Maybe I am fated to always be alone, Tsukuru found himself thinking. People came to him, but in the end they always left. They came, seeking something, but either they couldn't find it, or were unhappy with what they found (or else they were disappointed or angry) and they left. One day, without warning, they vanished, with no explanation, no word of farewell. Like a silent hatchet had sliced the ties between them, ties through which warm blood still flowed, along with a quiet pulse. I pre-ordered Haruki Murakami's new novel ages ago and finally got it about a week ago. It was the perfect book to take along on a end-of-summer trip to the west coast of Finland (although if my destination had been Hämeenlinna, it would've been even more perfect... for reasons that will be explained later). ;) I think I will always associate the novel with the strange places and situations that I read it in: from a freezing cabin in the middle of the night to the cosy bed of a warm hotel r...