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Killing Commendatore A novel edition by Haruki Murakami Literature Fiction eBooks

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Killing Commendatore A novel edition by Haruki Murakami Literature Fiction eBooks

Murakami was like the secret center of a candy, the sweet and salty spot. Reading him was like entering another dimension, with the juxtaposition of hypnagogic images, surreal and hallucinatory dreamscapes. Murakami never disappointed me before, with his allegorical symbols such as an empty well or an underground city, and bewildering plots but with accessible characters caught in individual or collective traumas. Many of his novels were postmodern, but even in his realistic fiction, such as NORWEGIAN WOOD, you got a sense of the “other,” due to his dark, searching, and waiting atmosphere and tone. And humor—there was always a piping of humor with the dramatic. Reading him felt like watching a cat with fugitive wings. So why did this one take such a hard nosedive?

Did Murakami usually have an editor to keep him in check, to clean it up? It almost seems as if, since the author has arrived, over and over again, that he wanted other hands off his text, or perhaps he was experimenting. But who would experiment with cumbersome prose and bland details? The voice sounded juvenile at times and the plot was buckling under its own lack of subtlety. And, instead of trusting the reader to read between the lines and pick up on suggestion, he habitually jabs us with over-explication and declarations. By the time I was 25% through the novel, I wanted to heave it across the room. It was sagging under its own weight.

As an example, the narrator, a portrait painter, talks about why he was attracted to his wife, a secret he never revealed to her. He goes on to say that she wasn’t outstandingly attractive, but rather resembled his dead sister, especially her eyes. There was something hackneyed, unoriginal about it. “…the fact that her eyes reminded me so much of my sister who’d died at twelve…Without those eyes, I probably never would have tried to win her over…That was the sole secret I kept from her…”

There are other details that, for me, landed with a thud. Part of it was presentation—a rather flavorless buffet of many “secrets” and anecdotal information I felt I’d heard before. The style was tedious and monotonous. I would have been engaged more if the fictional world and characters blended together more seamlessly, if the sentence structure had some flair. How narrative and description are invented is integral to reader absorption. I suppose my expectations were high, as Murakami had been known for his unique and imaginative language to build his stories. For me, KILLING COMMENATORE—and what a great title, that refers to a hidden painting—it lacked the author’s talent for atmosphere and tone, and I found it too cloying and overexposed, for lack of a better word. The painting idea had muscle, but the telling is where it atrophied for me.

If I missed something, or readers heartily disagree with me, I understand. I don’t relish posting a two-star review, but Murakami is no debut writer. Someone of his stature can handle criticism –it’s the fans I am concerned with. I am a dedicated fan, also, and appreciate that not every book is a winner. There are so many earlier books that are top tier, such as THE WINDUP BIRD CHRONICLE, or KAFKA ON THE SHORE, or A WILD SHEEP CHASE, and of course HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND. Choose any of those or many others for a wild and intoxicating ride.


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Killing Commendatore A novel edition by Haruki Murakami Literature Fiction eBooks Reviews

I am a die hard, rock on Murakami fan. Have read all of his books at least three times each. With every new book he pushes himself a little bit forward. In Killing Commendatore he takes on new challenges.

Adherents of Murakami will know that his early work centers around themes of detachment. Endings of books like Wild Sheep Chase and Hard Boiled Wonderland were open ended and sad, like a person who stopped speaking mid sentence. Following his time in the US he returned to Japan with a new sense of commitment, as we see in the protagonist’s quest to find himself via an underground well and return with his wife. Whether there’s ever a happy ending or not is left to the reader’s imagination. Things started looking up for our perennial protagonist in Kafka, who is allowed by Murakami to move onto his trauma and start anew.

With 1Q84 and beyond, Murakami has officially entered into a new phase Resolution. 1Q84 was revolutionary for Murakami in that he reconciled the two love interests together. Previously, characters NEVER END UP TOGETHER in Murakami— they’re always just missing each other or stuck looming over each other over insurmountable space time. With 1Q84 Murakami showed that he finally could close the loop on love.

So I shrieked with delight to discover that FAMILY and LEGACY are major themes in Killing Commendatore. The loop doesn’t just get closed—it propagates. It seems that in his old age Murakami has done some thinking about humanity’s place in the world and the meaning of life. There is a mention of the Rape of Nanking—what is this, a first for a Japanese author so high profile?—which also strikes me as a courageous move.

Don’t get me wrong—his Zen, Stoic, austere life philosophy still abound. If you’re a Murakami fan, you can feel that he’s starting to shift his approach a bit and try new things with KC. He’s not reinventing the wheel and the story is still the same old story, but there are moments that felt to me like, hm! That’s new for you, Mr. Murakami!

That said, trying out new things doesn’t always go smoothly. As far as a literary masterpiece goes, KC isn’t his best. It’s full of awkward phrases, redundantly written passages, and some themes that might really turn off feminists. Murakami’s attempt to document 21st century things—from Banana Republic to tech entrepreneurs to Googling to marketing— comes across weird and decidedly unhip. His old formula just doesn’t work in a post-mobile age. Murakami’s style is much better suited for writing about the 60s, 70s, and 80s. But you can’t fault the guy for trying. That’s what this book is all about, too finding a new version of yourself even when everything has moved on.

So it’s a bit clumsy. Those who will find it lost odious are probably literary editors who pick apart style for a living. Killing Commendatore doesn’t win top brass for style, that’s for sure. Probably at the bottom of the rung as far as cool factor goes. New entrants to Murakami’s world can enjoy a wild and yet calming ride through the psyche of an oil painter and find good fun. For die-hard, rock-on Murakami fans like myself, you will find some sadness in seeing your favorite author stumble and embarrass himself a bit as he tries to tackle unfamiliar terrain... but you will feel joy and pride in seeing him try new things. You might even find yourself a bit changed afterwards. But for old Murakami fans, this is nothing new.
I loved everything Murakami wrote up until 1Q84. This book felt like a list of increasingly stale Murakami tropes - vaguely sexualized prepubescent girls, sitting in dark holes leading to self discovery, faceless nemeses representing thoughtless capitalism, and a quiet loner, anti-technology protagonist who randomly gets ladies and has an inscrutable wife. All sprinkled with matter of fact magical realism. When you remove all the form, this book has as much substance as the man without a face.
Murakami was like the secret center of a candy, the sweet and salty spot. Reading him was like entering another dimension, with the juxtaposition of hypnagogic images, surreal and hallucinatory dreamscapes. Murakami never disappointed me before, with his allegorical symbols such as an empty well or an underground city, and bewildering plots but with accessible characters caught in individual or collective traumas. Many of his novels were postmodern, but even in his realistic fiction, such as NORWEGIAN WOOD, you got a sense of the “other,” due to his dark, searching, and waiting atmosphere and tone. And humor—there was always a piping of humor with the dramatic. Reading him felt like watching a cat with fugitive wings. So why did this one take such a hard nosedive?

Did Murakami usually have an editor to keep him in check, to clean it up? It almost seems as if, since the author has arrived, over and over again, that he wanted other hands off his text, or perhaps he was experimenting. But who would experiment with cumbersome prose and bland details? The voice sounded juvenile at times and the plot was buckling under its own lack of subtlety. And, instead of trusting the reader to read between the lines and pick up on suggestion, he habitually jabs us with over-explication and declarations. By the time I was 25% through the novel, I wanted to heave it across the room. It was sagging under its own weight.

As an example, the narrator, a portrait painter, talks about why he was attracted to his wife, a secret he never revealed to her. He goes on to say that she wasn’t outstandingly attractive, but rather resembled his dead sister, especially her eyes. There was something hackneyed, unoriginal about it. “…the fact that her eyes reminded me so much of my sister who’d died at twelve…Without those eyes, I probably never would have tried to win her over…That was the sole secret I kept from her…”

There are other details that, for me, landed with a thud. Part of it was presentation—a rather flavorless buffet of many “secrets” and anecdotal information I felt I’d heard before. The style was tedious and monotonous. I would have been engaged more if the fictional world and characters blended together more seamlessly, if the sentence structure had some flair. How narrative and description are invented is integral to reader absorption. I suppose my expectations were high, as Murakami had been known for his unique and imaginative language to build his stories. For me, KILLING COMMENATORE—and what a great title, that refers to a hidden painting—it lacked the author’s talent for atmosphere and tone, and I found it too cloying and overexposed, for lack of a better word. The painting idea had muscle, but the telling is where it atrophied for me.

If I missed something, or readers heartily disagree with me, I understand. I don’t relish posting a two-star review, but Murakami is no debut writer. Someone of his stature can handle criticism –it’s the fans I am concerned with. I am a dedicated fan, also, and appreciate that not every book is a winner. There are so many earlier books that are top tier, such as THE WINDUP BIRD CHRONICLE, or KAFKA ON THE SHORE, or A WILD SHEEP CHASE, and of course HARD-BOILED WONDERLAND. Choose any of those or many others for a wild and intoxicating ride.