Killing Commendatore: A novel
“The way I see it,” Menshiki said, “there’s a point in everybody’s life where they need a major transformation. And when that time comes you have to grab it by the tail. Grab it hard, and never let go. There are some people who are able to, and others who can’t. Tomohiko Amada was one who could.”
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
“There are plenty of things in history that are best left in the shadows. Accurate knowledge does not improve people’s lives. The objective does not necessarily surpass the subjective, you know. Reality does not necessarily extinguish fantasy.”
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
You can have all the desire and ache inside you want, but what you really need is a concrete starting point.
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
BUT IT’S NOT WHAT YOU’RE THINKING
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
Meeting with Yuzu. Getting back together and discovering the baby may be his, via concept.
At any rate it seemed like someone below the stone mound was ringing the bell. I was sure of it. But who? It was at this point that an enigmatic fear began to well up inside me. Instinct told me not to get any closer to the source of that sound. I left, and with the bell ringing behind me hurried back along the path through the woods. Moonlight fil
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SOMETHING IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
Mariye misses painting class. The painter calls Menshiki late to come help with something.
THE COMPOSITION COULDN’T BE IMPROVED
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
The painter is paid (above the high commission initially promised). Reflection upon his lost sister and lost wife, and the parallels with what Menshiki appears to have lost as well. A look at Killing Commendatore with the insight of the parallels to the opera, Don Giovanni.
The area around the shrine had been cleared and the moonlight shone beautifully on everything. Stepping silently, I walked over behind the shrine. There was a tall thicket of pampas grass and, led by the sound, I pushed my way into the thicket. There I found a small mound of square stones casually piled up, a kind of ancient burial mound.
Haruki Murakami • Killing Commendatore: A novel
Here he has described wanting to push through the grass to his sister a couple times, and now he literally is pushing through grass to uncover the source of a sound in the middle of the night.
I flicked off my flashlight, leaned my back against the damp, dark stone wall, and closed my eyes as the rain pattered overhead. Something was running through my mind, but I couldn’t grasp what it was. One thought would link to another, which in turn would link to still another thought. That chain was bizarre somehow, though I couldn’t say exactly
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After a long search, I finally found the flashlight lying about three feet from where I had landed. The moment my hand touched its plastic casing was one of the happiest of my life. But I didn’t switch it on right away. Instead, I closed my eyes and took a number of deep breaths. As if I were patiently unraveling a stubborn knot. My breathing slowe
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