Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire – J.K. Rowling

Hagrid had some harebrained scheme in hand, which might make him miss Sirius. If they didn’t get there soon, he was going to turn around, go straight back to the castle, and leave Hagrid to enjoy his moonlit stroll with Madame Maxine.
But then – when they had walked so far around the perimeter of the Forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight – Harry heard something. Men  were shouting up ahead … then came a deafening, ear-splitting roar …

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees, and came to a halt. Harry hurried up alongside them – for a split second, he thought he was seeing bonfires, and men darting around them – and then his mouth fell open.

It’s World Cup time! Harry joins Hermione and the Weasley’s at the final of the Quidditch world cup, at the same time being introduced to Floo Powder and Portkeys as means of transport. After a particularly raucas game between Bulgaria and Ireland all havoc breaks loose when a group of Death Eaters (That’s supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to you and me) start terrorising the local muggles before the dark mark appears in the sky, seemingly conjured by Barty Crouch’s house elf, with none other than Harry’s wand!

Back at Hogwarts for their 4th year, Harry, Ron and Hermione learn that this year will feature the Tri-wizard tournament, in which a champion of Hogwarts will compete with the champions of two other wizarding schools. Despite there being strict rules about competitors not being under age, the Goblet of Fire spits out Harry’s name as the second Hogwarts champion, after Cedric Diggory.

Naturally there’s a new defence against the dark arts teacher, Mad-Eye Moody, who quite literally has a mad eye, but was one of the most successful Auror’s in his day. Meanwhile another champion emerges, as Hermione creates S.P.E.W, who help out the under appreciated House Elves, whether they want to be emancipated or not.

As the tournament begins, Harry finds himself up against a dragon, then mer-people, but even worse he falls out with Ron, and the diabolical reporter Rita Skeeter paints terrible portraits of him in the Daily Prophet, while Ludo Bagman seems very intent on helping Harry, and Barty Crouch stops turning up to work and sends instructions into Percy Weasley by owl.

Luckily there is a break for the Christmas festivities and the Yule Ball, in which Harry and Ron struggle for dates, even as Ron and Hermione dance the awkward dance of teenagers around each other, while Hagrid tries it on with the visiting Madam Maxime, who may or may not also be part giant.

As the final task reaches it’s conclusion, Harry and Cedric tie for first place, but that is not quite the end of it, for Voldemort has returned, and for his first trick he wants to kill Harry and this tournament is his ideal opportunity.

Naturally Cornelius Fudge, the minister for magic, refuses to believe the return of Voldemort, even as Dumbledore  vouches for Harry. It’s been rumour for four books, but now he’s real and he’s back, and Harry Potter faces his biggest challenge yet.

A monster book, as Rowling barrels towards the introduction of Voldemort for the remainder of the series, but still surprisingly a read that flies by, with unforeseen twists and turns and the first major death in the series. The Goblet of Fire is engrossing fun, and Rowling also deals subtly with the teenage hormones raging through the students at Hogwarts as they face obstacles and threats that will take all of them coming together to overcome.

‘You know.’ said Ron, whose hair was on end because of all the times he had run his fingers through it in frustration. ‘I think it’s back to the old Divination standby.’
‘What – make it up?’
‘Yeah.’ said Ron, sweeping the jumble of scrawled notes off the table, dipping his pen into some ink and starting to write.
‘Next Monday,’ he said, as he scribbled, ‘I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and  Jupiter.’ He looked up at Harry. ‘You know her – just put in loads of misery, she’ll lap it up.’

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Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban – J.K. Rowling

‘I don’t think it looks like a Grim,’ she said flatly.
Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike.
‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive  very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.’
Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side.
‘It looks like a Grim if you do this,’ he said, with his eyes almost shut, ‘but it looks more like a donkey from here,’ he said, leaning to the left.
‘When you’ve all finished deciding whether I’m going to die or not!’ said Harry, taking even himself by surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him.

Harry’s back at Hogwarts for year 3. After a long summer with the Dursley’s Harry is ready to return. But just before he heads back Harry sees a large black dog, which as everyone in the wizarding world knows, is a portent of doom! Safely ensconed on the Hogwarts Express Harry first comes across the Dementors, Prisoners of the wizarding prison of Azkaban. Someone has escaped, for the first time ever, and that person is Sirius Black, infamous serial killer and support of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And he badly wants to find Harry.

Being a new year there is of course a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin who teaches Harry how to produce a Patronus, which comes in mighty handy when Dementors are around. There is also two new lessons, divination, the first session of which Professor Trelawney forsee’s Harry’s doom! Hermione is less than impressed but then she has her own secret, as she seems to be spending more hours in lessons than there is in a day. Secondly Hagrid starts teaching care of magical creatures and inadvertently gets a Hippogriff sentenced to death. Oh Hagrid!

As Sirius gets ever closer to Harry, so do the Dementors. Fred and George Weasley help Harry out though by giving him the Marauders Map which helps him get out to Hogsmeade without a signed permission slip, even though it’s dangerous.
Finally though, Sirius and Harry meet, will Sirius be able to complete what he escaped Azkaban to do, or will Harry’s teenage hormones drive him to exact revenge?

The first time I read these, this was my favourite of the first 5 books, I think partly because the Marauders map sounds like the coolest invention ever, and I had a soft spot for Professor Lupin. As with the first two books, Prisoner of Azkaban barrels along at a great pace and continues to expand the world of Harry Potter, while at the same time driving the plot forwards, and after the Dementors are banished from Hogwarts it’s time to reach for the Goblet of fire.

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid’s cabin made Harry, Ron and Hermione Whip around. Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.
‘I couldn’ leave him tied up out there in the snow! choked Hagrid. ‘All on his own! At Christmas!’
Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other. They had never seen eye to eye with Hagrid about what he called ‘interesting creatures’ and other people called ‘terrifying monsters’. On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be any particular harm in Buckbeak. In fact, by Hagrid’s usual standards, he was positively cute.

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Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets – J.K. Rowling

‘Your sons flew that car to Harry’s house and back last night!’ shouted Mrs Weasley. ‘What have you got to say about that, eh?’
‘Did you really?’ said Mr Weasley eagerly. ‘Did it go all right? I – I mean,’ he faltered, as sparks flew from Mrs Weasley’s eye, ‘that-that was very wrong, boys – very wrong indeed …’
‘Let’s leave them to it,’ Ron muttered to Harry, as Mrs Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. ‘Come on, I’ll show you my bedroom.’

So It’s Harry’s second year at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, which he arrives at via a flying car after some mysterious interference prevents him from taking the Hogwarts Express. But the fun doesn’t begin there, oh no. Back in number 4 Privet Drive, Harry is visited by Dobby, a house elf who wears a pillow case and talks in riddles while hitting himself over the head with a saucepan.

At Hogwarts though as the school year progresses it is revealed that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened once again by the heir of Slytherin, and a fearsome and terrible monster is on the loose petrifying children as well as Mrs Norris, Caretaker Filch’s beloved but universally hated cat.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione, all now firm friends, try to work out what the creature is and how to get into the chamber of secrets, Dumbledore appears to be losing his grip on the school and Lucius Malfoy sees the perfect chance to remove him from Hogwarts.

Luckily, the students have a new Defence against the Dark Art’s teacher. Gilderoy Lockhart! Who’s fearless adventures are set texts for all his students and after reading you can be sure that he is one man you want with you in a tight spot.

Personally I think I would prefer Hagrid, but his love of ridiculously dangerous creatures almost causes grievious harm to Harry, Ron and Fang, and does he have anything to do with the Chamber?

So I remember not really liking this book quite as much as the others, but then as I started reading it I remembered a lot more of it than I did the Philosophers Stone, and once again I was enraptured by Rowling’s world, and longed to be at Hogwarts, my heart sinking at the end when the school year finished and I had to return to the Muggle world.

Ron shook his head, wide-eyed. Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead.
‘Harry – I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library!’
And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
‘What does she understand? said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
‘Loads more than I do,’ said Ron, shaking his head.
‘But why’s she got to go to the library?’
‘Because that’s what Hermione does,’ said Ron, shrugging.
‘When in doubt, go to the library.’

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Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone – J.K. Rowling

‘STOP! I FORBID YOU!’ yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.
Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.
‘Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,’ said Hagrid. ‘Harry – yer a wizard.’
There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.
‘I’m a what?’ gasped Harry.
‘A wizard, o’course.’ said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, ‘an’ a thumpin’ good’un, I’d say, once yeh’ve been trained up a bit. With a mum an’ dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An’ I reckon it’s about’ time yeh read yer letter.’

Harry Potter. Dumbledore. He-who-must-not-be-named. Quidditch. Muggles.
I’m back at Hogwarts. I have read the first 5 or 6 Harry Potters, I think, I know I definitely haven’t read the last one, but I have seen all the films. So despite the fact that I have 3 more books on my shelf that I need to read, now that I am the proud owner of the entire Harry Potter collection, with children’s covers, I’m going to read them all. If you’re not a Harry Potter fan, then it’s probably just the music posts for the next few months for you.

Starting again, at the beginning I quickly realised one thing, that these are primarily aimed at children, I don’t remember that as much from the first time I read it, but Rowling’s prose is very much aimed at the younger reader, or maybe it’s just the first few books. It didn’t really matter, it’s a beautifully easy read, and is still very funny in places. Then when the danger comes it still has the ability to hook you in.

So, basically Harry Potter is a wizard! who survived after his parents were killed by a big bad wizard whose name should not be mentioned. After spending the first 10 years of his life with his awful aunt and uncle, Hagrid, a half giant reveals to Harry what he is, and that he is enrolled into Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, the foremost such place in the world. Thus Harry plunges headfirst into the wonderful world of wizardry. transfiguration, potions, defence against the dark arts (which, as you can guess, will come in quite useful), the wizard game of quidditch with it’s snitch and bludgers. As Harry completes his first year, complete with bullies (boo! Malfoy) and exams, he learns that something very important is hidden at Hogwarts, and someone is desperate to find it.

But what Harry Potter ultimately is, is a great story, and it casts a spell over your imagination that is a joy to experience. I want to be a wizard while reading this. Although I’m too old to go school, I would love to enrol at Hogwarts, wander down Diagon Alley and catch the Hogwarts express. After seeing the films you tend to picture the actors while you are reading, and indeed the school and even the games of quidditch, but even if you haven’t seen the films, you will still have an imagination filled with wands, Bertie Bots every flavour beans, potions and the odd invisibility cloak.

The story, which only starts here, is a classic good versus evil romp where even though I’ve read it before, and I know ultimately what happens, it does not detract at all from the pleasure of reading it. In fact there was a point when Harry first arrives at Hogwarts that set the cogs in my whirring until I had worked out the ending of this book, but there was plenty I’d forgotten. And one of the things I’m looking forward to this time around is by reading the books one after the other, I can keep tabs on the characters and story.

So after finding the philosophers stone, I’ve locked myself in the chamber of secrets with a packet of chocolate frogs.

Harry stood up.
‘Sir-Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?’
‘Obviously, you’ve just done so.’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You may ask me one more thing, however.’
‘What do you see when you look in the Mirror?’
‘I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.’
Harry stared.
‘One can never have enough socks,’ said Dumbledore.
‘Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.’

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SPQR – A History of Rome – Mary Beard

For his First Catilinarian speech, and especially for it’s famous first line (‘How long, Catiline, will you go on abusing our patience?’), still lurks in twenty-first century political rhetoric, is plastered on modern political banners and is fitted conveniently into the 140 characters of a tweet. All you need do is insert the name of your particular modern target. Indeed, a stream of tweets and other headlines posted over the time I was writing this book swapped the name ‘Catilina’ for, among others, those of the presidents of the United States, France and Syria, the mayor of Milan and the State of Israel: ‘Quo usque tandem abutere, Francois Hollande, patientia nostra?’

So, back to Rome. I am one of the multitude that is fascinated by the Empire and it’s rise and fall. Only this time I would be hitting the heavyweights, Mary Beard: world renowned and respected historian. But how would it compare with Mike Duncan’s history of Rome podcast, still my benchmark for a quality podcast and for Roman History? Should I even try to compare them? Well it’s my blog so I’m going to say yes.

Mary Beard doesn’t so much peek as lift up and shine a bright light under the sleek veneer of Roman History, revealing tidbits such as the word candidate coming from the latin word candidatus, meaning whitened, regarding the special white toga’s worn by the Romans. This is revealed while Beard pulls apart Cesare Maccari’s painting of Cicero denouncing Catiline, the powerful moment in Rome’s early history that Beard picks up her history before she zips back to the beginning of the beginning and the real life / mythical tale of Romulus and Remus.

Beard spends a lot of time picking apart the myths and legends of Rome, the founding of the Republic, the rise of the plebians, from earlier scholars, themselves based on the prism of the Roman’s version of their own history. As the city expands, as the empire expands, as the Emporer’s come (and go) the idea of Rome, of what it was to be Roman, was constantly evolving, the Roman’s incredibly adept at rewriting their own history retrospectively, so that it suited the times that they were in. It i.s also particularly relevant today, looking at how the Roman’s dealt with the influx of people from all over their empire moving to the city with their own fashions and customs and the impact this had on ‘Roman-ness’

There is a treasure trove of information in this book, and Beard effortlessly combines fascinating facts with wry observations that prick through the pomposity of the subject and the Roman’s themselves. Using a chunk of Cicero’s letters and those of Pliny the younger, as well as archaeology and other research, and even previous histories, SPQR looks at the lives of ordinary citizens of the city, who became the centre of an incredible and diverse empire and so had to constantly evaluate themselves and their role within it. Highlighting that the city started properly with the effective kidnapping and raping of women from the next village, there are elements of the Romans that are as backward as they are enlightened, with some ideas and laws existing today in the same or slightly evolved form.

If Caesar really did advocate life imprisonment in 63 BCE, then it was probably the first time in Western history that this was mooted as an alternative to the death penalty, without success. Relying on the emergency powers decree, and so on the vociferous support of many senators, Cicero had the men summarily executed, with not even a show trial Triumphantly, he announced their deaths to the cheering crowd in a famous one-word euphemism: vixere, ‘they have lived’ – that is, ‘they’re dead’.

A look at the succession of Emperors it is not, although when they arrive, through the mighty yet conservative Augustus, to Caracalla, who gifting of citizenship which Beard finishes her history with, their actions with regards to management and succession is looked at through it’s impact on the empire and the city. Despite his greatness Beard points out that Augustus never really formalised the relationship between the Emperor and the Senate, and while he cleverly enveloped them into part of the empires civil service, to the extent that when he died they were incapable of trying to grab the power to run the empire back, the lack of demarcation caused issues for his successors further down the line. When Pliny was in charge of a province, it appears he corresponded directly to the Emperor  to ask questions regarding matters of office, which he more often than not received a reasonably prompt response.

It’s not all politics though, there are gambling on dice in the ports, barbarians and the exotic on the fringes it was interesting to note that a woman did not take her husbands name after marriage, or fall completely under his legal authority. When her father died an adult woman could own property in her own right, but and sell, inherit or make a will and free slaves. Beard points out that many of these rights women in Britain did not receive until the 1870’s.

SPQR is an incredible piece of work, over 500 pages of fascinating history, dollops and dollops of further reading and even a timeline (if that’s your thing). Beard has meticulously researched this, over a lifetime, has collated and organised and has also written in a wonderfully flowing, easy prose. Pointing out the obvious inaccuracies, or where it is impossible to know something for sure. But there is lots we can be certain of, and for lovers of Rome and the Romans, this is a fantastic read, and probably reaches details that Mike Duncan’s podcast doesn’t, but he goes right to the end of the western empire, so it’s swings and roundabouts. I tell you what, listen to that and read this. Everyone’s a winner.

After his long familiarity with the Romans, the king no doubt expected a rather civil meeting. Instead, Laenas handed him a decree of the senate instructing him to withdraw from Egypt immediately. When Antiochus asked for time to consult his advisors, Laenas picked up a stick and drew a circle in the dust around him. There was to be no stepping out of that circle before he had given his answer. Stunned, Antiochus meekly agreed to the senate’s demands. This was an empire of obedience.

 

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The High Mountains of Portugal – Yann Martel

Eusebio coughs a little. “You haven’t been sharing these insights with Father Cecilio, have you?”
Father Cecilio, is their local priest – and the subject of much eye-rolling on Maria’s part. In her presence the poor man always looks like the chicken in the coop that hasn’t laid enough eggs.
“What, and have us excommunicated? That dimwit is the very hammer of literalism that insults my faith. He’s as dumb as an ox.”
“But he means well,” Eusebio suggests smoothly.
“As does an ox.”

I will confess this is my first return to Yann Martel since the Life of Pi, and it came mostly down to the fact it was part of an offer in Waterstones and partly that it was based in Portugal. I read the blurb on the back but didn’t quite realise what it meant, as I was expecting a rolling novel but instead the High Mountains of Portugal is in fact in 3 parts, connected by a longing for home, and chimpanzees.
Up first is Tomas, a man crushed by grief who walks backwards. What is there to say about that? He has some good arguments for it as well.

In response Tomas has come up with good arguments in defence of his way of walking. Does it not make more sense to face the elements – the wind, the rain, the sun, the onslaught of insects, the glumness of strangers, the uncertainty of the future – with the shield that is the back of one’s head, the back of one’s jacket, the seat of one’s pants? These are our protection, our armour. They are made to withstand the vagaries of fate. Meanwhile, when one is walking backwards, ones more delicate parts-the face, the chest, the attractive details of ones clothing-are sheltered from the cruel world ahead and displayed only when and to whom one wants with a simple voluntary turn that shatters one’s anonymity.

By chance finds the diary of an old priest which leads him on a journey to the high mountains of Portugal (see what he did there), which, it turns out, aren’t very high at all.
Tomas travels there in one of Portugal’s first motor cars, something that causes him no small amount of grief and anxiety in itself and which Martel uses to create one of only jarring moments in the whole book, towards the end of part one.

In Father Ulisses, Tomas finds someone who he feels suffering mirrors his own. His journey, which he likens to the old priest, is where he tries to cope with his suffering, almost imitating the priest, giving up his job, and not washing as he reaches the end of his mission.

Maria Luisa Motaal Lozora, who is introduced in part two, is my favourite character in the book. Who puts forward the most compelling explanation of Jesus using Mrs Marple and Poirot, no mean feat, and who places Paul of Tarsus as the originator of Christianity after he solved the whodunnit of Jesus’s death. Her part is small though, as the second part focuses on her husband, Dr Eusebio Lozora and his experience with another Maria, Maria Dores Passos Castro and her husband, who she has packed in a suitcase and brought to the hospital. It is here that you feel the echoes of the Life of Pi, with the magical island and Martel’s game of see just how far he can push your imagination before it snaps. Mine didn’t and it is a poignant, if not fantastical look at losing a loved one.

Lastly we meet Peter Tovy who meets, and feels so instantly connected to Odo that he quits his job and moves to, can you believe it, the high mountains of Portugal. Nothing odd there at all, except maybe that Odo is a chimpanzee. He settles down in a sleepy town and lives carefree days with the excited if not perplexed community, much to the consternation of his son, but much to the delight of Odo.

The High Mountains reminded of Saramago, for location and manner of the storytelling. Tomas’ uncle the aloof aristocrat who Saramago would have subtly scorned, but this was less Saramago, the prose far too punctuated for the Portuguese master. Even so, I think I completely missed the moral of the story, and just soaked in Martel’s Portugal and  it’s characters. Before I realised they were 3 separate yet interrelated stories, as part two carried on I kept thinking, this is all well and good Maria, but where is Tomas? As my brain caught up with my eyes it started to look for the themes that slide through the story. The three parts are tales of grief, about home and where to find it when your anchor has been ripped from you, yet all three are tender and shot through with some wonderful comic moments that make the High Mountains a place worth visiting, particularly if you have a chimpanzee.

“The horn. To warn, to alert, to remind, to coax, to complain.” His uncle squeezes the large rubber bulb affixed to the edge of the automobile, left of the steerage wheel. A tuba-like honk, with a little vibrato, erupts out of of the trumpet attached to the bulb. It is loud and attention-getting. Tomas has a vision of a rider on a horse carrying a goose under his arm like a bag pipe, squeezing the bird whenever danger is nigh, and cannot suppress a cough of laughter. 

 

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The Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and his years of Pilgrimage – Murakami

When he felt hungry he stopped by the local supermarket and bought an apple or some vegetables. Sometimes he ate plain bread, washing it down with milk straight from the carton. When it wasn’t time to sleep, he’d gulp down a glass of whiskey as if it were a dose of medicine. Luckily he wasn’t much of a drinker, and a small dose of alcohol was all it took to send him off to sleep. He never dreamed. But even if he had dreamed, even if dreamlike images arose from the edges of his mind, they would have found nowhere to perch on the slippery slopes of his consciousness, instead quickly sliding off, down into the void.

So I was straight back in the wild weird world of Murkami from page one, a world in which all of his characters live in a world that is tilted slightly off from our own but that Murakami makes normal by his minimal functional prose and touches of everydayness (think I’ve just made up that one).

Tsukuru Tazaki is one of the most normal characters I have come across in a Murakami novel, except maybe his slightly odd passion for railway stations, and maybe the way he observes where people have colour in their names, contrasting with his own colourlessness, which is a reason he believes he’s a nobody. However, after forming an incredibly strong bond with four other people in the formative years of his life, he is suddenly and inexplicably cast out from the group and left on his own.

After coming to terms with his sudden isolation Tazaki has few friends and even fewer girlfriends, but one convinces him to go back to his old friends and find out why he was so cruelly expelled from of their lives.

It actually sounds like a normal story, and it very nearly is. Except it’s Murakami, so it’s all slightly kooky, but a good if not weird kooky. The thoughts and experiences of the characters sometimes verge on borderline horror, and I do wonder if this is normal for Japanese people, or if it’s just Murakami, or if it’s something hidden with the Japanese psyche that Murakmai has tapped into. I didn’t want to guess at the reason why his friends broke off contact from Tazaki. I knew I would never be able to guess, but I think also I was scared that I might guess right, and that would mean I’d be in Murakami’s world.

This isn’t a dream, Tsukuru decided. Everything is too distinct to be a dream. But he couldn’t say if the person standing there was the real Haida. The real Haida, in his actual flesh and blood, was sound asleep on the sofa in the next room. The Haida standing here must be a kind of projection that had slipped free of the real Haida. That’s the way it felt.

Tazaki spends considerable time thinking about the reasons he doesn’t hold down friendships, and his theories touch upon universal feelings of belonging and friendships that Murakami explores in his own slightly abstract way, without becoming sentimental or mawkish. Driven by his girlfriend who correctly spots that in order for him to fulfil his life he needs to clear out the debris of his past, Tazaki resolves to find out what prompted the exile that had so far defined his life.
So in his own methodical and understated way, Tazaki finds and meets up with his friends to try and understand what happened to their incredible friendship.

I don’t want to reveal too much, and Murakami resists tying up all the loose ends, seems to even resist giving the story an ending. It is Tazaki himself that seems to reach a milestone, and it’s a good place to stop. At the end what makes colorless Tazaki such a great character is not the fact that he’s a nobody, but that in fact, he’s everybody.

He thought about Sara, her mint-green dress, her cheerful laugh, and the middle-aged man she was walking with, hand in hand. But these thoughts didn’t lead him anywhere. The human heart is like a night bird. Silently waiting for something, and when the time comes, it flies straight toward it.
He shut his eyes and gave himself over to the tones of the accordion. The monotonous melody wended it’s way through the noisy voices and reached him, like a foghorn, nearly drowned out by the crashing waves.

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