Suzume, page 1
Copyright
Makoto Shinkai
Translation by Winifred Bird
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Suzume
© Makoto Shinkai
© 2022SNTFP
First published in Japan in 2022 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.
English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo
“Rougeno Dengon”
© 1975 Alfa Music Inc.
All rights administered by Sony Music Publishing (US) LLC, 424 Church Street, Suite 1200, Nashville, TN 37219.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
“Ora Toukyousa Iguda” by Ikuzo Yoshi
© 2013 Daiichi Music Publisher Co., Ltd. (JASRAC) admin. by Wixen Music Publishing, Inc.
All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
Yumeno Nakae
Words and Music by Yosui Inoue
Copyright © 1973 FIRE MUSIC PUBLISHERS, INC.
Copyright Renewed
All Rights Administered by UNIVERSAL – POLYGRAM INTERNATIONAL PUBLISHING, INC.
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC
Ni Oku Yon Senman No Hitomi (240 Million Eyes)
Words and Music by Masao Urino and Daisuke Inoue
Copyright © BURNING PUBLISHERS CO., LTD.
All Rights Administered by Avex Music c/o Downtown Music Services
All Rights Reserved Used by Permission
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC
English translation ©2023 by Yen Press, LLC
Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Yen On
150 West 30th Street, 19th Floor
New York, NY 10001
Visit us at yenpress.com ♦ facebook.com/yenpress ♦ twitter.com/yenpress
yenpress.tumblr.com ♦ instagram.com/yenpress
First Yen On Edition: December 2023
Edited by Yen On Editorial: Emma McClain, Anna Powers
Designed by Yen Press Design: Madelaine Norman
Yen On is an imprint of Yen Press, LLC.
The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Yen Press, LLC.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Shinkai, Makoto, author. | Bird, Winifred, translator.
Title: Suzume / Makoto Shinkai ; translated by Winifred Bird.
Other titles: Suzume no tojimari. English | Suzume (Motion picture)
Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2023. | Summary: Seventeen-year-old Suzume Iwato helps a mysterious young man close doors from the other side that are releasing disasters all over in Japan.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023013773 | ISBN 9781975373061 (hardcover)
Subjects: CYAC: Fantasy. | LCGFT: Fantasy fiction. | Novelizations. | Light novels.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S5176 Su 2023 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023013773
ISBNs: 978-1-9753-7306-1 (hardcover)
978-1-9753-7307-8 (ebook)
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Day One
The Place I Go in My Dreams
A Person like a Beautiful Landscape
Things That Only We Can See
It’s Starting, the World Whispers
Day Two
Searching for a Cat in Ehime
The Direction I Need to Run In Now
Thanks to You, I’m a Magician
Day Three
Crossing the Strait
The Four of Us Make Some Memories
A Door You Can’t Enter and a Place You’re Not Supposed to Go
A Nighttime Party and a Lonely Dream
Day Four
Scenery You Can See but Cannot Be a Part Of
A Room like a Garden
If the Plug Was Pulled from the Sky
Never Again
Day Five
The Only Door You Can Enter
Departure
What Are You Searching For?
Enter the Minister of the Left
What They Want Me to Do
Hometown
Ever-After
The Town That Is Still Burning
The Whole of Time
Day Six and Recollections
The Words No One Got to Say
Afterword
Yen Newsletter
Download all your Fav Light Novels from Just Light Novels
The Place I Go in My Dreams
There’s this recurring dream I have—I don’t realize it’s a dream when I’m in the middle of it. I’m a little girl, and I’m lost. So basically, I’m miserable and worried. But there’s a mood of familiarity and reassurance, too, like I’m wrapped in my favorite sheets. Sad yet comfortable. I don’t know where I am, and yet it’s not strange to me. I’m in a place I shouldn’t be, but I want to stay there forever. Still, for child-me, the sadness seems to be winning out, and I’m desperately trying to hold back the sobs welling up from my chest. Dry tears turn into clear grains of sand that cling to the corners of my eyes.
Overhead, the stars are gleaming. It’s like someone has mistakenly cranked up the luminosity to ten times the usual, until the starry sky is absurdly bright. It’s so blinding that each point of light seems to pulse with a ringing noise. Within the folds of my ears, the sound of the stars blends with the whoosh of dry wind, my own heavy breathing, and the crunch of weeds beneath my feet. This whole time, I’ve been walking through those weeds. Far in the distance, a range of mountains seems to encircle the world. Beyond them rises a white wall of clouds with a yellow sun perched on top. The white clouds and sun are there at the same time as all the stars. Beneath this sky in which all of time seems to fuse together, I walk on.
Eventually, I come upon a house and peer in through the window. All the houses here are buried beneath a tangle of plants. Most of the windows are broken, and their tattered curtains whisper in the wind. Weeds grow thick inside, but oddly, the dishes, keyboards, textbooks, and other objects scattered about look brand-new.
“Mom!” I yell, but my voice comes out scratchy, like the air has been let out of it. I concentrate on my throat and try again: “Mom!” The ivy-covered walls swallow my shout like I never said a word.
I’m not sure how many houses I peer into, how much grass I walk over, how many times I call out for my mother. No one answers; no one appears. I don’t see a single animal. My shouts vanish without an echo into the weeds, the crumbling houses, the piled-up cars, the fishing boats balanced on roofs. No matter how far I walk, there is only wreckage. Tears well up again, along with overwhelming despair.
“Mom! Mom, where are you?!”
I walk along, sobbing. My breath is white. The moisture in it cools the moment it leaves my mouth, chilling the tips of my ears even more. My fingers, each with black mud packed under the nail, and my round little toes inside their Velcro shoes are so cold they hurt. Meanwhile, my throat and my heart and the back of my eyeballs feel uncomfortably hot, like they have some special disease that doesn’t affect any other part of me.
When I look up at the sky again, the sun has sunk below the clouds and the world is blanketed in a transparent lemon yellow. Overhead, the stars still shine absurdly bright. I’m crouched in the weeds, exhausted from walking and crying. As I curl up inside my down jacket, the wind blows against my back, and little by little stealing my warmth and exchanging it for helplessness. My small body grows heavier, as if it is being replaced with mud.
But it’s only just begun.
I feel like I’m watching myself from a distance as this thought occurs to me.
The climax of the dream is still coming. My body will freeze, and my heart will grow numb with worry and loneliness. Resignation will flood through me, and I won’t care anymore. But…
I hear a soft rustling from far away. Someone is walking through the field of weeds. To me, the plants felt prickly and hard. But beneath the feet of this person, they sound as soft and gentle as fresh spring buds. I lift my face from between my knees as the footsteps approach. Slowly, I stand and look over my shoulder. I blink hard, trying to clear the mist from my eyes. Past the swaying weeds, as if on the other side of a sunset-colored sheet of tissue paper, I see a human form. Wind billows her loose white dress, and golden light frames her long hair. She is a grown-up with a slender, delicate frame, and her mouth is curved gently upward like a fingernail moon at dawn.
“Suzume.”
She calls my name. The moment she does, I feel as if I’m sinking into a warm bath. From each point touched by the wave of her voice—my ears, my fingers, the tip of my nose—warmth spreads through my body. The snowflakes swirling in the wind turn to pink petals dancing around us.
It
“Mom,” I whisper, but I’m already awake.
A Person like a Beautiful Landscape
That’s the place I always go in my dreams.
It’s morning, and I’m in my room. As I lie in bed, it only takes a second for me to understand where I am. The chime outside my window is tinkling. A breeze that smells of the sea gently sways the lace curtains. Ah, it’s a little damp, I think, feeling the pillow against my cheek. The tingling lingers in my fingers and toes, a mix of loneliness and joy. Still wrapped in my sheets, wanting to be lazy just a little longer, I close my eyes, and—
“Suzume, are you up?”
I hear a voice, slightly irritated, shouting at me from downstairs. I sigh, heave myself out of bed, and yell back, “I’m up!” The ghost of my dream, there only a moment before, vanishes completely.
“A high-pressure system will be bringing beautiful blue skies all across Kyushu!”
The weather lady on TV Miyazaki is smiling cheerfully as she swirls what appears to be a magical girl’s colorful wand over a map of Kyushu.
“Thanks for the meal,” I say, bringing my hands together before plopping a large pat of butter onto my thick slice of white bread. She’s kind of nice, I think, gazing at the weather lady as I spread the butter. Judging from her pale skin, she must be from up north, somewhere with lots of snow. I crunch into the bread, inhaling its toasty smell. Delicious. The rich butter brings out the sweet doughiness of the part under the browned surface. We always use ingredients that are a little fancy at my house. Apparently, today’s high will be twenty-eight degrees Celsius, slightly lower than yesterday, making for lovely September weather. The lady on the screen has perfect intonation, without a hint of regional accent.
“Don’t forget your lunch again,” Tamaki says from the kitchen. She speaks with a Miyazaki accent, and maybe it’s my imagination, but she sounds like she’s scolding me a little. She makes lunch for me every morning, but sometimes I forget to bring it to school. I don’t do it on purpose; I really don’t. But on days that I forget my lunch, I do feel a tiny bit freer. “You’re hopeless,” she mutters, pursing her glossy red lips as she packs food into a lunch box. Under her apron she’s wearing a sleek beige pantsuit; she’s perfectly groomed as always, from her lustrous bowl cut to the makeup that brings out her big, round eyes.
“By the way, I’ll be home kind of late tonight. Can you find yourself something for dinner?”
“You’re going on a date?!” I ask, gulping down my mouthful of fried egg. “By all means, take your time! Stay out till midnight if you like! Go have some fun for once!”
“It’s not a date—it’s overtime!” she shoots back, nipping my excitement in the bud. “Gotta get ready for the fishing event. It’s right around the corner, so I’ve got loads to do. Hey, your lunch!”
She hands me my jumbo lunch box. It weighs a ton, as usual.
The sky is clear, just like the weather lady promised, and a few kites wheel around proudly overhead. I’m coasting down a hill next to the ocean on my bicycle, and the skirt of my school uniform flaps in and out with the wind, like it’s taking deep breaths. The sky and ocean are unbelievably blue, the plants covering the embankment are endlessly lush, and the flat line of clouds is as white as newborn lambs. It strikes me that a picture of me in my uniform riding through this scene would look amazing on social media. There I am, pedaling down the slope with the old port town sparkling in the morning sun below me. I envision the photograph: a high ponytail fluttering in the sea breeze, a pink bike, and a slender (I think?) teenage girl against the blue sky. I can imagine the comments. Damn, I bet that’d get a lot of likes. …Abruptly, a corner of my heart hardens. Part of me is fed up with myself. Look at you. Not a care in the world, gazing at the ocean and thinking about something like that.
Sighing softly, I peel my eyes off the water, which has suddenly lost its color. I turn to face straight ahead, and—
“!”
Someone is walking up the hill. This is slightly surprising, because almost no one walks here on the outskirts of town. Adults always drive, kids ride in adults’ cars, and teenagers like me ride bikes or mopeds.
I’m almost certain it’s a man. He’s tall and thin, and his long hair and oversize shirt are blowing in the wind. I squeeze the brake to slow down a little, and he gradually approaches. He’s young, but I don’t recognize him—a traveler, maybe? He has on what looks like a hiking backpack. His jeans are faded, and he moves with big strides. His long, slightly wavy hair hides his face as he looks at the sea. I squeeze the brake a little tighter, and the sea breeze suddenly blows harder. His hair dances, sunlight hits his eyes, and I gasp.
“He’s gorgeous…” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. The man’s skin is so pale it makes summer seem like a foreign concept. His profile is clear and graceful. His long lashes cast soft shadows on the cliff of his cheek. Below his left eye is a small mole so perfect it might have been placed there by divine will. For some reason, these details rush toward me at high resolution, like I’m seeing them up close. My heart pounds. We pass each other at a distance of about fifty centimeters. I, we—my heart says. Every sound slows. We’ve met somewhere before—
“’Scuse me.”
His voice is low and gentle. I stop and look back at him. In that moment, the whole world is incredibly bright. He’s standing right there. He looks me straight in the eye.
“You know of any ruins around here?”
“Ruins?” I’m so caught off guard I can’t even remember what the word means.
“I’m looking for a door.”
A door? Like a door in an abandoned house?
“…If you mean like a village where no one lives anymore, there’s one in those hills over there…,” I say uncertainly.
He grins. It’s a beautiful smile, the kind that softly tints the air around him.
“Thanks.”
He turns away from me and strides off toward the hills I pointed to. He doesn’t glance back even once.
“…Huh?” I say, despite myself. A kite calls out overhead. I mean, couldn’t we have talked for a little longer?
The railway crossing bell is ringing right above my head. My heart is still beating faster than normal as I wait for the train to pass. Who was that guy? I wonder as I watch the blinking red lights. Is that what it feels like to meet a celebrity or a model in person? Like they’re a little too beautiful for the ordinary world, and for a while after you see them, you can’t calm down? …No, that’s not right, not right at all. That guy was more like…
A snowy landscape lit up by streetlamps. A mountain when sunrise hits its peak. A pure-white cloud, unraveled by the wind beyond your reach. He wasn’t handsome so much as beautiful, like those scenes are beautiful. And I feel like he’s a scene I’ve encountered before. Yes, it’s that same peculiar nostalgia I feel in the field of weeds in my dream—
“Suuuzume!”
A hand thumps my shoulder.
“Morning!”
“Oh, hi, Aya. Morning.”
Aya must have run up to me, because she’s panting and her bobbed black hair is bouncing. A two-car train passes, shaking the bar of the crossing gate and my skirt with its wind. I finally notice I’m surrounded by other kids chatting on their way to school. “Did you see yesterday’s episode?” “I’m screwed—I hardly slept at all.” They all seem so happy.
“Hey, what’s up? You look kinda flushed,” Aya says.
“What, no way? Flushed?!” I squeeze my cheeks between my palms. They’re hot.
“Very. Something happen?”
Her suspicious eyes peer at me through her glasses. As I’m trying to decide what to say, the warning bell stops ringing as if signaling my time is up, and the crossing bar rises. The students start walking all at once.
“…Suzume? You okay?” Aya asks, a little worried, glancing back as I stand rooted to the spot. A person like a landscape. That feeling of déjà vu. I pick up the front wheel of my bike.
“Sorry, I forgot something at home!” I say, turning my bike away from the crossing and straddling it. As I pedal off back the way I came, I hear Aya’s voice fading away: “Wait, wait, Suzume! You’ll be late!” My back sweats under the strong morning sun as I stand and pedal toward the hills. A middle-aged man driving a farm truck glares at me as I ride rapidly away from my high school, dressed in my uniform. I veer off the asphalt prefectural highway and onto an old concrete road leading into the hills. Instantly, the cries of locusts replace the crashing of waves. I leave my bike in the weeds and climb over the DO NOT ENTER barricade, then jog up the narrow, dark path that’s hardly more than a wild animal trail.
