Killing Commendatore: A novel Paperback – October 1, 2019 by Haruki Murakami

Description

Author: Murakami Haruki

Brand: Vintage

Color: Teal/Turquoise green

Edition: Reprint

Package Dimensions: 34x204x503

Number Of Pages: 752

Release Date: 01-10-2019

Details: Product Description
A tour de force of love and loneliness, war and art, Killing Commendatore is a stunning work of imagination from one of our greatest writers.

When a thirty-something portrait painter is abandoned by his wife, he secludes himself in the mountain home of a world famous artist. One day, the young painter hears a noise from the attic, and upon investigation, he discovers a previously unseen painting. By unearthing this hidden work of art, he unintentionally opens a circle of mysterious circumstances; and to close it, he must undertake a perilous journey into a netherworld that only Haruki Murakami could conjure.
Review
“Exhilarating.” —
The Washington Post

“Some novelists hold a mirror up to the world and some, like Haruki Murakami, use the mirror as a portal to a universe hidden beyond it.” —
The Wall Street Journal

“[Murakami] is as masterful as ever.” —
Houston Chronicle

“A spellbinding parable of art, history, and human loneliness.” —
O, The Oprah Magazine

“The product of a singular imagination.” —
San Francisco Chronicle

“Expansive and intricate.” —
The New York Times

“Beguiling. . . . Murakami is brilliant.” —
The Guardian

“Dazzling. . . . [Murakami] reveals how an artist sees the world.” —
Entertainment Weekly

“[A] sprawling, uncanny epic. . . . A time-traveling tale of loss, longing, and the creation of art—with an ample dash of Murakami’s trademark deadpan humor.” —
Vanity Fair

“A perfect balance of tradition and individual talent. . . . Murakami dancing along ‘the inky blackness of the Path of Metaphor’ is like Fred Astaire dancing across a floor, then up the walls and onto the ceiling.” —
The Spectator

“A surreal, world-altering epic punctuated by art, literature and history.” —
Time

“[Murakami] once more explicates the seemingly impossible with such thorough, exacting conviction to make believers of us all.” —
The Christian Science Monitor

“No other author mixes domestic, fantastic and esoteric elements into such weirdly bewitching shades. . . . Just as [Murakami] straddles barriers dividing high art from mass entertainment, so he suspends borders between east and west.” —
Financial Times

“[
Killing Commendatore] marks the return of a master.” —
Esquire

“The complex landscape that Murakami assembles in
Killing Commendatore is a word portrait of the artist’s inner life.” —
The Times Literary Supplement

“Fascinating. . . . Drawing on Buddhist spiritualism, metaphysics and magical realism—not to mention Lewis Carroll—
Killing Commendatore finds its narrator enmeshed in a singular philosophic adventure.” —
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

“Enthralling.” —
Forward

“Murakami beautifully captures the evanescence of inspiration.” —
Vulture

“Its size, beauty, and concerns with lust and war bring us back to the vividness and scale of [Murakami’s] 1997 epic,
The Wind-up Bird Chronicle.’’ —
The Boston Globe

“Lovely and strange.” —
Bustle

“Wild, thrilling. . . . Murakami is a master storyteller and he knows how to keep us hooked. . . . What makes his voice so distinctive, and so captivating, is the mix of precise observation, clarity and deadpan humour.” —
The Sunday Times (London)
About the Author
Haruki Murakami was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into more than fifty languages, and the most recent of his many international honors is the Hans Christian Andersen Literature Award, whose previous recipients include J. K. Rowling, Isabel Allende, and Salman Rushdie.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Prologue

Today when I awoke from a nap the faceless man was there before me. He was seated on the chair across from the sofa I’d been sleeping on, staring straight at me with a pair of imaginary eyes in a face that wasn’t.

The man was tall, and he was dressed the same as when I had seen him last. His face-that-wasn’t-a-face was half hidden by a wid