プライム無料体験をお試しいただけます
プライム無料体験で、この注文から無料配送特典をご利用いただけます。
非会員 | プライム会員 | |
---|---|---|
通常配送 | ¥410 - ¥450* | 無料 |
お急ぎ便 | ¥510 - ¥550 | |
お届け日時指定便 | ¥510 - ¥650 |
*Amazon.co.jp発送商品の注文額 ¥3,500以上は非会員も無料
無料体験はいつでもキャンセルできます。30日のプライム無料体験をぜひお試しください。
¥1,378¥1,378 税込
発送元: Amazon.co.jp 販売者: Amazon.co.jp
¥878¥878 税込
ポイント: 9pt
(1%)
配送料 ¥350 6月14日-15日にお届け
発送元: もったいない本舗 ※通常24時間以内に出荷可能です。 ※商品状態保証。 販売者: もったいない本舗 ※通常24時間以内に出荷可能です。 ※商品状態保証。
無料のKindleアプリをダウンロードして、スマートフォン、タブレット、またはコンピューターで今すぐKindle本を読むことができます。Kindleデバイスは必要ありません。
ウェブ版Kindleなら、お使いのブラウザですぐにお読みいただけます。
携帯電話のカメラを使用する - 以下のコードをスキャンし、Kindleアプリをダウンロードしてください。
サンプル サンプル
Norwegian Wood (Vintage International) マスマーケット – インターナショナル・エディション, 2011/1/25
購入オプションとあわせ買い
This stunning and elegiac novel by the author of the internationally acclaimed Wind-Up Bird Chronicle has sold over 4 million copies in Japan and is now available to American audiences for the first time. It is sure to be a literary event.
Toru, a quiet and preternaturally serious young college student in Tokyo, is devoted to Naoko, a beautiful and introspective young woman, but their mutual passion is marked by the tragic death of their best friend years before. Toru begins to adapt to campus life and the loneliness and isolation he faces there, but Naoko finds the pressures and responsibilities of life unbearable. As she retreats further into her own world, Toru finds himself reaching out to others and drawn to a fiercely independent and sexually liberated young woman.
A poignant story of one college student's romantic coming-of-age, Norwegian Wood takes us to that distant place of a young man's first, hopeless, and heroic love.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
- 本の長さ400ページ
- 言語英語
- 出版社Vintage
- 発売日2011/1/25
- 寸法10.44 x 2.16 x 17.5 cm
- ISBN-100307744663
- ISBN-13978-0307744661
この商品をチェックした人はこんな商品もチェックしています
商品の説明
レビュー
“Norwegian Wood . . . not only points to but manifests the author’s genius.” –Chicago Tribune
“[A] treat . . . Murakami captures the heartbeat of his generation and draws the reader in so completely you mourn when the story is done.” –The Baltimore Sun
“Vintage Murakami [and] easily the most erotic of [his] novels.” –Los Angeles Times Book Review
From the Trade Paperback edition.
抜粋
I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the Hamburg airport. Cold November rains drenched the earth and lent everything the gloomy air of a Flemish landscape: the ground crew in rain gear, a flag atop a squat airport building, a BMW billboard. So-Germany again.
Once the plane was on the ground, soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers: a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood." The melody never failed to send a shudder through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever.
I bent forward in my seat, face in hands to keep my skull from splitting open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and asked in English if I were sick. "No," I said, "just dizzy."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."
She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened up and looked out the plane window at the dark clouds hanging over the North Sea, thinking of what I had lost in the course of my life: times gone forever, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never know again.
The plane reached the gate. People began unlatching their seatbelts and pulling baggage from the storage bins, and all the while I was in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969, and soon I would be twenty.
The stewardess came to check on me again. This time she sat next to me and asked if I was all right.
"I'm fine, thanks," I said with a smile. "Just feeling kind of blue."
"I know what you mean," she said. "It happens to me, too, every once in a while."
She stood and gave me a lovely smile. "Well, then, have a nice trip. Auf Wiedersehen."
"Auf Wiedersehen.
Eighteen years have gone by, and still I can bring back every detail of that day in the meadow. Washed clean of summer's dust by days of gentle rain, the mountains wore a deep, brilliant green. The October breeze set white fronds of head-tall grasses swaying. One long streak of cloud hung pasted across a dome of frozen blue. It almost hurt to look at that faroff sky. A puff of wind swept across the meadow and through her hair before it slipped into the woods to rustle branches and send back snatches of distant barking-a hazy sound that seemed to reach us from the doorway to another world. We heard no other sounds. We met no other people. We saw only two bright, red birds leap startled from the center of the meadow and dart into the woods. As we ambled along, Naoko spoke to me of wells.
Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene, I hardly paid it any mind. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined that eighteen years later I would recall it in such detail. I didn't give a damn about the scenery that day. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about the beautiful girl walking next to me. I was thinking about the two of us together, and then about myself again. It was the age, that time of life when every sight, every feeling, every thought came back, like a boomerang, to me. And worse, I was in love. Love with complications. Scenery was the last thing on my mind.
Now, though, that meadow scene is the first thing that comes back to me. The smell of the grass, the faint chill of the wind, the line of the hills, the barking of a dog: these are the first things, and they come with absolute clarity. I feel as if I can reach out and trace them with a fingertip. And yet, as clear as the scene may be, no one is in it. No one. Naoko is not there, and neither am I. Where could we have disappeared to? How could such a thing have happened? Everything that seemed so important back then-Naoko, and the self I was then, and the world I had then: where could they have all gone? It's true, I can't even bring back Naoko's face-not right away, at least. All I'm left holding is a background, sheer scenery, with no people up front.
True, given time enough, I can bring back her face. I start joining images-her tiny, cold hand; her straight, black hair so smooth and cool to the touch; a soft, rounded earlobe and the microscopic mole just beneath it; the camel's hair coat she wore in the winter; her habit of looking straight into your eyes when asking a question; the slight trembling that would come to her voice now and then (as if she were speaking on a windy hilltop)-and suddenly her face is there, always in profile at first, because Naoko and I were always out walking together, side by side. Then she turns to me, and smiles, and tilts her head just a bit, and begins to speak, and she looks into my eyes as if trying to catch the image of a minnow that has darted across the pool of a limpid spring.
I do need that time, though, for Naoko's face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute-like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it: my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand-ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand. And nothing but scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again to me like a symbolic scene in a movie. Each time it appears, it delivers a kick to some part of my mind. "Wake up," it says. "I'm still here. Wake up and think about it. Think about why I'm still here." The kicking never hurts me. There's no pain at all. just a hollow sound that echoes with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day. At the Hamburg airport, though, the kicks were longer and harder than usual. Which is why I am writing this book. To think. To understand. It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them.
Let's see, now, what was Naoko talking about that day?
Of course: the "field well." I have no idea whether such a well ever existed, It might have been an image or a sign that existed only inside Naoko, like all the other things she used to spin into existence inside her mind in those dark days. Once she had described it to me, though, I was never able to think of that meadow scene without the well. From that day forward, the image of a thing I had never laid eyes on became inseparably fused to the actual scene of the field that lay before me. I can go so far as to describe the well in minute detail. It lay precisely on the border where the meadow ended and the woods began-a dark opening in the earth a yard across, hidden by the meadow grass. Nothing marked its perimeter-no fence, no stone curb (at least not one that rose above ground level). It was nothing but a hole, a mouth open wide. The stones of its collar had been weathered and turned a strange muddy white. They were cracked and had chunks missing, and a little green lizard slithered into an open seam. You could lean over the edge and peer down to see nothing. All I knew about the well was its frightening depth. It was deep beyond measuring, and crammed full of darkness, as if all the world's darknesses had been boiled down to their ultimate density.
"It's really, really deep," said Naoko, choosing her words with care. She would speak that way sometimes, slowing down to find the exact word she was looking for. "But no one knows where it is," she continued. "The one thing I know for sure is that it's around here somewhere."
Hands thrust into the pockets of her tweed jacket, she smiled at me as if to say "It's true!"
"Then it must be incredibly dangerous," I said. "A deep well, but nobody knows where it is. You could fall in and that'd be the end of you."
"The end. Aaaaaaaah, splat. Finished."
"Things like that must actually happen."
"They do, every once in a while. Maybe once in two or three years. Somebody disappears all of a sudden, and they just can't find him. So then the people around here say, 'Oh, he fell in the field well.'"
"Not a nice way to die," I said.
"No, it's a terrible way to die," said Naoko, brushing a cluster of grass seed from her jacket. "The best thing would be to break your neck, but you'd probably just break your leg and then you couldn't do a thing. You'd yell at the top of your lungs, but nobody'd hear you, and you couldn't expect anybody to find you, and you'd have centipedes and spiders crawling all over you, and the bones of the ones who died before are scattered all around you, and it's dark and soggy, and way overhead there's this tiny, tiny circle of light like a winter moon. You die there in this place, little by little, all by yourself."
"Yuck, just thinking about it makes my flesh creep," I said. "'Somebody should find the thing and build a wall around it."
"But nobody can find it. So make sure you don't go off the path."
"Don't worry, I won't."
Naoko took her left hand from her pocket and squeezed my hand. "Don't you worry" she said. "You'll be O.K. You could go running all around here in the middle of the night and you'd never fall into the well. And as long as I stick with you, I won't fall in, either."
"Never?"
"Never!"
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just know," she said, increasing her grip on my hand and continuing on for a ways in silence. "I know these things. I'm always right. It's got nothing to do with logic: I just feel it. For example, when I'm really close to you like this, I'm not the least bit scared. Nothing dark or evil could ever tempt me."
"Well, that answers that," I said. "All you have to do is sta...
著者について
Newly translated from the Japanese by Jay Rubin.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
登録情報
- 出版社 : Vintage (2011/1/25)
- 発売日 : 2011/1/25
- 言語 : 英語
- マスマーケット : 400ページ
- ISBN-10 : 0307744663
- ISBN-13 : 978-0307744661
- 寸法 : 10.44 x 2.16 x 17.5 cm
- Amazon 売れ筋ランキング: - 7,723位洋書 (洋書の売れ筋ランキングを見る)
- カスタマーレビュー:
著者について
1949(昭和24)年、京都府生れ。早稲田大学文学部卒業。
1979年、『風の歌を聴け』でデビュー、群像新人文学賞受賞。主著に『羊をめぐる冒険』(野間文芸新人賞)、『世界の終りとハードボイルド・ワンダーランド』(谷崎潤一郎賞受賞)、『ねじまき鳥クロニクル』(読売文学賞)、『ノルウェイの森』、『アンダーグラウンド』、『スプートニクの恋人』、『神の子どもたちはみな踊る』、『海辺のカフカ』、『アフターダーク』など。『レイモンド・カーヴァー全集』、『心臓を貫かれて』、『キャッチャー・イン・ザ・ライ』、『ロング・グッドバイ』など訳書も多数。
著者の本をもっと発見したり、よく似た著者を見つけたり、著者のブログを読んだりしましょう
カスタマーレビュー
私たちの目標は、すべてのレビューを信頼性の高い、有益なものにすることです。だからこそ、私たちはテクノロジーと人間の調査員の両方を活用して、お客様が偽のレビューを見る前にブロックしています。 詳細はこちら
コミュニティガイドラインに違反するAmazonアカウントはブロックされます。また、レビューを購入した出品者をブロックし、そのようなレビューを投稿した当事者に対して法的措置を取ります。 報告方法について学ぶ
イメージ付きのレビュー
-
トップレビュー
上位レビュー、対象国: 日本
レビューのフィルタリング中に問題が発生しました。後でもう一度試してください。
原書を読んだことが無いがこの翻訳書でも十分に村上ワールドが楽しめます。
「風の歌を聴け」を村上春樹は最初は英語で書いてその後日本語に訳したそうだ。だから「風の歌を聴け」から「ダンスダンスダンス」に至るシリーズが英語で読んで面白いだろうと思っていたが、その対極である「ノルェイの森」が一番良かったというのが意外だった。
「ノルウェイの森」は中国や台湾では伝説のベストセラーになっている。アジアで最も愛されている小説は「ノルウェイの森」なのだ。だから日本人の僕は英語の村上春樹の本の中で"Norwegian Wood"に最も心動かされたのかもしれない。
ちなみに僕は英語の勉強のために読み始めた。久しぶりに英語の勉強をする人にもオススメです。
Jルービン氏の翻訳が面白いのでぜひ「ノルウエーの森」も読みたいと思っておりました。遠くなった自分の10代から
20代のころに思いをはせながらどきどきして読んでいます。ふと、ビートルズのヒット曲の題名なのだということに気づきCDを聞きながら、この歌詞もきっと関係があるなあと思いました。あと3分の1で読み終わりそうですが、実に面白い1冊です。
他の国からのトップレビュー
Even though I have never experienced a loss like the one described in the book, I felt so many emotions like I was right there with Watanabe.
I feel like I'm going to re-read this book and still enjoy it as if I were reading it for the first time. Or maybe Ill re-read it and realize the book wasn't as good as I remembered. I'm 21 years old right now so I feel like I read this book at the perfect stage in my life.
Not really a book review but more of a personal journal type thing.