Colorless Tzukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami

I do enjoy Murakami. His themes – the uncertain nature of reality, the possibility of hidden connections, glimpses of the ineffable – are seductive. And he has a lovely, spare, deceptively simple style.

The plot concerns the Tazaki of the title, and his attempts to find meaning in his life. The story has a dreamlike quality, which is sort of trippy and mesmerising. It evokes Japan rather beautifully, as well. Indeed, the novel could only be set in Japan.

Murakami glories in the quotidian and the constant possibility that it is a veil, behind which some other reality persists. Very nice.

 

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