SouthoftheBorder,WestoftheSun - (EPUB全文下载)

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ACCLAIM FOR HARUKl MURAKAMI’ S
SOUTH OF THE BORDER, WEST OF THE SUN
“His most deeply moving novel.”
–The Boston Globe
“Mesmerizing…. This is a harrowing, a disturbing, a hauntingly brilliant tale.”
–The Baltimore Sun
“A fine, almost delicate book about what is unfathomable about us.”
–The Philadelphia Inquirer
“Portrayed in a fluid language that veers from the vernacular … to the surprisingly poetic.”
–San Francisco Examiner & Chronicle
“Haunting and natural…. South of the Border, West of the Sun so smoothly shifts the reader from mundane concerns into latent madness as to challenge one’s faith in the material world … contains passages that are among his finest.”
–The New York Observer
“Haruki Murakami applies his patented Japanese magic realism–minimalist, smooth, and transcendently odd–to a charming tale of childhood love lost”
–New York
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
Other Books by This Author
Also by Haruki Murakami
Copyright
1
My birthday’s the fourth of January, 1951. The first week of the first month of the first year of the second half of the twentieth century. Something to commemorate, I guess, which is why my parents named me Hajime— “Beginning,” in Japanese. Other than that, a 100 percent average birth. My father worked in a large brokerage firm, my mother was a typical housewife. During the war, my father was drafted as a student and sent to fight in Singapore; after the surrender he spent some time in a POW camp. My mother’s house was burned down in a B-29 raid during the final year of the war. Their generation suffered most during the long war.
When I was born, though, you’d never have known there’d been a war. No more burned-out ruins, no more occupation army. We lived in a small, quiet town, in a house my father’s company provided. The house was prewar, somewhat old but roomy enough. Pine trees grew in the garden, and we even had a small pond and some stone lanterns.
The town I grew up in was your typical middle-class suburbia. The classmates I was friendly with all lived in neat little row houses; some might have been a bit larger than mine, but you could count on them all having similar entranceways, pine trees in the garden. The works. My friends’ fathers were employed in companies or else were professionals of some sort. Hardly anyone’s mother w ............

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