Trudie's Reviews > Killing Commendatore

* 1.5 *

One couldn't escape death, but it should come later - she wanted to know what it felt like to have full breasts and a woman's nipples at least once before she died. It would really suck if hornets killed her before she had that chance.

Indeed.

It is probably worthwhile to say at the outset that I am not a Murakami superfan. I have read three of his books now and I nearly always leave with a vague sense of disappointment and unease. Killing Commendatore is not a good choice for a person with this attitude because I think even superfans will agree this is not his best work. Nevertheless, my commitment to book club is such I dutifully plowed through this brick collecting up grievances. These can be summarised as i) Length ii) Repetition iii) Breasts

(i) Length - It is too long man, far too long. It is a short story idea with an ego problem.

Hari Kunzru sums it up well in his NYT review* :

the narrator’s dreaminess mainly feels unfocused, and a story that might have been engaging at 300 or 400 pages is drawn out to almost 700. This is a novel in which no character can go to meet a friend at a restaurant without a description of the route and the traffic conditions.

(ii) Repetition : Do you remember that pit we found ? the dry stone one that is 9 meters by 3 ?, the one with the bells, a stone pit covered over with ancient stones ? Well it is pretty hard to forget because it is mentioned constantly and each time it is redescribed using the exact same language. I am pretty sure the narrator wanders along to visit it about 18 times. This frustrating need to replay events and repeatedly describe scenes that are already established is probably my single biggest grievance.
No book has needed an editor more desperately.

(iii) Breasts - The little excerpt that was quoted in the annual bad sex in fiction award was indeed eye-wateringly bad but more odd to me was this books weird obsession with breasts. It was such a constantly repeated motif, that it was difficult not to feel this was Murakami's own obsession, every woman in this novel has their boobs sized and it almost the first thing you learn about them.
The final section of the novel which in theory should have been relatively tension filled was undercut by 13 year Mariye checking to see if her breasts had sprouted, budded or otherwise developed. Sigh

There is some good facets to this book, descriptions of the creative process of painting are particularly compelling. The character of the Commendatore was delightful and I wish he could have been made more of. It can be quite meditative to read Murakami, he captures the simple routines of everyday life well but it is a fine line between meditative and snooze-fest.

(* NYT Review https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/16/bo... )