I was told in elementary school that I only could read at half the speed for success in college. Oh well, one benefit of slow reading is you get to live with the characters a longer period of time. I read in a vain attempt to better understand people. At my other homes, I'm known as a spouse, pop, guy in the choir, physical chemist, computer/web dilettante and child-care provider. In theory, I'm a published author, if you consider stuff like Quenching Cross Sections for Electronic Energy Transfer Reactions Between Metastable Argon Atoms and Noble Gases and Small Molecules to count as publications. I've strewn dozens of such fascinating things to the winds.
During his teen years, Tsukuru Tazaki belonged to a harmonious group of five people. The other four all had names with colors in them, the boys being blue and red, the girls being white and black. Tsukuru Tazaki was the colorless one. He was also the only one who left the provincial environs of Nagoya (my nephew says Nagoya isn't all that provincial, but in this book it is, apparently, likened to Conan Doyle's Lost World), and headed off to Tokyo for college. He regularly went back to Nagoya to be with his friends. Then one day, they wouldn't have anything to do with him. They cut him off without explanation. He was devastated and spent the next five or six months thinking only about death.