Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage

“Alienation and loneliness became a cable that stretched hundreds of miles long, pulled to the breaking point by a gigantic winch.”

Fittingly, an engineering metaphor describes Tsukuru’s state of mind as the novel opens. The images suggest that alienation is causing so much tension inside Tsukuru that he destined to snap: Something has to give as he can no longer remain adrift in his own life.

“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.”

This passage highlights the singularity of Tsukuru’s friend group, which came together through accident but became incredibly naturally cohesive—or at least so Tsukuru believed at the time. The simile of formulating a complex chemical implies that some things really can only happen once. 

“The only real interest he had was train stations. He wasn’t sure why, but for as long as he could remember, he had loved to observe train stations.”

Tsukuru’s temperament and the nature of train stations are perfectly aligned. For most people, stations are portals to pass through on their way from one place to the next. For Tsukuru, however, they are places to never leave; his affinity for train stations marks him as a perpetual passenger in his own life.