The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle: A Novel (Vintage International)

Have you ever had that feeling—that you’d like to go to a whole different place and become a whole different self?”

Reality spilled out into the alley like water from an overfilled bowl—as sound, as smell, as image, as plea, as response.

I felt empty: no furniture, no curtains, no rugs. Just an empty container.

“Hatred is like a long, dark shadow. Not even the person it falls upon knows where it comes from, in most cases. It is like a two-edged sword. When you cut the other person, you cut yourself. The more violently you hack at the other person, the more violently you hack at yourself. It can often be fatal. But it is not easy to dispose of. Please be c

Bird

Perched on the roof’s TV antenna, a single pigeon lent its monotonous cries to the scene.

The yard of this house was very large. It had a broad, sloping lawn dotted with clumps of trees. To the left of the deck chairs was a rather large concrete-lined pond, its empty bottom exposed to the sun. Judging from its greenish tinge, it had been without water for some time. We sat with our backs to the house, which was visible through a screen

De Chirico

There’s a kind of gap between what I think is real and what’s really real.

This was my one great vacation in life. It would have to end sometime, but until it did I was determined to enjoy it.