Killing Commendatore: A novel

The faint sunlight filtering in from the vent holes, the gray horned owl on top of a beam, the wrapped painting propped up against a wall. The combination felt magical, somehow, and captivated me.

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

It’s no simple matter to hold on to your mind in total blackness. Your thoughts become a tree of riddles whose branches trail off into the dark. (A metaphor.) Nevertheless, I had to focus on something to hold myself together. Any old something would do.

LIKE HEARING ABOUT THE BEAUTIFUL CANALS OF MARS

I LIKE THINGS I CAN SEE AS MUCH AS THINGS I CAN’T

“I served as a model here for a while,” Menshiki said. “I found it odd somehow. There were times it felt like my soul was being stolen from me.” He laughed. “It’s not like that at all,” Mariye said, in what was little more than a whisper. The three of us turned in her direction. Shoko looked as though she had popped something she shouldn’t have int

You can have all the desire and ache inside you want, but what you really need is a concrete starting point.

Look deep enough into any person and you will find something shining within.

“There are things in the world my friends are better off not knowing,” the Commendatore said, the Edward G. Robinson look plastered on his face. The same thing Masahiko Amada had said the other day, I recalled. There are things people are better off not knowing. “In other words, you won’t tell me the things I’m better off not knowing,” I said. “Aff