“ With phenomenal energy and verve… What makes [Murakami’s] voice so distinctive, and so captivating, is the mix of precise observation, clarity and deadpan humour… Murakami is a master storyteller and he knows how to keep us hooked ”
Christina Patterson, Sunday Times
“ An exemplary translation ”
Max Davidson, Mail on Sunday
“ It’s safe to say that there’s no one like Murakami ”
Anthony Cummins, Literary Review
October 10, 2018
Find your local bookstore at www.booksellers.co.nz/directory
October 9, 2018
Today when I awoke from a nap the faceless man was there before me. He was seated on the chair across from the sofa I’d been sleeping on, staring straight at me with a pair of imaginary eyes in a face that wasn’t.
The man was tall, and he was dressed the same as when I had seen him last. His face-that-wasn’t-a-face was half hidden by a wide-brimmed black hat, and he had on a long, equally dark coat.
“I came here so you could draw my portrait,” the faceless man said, after he’d made sure I was fully awake. His voice was low, toneless, flat. “You promised you would. You remember?”
“Yes, I remember. But I couldn’t draw it then because I didn’t have any paper,” I said. My voice, too, was toneless and flat. “So to make up for it I gave you a little penguin charm.”
“Yes, I brought it with me,” he said, and held out his right hand. In his hand—which was extremely long—he held a small plastic penguin, the kind you often see attached to a cell phone strap as a good-luck charm. He dropped it on top of the glass coffee table, where it landed with a small clunk.
“I’m returning this. You probably need it. This little penguin will be the charm that should protect those you love. In exchange, I want you to draw my portrait.”
I was perplexed. “I get it, but I’ve never drawn a portrait of a person without a face.”Continue Reading