Short stories are notorious in the book trade for being difficult to sell. Most readers, wanting to get their teeth into something more substantial, opt for a novel into which they can plunge themselves, forgetting about their own worlds and entering a different one entirely. Short stories by well known writers, however, are an altogether different kettle of fish. Not every writer can pull off this tricky form. It requires more discipline than a novel, a certain economy which many novelists, no matter how accomplished, are incapable of achieving. Not so Kazuo Ishiguro as he proved in Nocturnes, his first short story collection, published in 2009.
As its title suggests, these five stories are linked by the theme of music. Their settings vary from the piazzas of Italy, to the Malvern Hills, to a Hollywood hotel. Written in spare, stripped down prose the stories are all narrated in the first person, a characteristic of Ishiguro’s writing. Curiously reminiscent of Haruki Murakami’s work, a novelist for whom music is also an important theme, they are often very funny. Slapstick moments make the reader chuckle out loud: a saxophonist is caught trying to extract a jazz award from inside a turkey, hidden there by his misguided fellow hotel guest; an old friend is reduced to trying to blame a dog (named Hendrix) for destroying a page in his host’s diary which he himself has torn in a rage. But these are also stories of great poignancy: an ageing crooner arranges a last romantic serenade for his wife before they separate; the saxophonist has been persuaded to have plastic surgery in the hope that his wife will come back to him. With their spare, elegant style, the stories in Nocturnes should satisfy even the most reluctant short story reader. Just don’t be tempted to gobble them all at once.
If you like the sound of Nocturnes you might also like
South of the Border, West of the Sun by Haruki Murakami (1992)
Both only children living in post-war Tokyo suburbs, Hajime and Shimamoto spend hours listening to music together. When Hajime’s parents move, the two lose touch, meeting up again when they are in their thirties. Hajime now runs two jazz bars in the city, and is happily married with two children but finds himself drawn back into the past, fascinated by the beautiful, mysterious Shimamoto. What could very easily have become just another mid-life crisis novel is turned into something elegantly beguiling in one of Murakami’s most accessible works.
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