Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

 

Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Archetypal Murakami – ears, breasts, hyperreal dream sex, and the ever-present shadow of evil.

Ideas are like beards. Men don’t have them till they grow up.
Strictly speaking, it might not be a dream. It was reality, but a reality imbued with all the qualities of a dream. A different sphere of reality, where – at a special time and place – imagination had been set free.
A distinct half-moon hung above, like a battered piece of pumice stone that had been tossed by someone and gotten stuck in the sky.
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 the root of true harmony.

Cruel of Murakami to have left unresolved the following: Shiro’s decision, Yuzu's murderer and the reason, Hadi and his role in the vivid dream sequence, the contents of the pianist’s bag. Red herrings like this leave a feeling of vacuum.

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