Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage: A novel
Murakami, Haruki
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Translation copyright ? 2014 by Haruki Murakami ? All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House LLC, New York, and in Canada by Bond Street Books, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, Penguin Random House companies. Originally published in Japan as Shikisai o Motanai Tazaki Tsukuru to, Kare no Junrei no Toshi by Bungeishunjū Ltd., Tokyo, in 2013. Copyright ? 2013 by Haruki Murakami. ? www.aaknopf.com ? Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC. ? Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data ? Murakami, Haruki, [date] author. ? [Shikisai o motanai Tazaki Tsukuru to kare no junrei no toshi. English] ? Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his years of pilgrimage : a novel / Haruki Murakami; translated by Philip Gabriel. ? pages cm ? ISBN 978-0-385-35210-9 (hardback)—ISBN 978-0-385-35211-6 (ebook) ? I. Gabriel, Philip, [date] translator. II. Title. ? PL856.U673S5513 2014 ? 895.63’5—dc23 ? 2014010404 ? This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. ? Jacket design by Chip Kidd ? First American Edition
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.