office worker, working in Tokyo, married with a child or two, wanted to own his own house, the only choice was to live in the suburbs and spend that much time getting to work and back. So two to three hours out of every twenty-four would be spent simply in the act of commuting. If you were lucky, you might be able to read the newspaper or a paperback in the train. Maybe you could listen to your iPod, to a Haydn symphony or a conversational Spanish lesson. Some people might even close their eyes, lost in deep metaphysical speculation. Still, it would be hard to call these two or three hours rewarding, quality time. How much of one's life was snatched away to simply vanish as a result of this (most likely) pointless movement from point A to point B? And how much did this effort exhaust people, and wear them down?

But these were not issues that Tsukuru Tazaki, a railroad company employee tasked with designing stations, needed to worry about. It wasn't his life. Let people live their own lives. Each person should decide for himself how happy, or unhappy, our society might be. All Tsukuru had to think about was what might be the safest and most efficient way to keep this massive flow of people moving. For a job like this, reflection is not required, as it simply calls for accurate, tested, best practices. He was no thinker or sociologist, but a mere engineer.

♥ Everyone was boarding a night train, heading to a far-off destination. Tsukuru envied them. At least they had a place they needed to go to.

Tsukuru Tazaki had no place he needed to go.

..Tsukuru Tazaki had nowhere he had to go. This was like a running theme of his life. He had no place he had to go to, no place to come back to. He never did, and he didn't now. The only place for him was where he was now.

No, he thought. That's not entirely true.

At one point in his life he did have a place he needed to go to. In high school, he had his heart set on going to an engineering college in Tokyo and majoring in railroad station design. That was the place he needed to go. And he studied hard to make sure he could do so. His academic advisor had coolly warned him that with his grades, he had only a 20 percent chance of getting into that school, but he'd done his best and somehow surmounted that hurdle. He had never studied so hard in his life. He wasn't cut out for competing with others for rank and grades, but given a set goal he put his heart and soul into it. He exerted himself beyond anything he'd ever imagined, and the experience was a new, and precious, discovery for him of his own capabilities.

As a result, Tsukuru left Nagoya and ended up living alone in Tokyo. In Tokyo he longed to return to his hometown as soon as he could, even if only for a short time, to see his friends again. At that point Nagoya was the place he needed to go back to. He shuttled back and forth between two different places for a little over a year. But then, without warning, the cycle was broken.

After this, he no longer had a place to gol or a place to which he could return. His house was still in Nagoya, his mother and eldest sister still living there, his room the same as he'd left it. His other older sister was also living in the city. Once or twice a year he made an obligatory visit and was always warmly received, but there was noting he needed to talk to his mother or sister about, and being with them never brought back any nostalgic feelings. What they sought from him was the Tsukuru of old, a person he had left behind and no longer needed. To revive that person, and present him to his family, necessitated that he play a role that made him uncomfortable. The streets of Nagoya now felt remote and dreary. There was nothing there he wanted, nothing that called up even a hint of warmth.

Tokyo, meanwhile, was just the place he happened to end up. It was where he had attended school, where his job was located. Professionally it was the place he belonged, but beyond that, the city meant nothing to him. In Tokyo he lived a well-ordered, quiet life. Like a refugee in a foreign land, not making waves, not causing any trouble, being ever cautious so that his residence permit was not revoked. He lived there as if he were a refugee from his own life. And Tokyo was the ideal place for someone seeking a life of anonymity.

He had no one he could call a close friend. A few girlfriends entered his life along the way, but they hadn't stayed together. Peaceful relationships followed by amicable break-ups. Not a single person had really climbed inside his heart. He had not been seeking that sort of relationship, and most likely the women he went out with hadn't desired him that much either. So they were even.

It's like my life came to a halt at age twenty, Tsukuru Tazaki thought, as he sat on the bench in Shinjuku Station. The days that came afterward had no real weight or substance. The years passed by, quietly, like a gentle breeze. Leaving no scars behind, no sorrow, rousing no strong emotions, leaving no happiness or memories worth mentioning. And now he was entering middle age.

♥ Tsukuru remembered those days in college when all he'd thought about was dying. Already sixteen years ago. Back then he was convinced that if he merely focused in what was going on inside of him, his heart would finally stop of its own accord. That if he intensely concentrated his feelings on one fixed point, like a lens focused on paper, bursting it into flames, his heart would suffer a fatal blow. More than anything he hoped for this. But months passed, and contrary to his expectation, his heart didn't stop. The heart apparently doesn't stop that easily.

♥ No, he thought, I'm not coll and collected, and I'm not always doing things at my own pace. It's just a question of balance. I'm just good at habitually shifting the weight I carry around from one side of the fulcrum to the other, distributing it. Maybe this strikes others as cool. But it isn't an easy operation. It takes more time than it seems. And even if I do find the right balance, that doesn't lessen the total weight one bit.

♥ One thing he would say at this point was this: he had very little he could give her. Limited in amount, and in kind, the contents negligible. Would anybody really want the little he had to give?

Sara said she has feelings for me. He had no reason to doubt it. But there are countless things in the world for which affection is not enough. Life is long, and sometimes cruel. Sometimes victims are needed. Someone has to take on that role. And human bodies are fragile, easily damaged. Cut them, and they bleed.

If Sara doesn't choose me tomorrow, he thought, I may really die. Die in reality, or die figuratively-there isn't much difference between the two. But this time I definitely will take my last breath. Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki will lose any last hint of color and quietly exit the world. All will become a void, the only thing that remains a hard, frozen clump of dirt.

It doesn't matter. The same thing has nearly happened a few times already, and it wouldn't be strange if it actually did this time. It's just a physical phenomenon, no more. The spring on a wound watch gets steadily looser, the torque grows closer to zero, until the gears stop altogether and the hands come to rest at a set position. Silence descends. Isn't that all it is?

♥ He longed for her more than he could say. It was a wonderful thing to be able to truly want someone like this-the feeling was so real, so overpowering. He hadn't felt this way in ages. Maybe he never had before. Not that everything about it was wonderful: his chest ached, he found it hard to breathe, and a fear, a dark oscillation, had hold of him. But now even that kind of ache had become an important part of the affection he felt. He didn't want to let that feeling slip from his grasp. Once lost, he might never happen across that warmth again. If he had to lose it, he would rather lose himself.

♥ Not everyone was lost in the flow of time. That's what Tsukuru should have said to Eri when he said good bye at the lakeside in Finland. But at that point, he couldn't put it into words.

We truly believed in something back then, as we knew we were the kind of people capable of believing in something-with all our hearts. And that kind of hope will never simply vanish.

He calmed himself, shut his eyes, and fell asleep. The rear light of consciousness, like the last express train of the night, began to fade into the distance, gradually speeding up, growing smaller until it was, finally, sucked into the depths of the night, where it disappeared. All that remained was the sound of the wind slipping through a stand of white birch trees.