A review of Nocturne by Kazuo Ishiguro

Writing short stories is such an art form. In just a few sentences one must set the scene and develop the characters; then in a few pages create a problem, and finally give a glimpse of resolution.

I have enjoyed Kazuo Ishiguro's writing: Remains of the Day was all about sparse writing, rich characters, subtle motivations, and heart-engaging developments. He is a Japanese/British citizen who blends the literature styles of both nations.

I approached this book with eagerness, savouring each page. After the first story I was disappointed. I felt let down. Then I realised that I was actually echoing the emotions of the main character from that story.

The book has five stories linked by the theme of music and nightfall, and a sense unfulfilled expectations. It presents some perspectives which may be confronting, but allows us to judge the outcome.

In the first story, a famous crooner and his wife share a complicated anniversary, attended to by a musician whose mother was a big fan of the singer. The star-struck guitar player is asked to play while the singer serenades his wife, but all is not as it seems.

There is a familiar feel about the second story, where a guy who shares musical tastes with his friend he met at university, shares an awkward evening with her as she is despairing about the emptiness of her marriage.

This story has farcical elements, where the guy attempts to pretend a dog has been in the house to cover up a breach of manners.

Then we come across a songwriter, having a break with relatives in a tourist village. His mischievous way of dealing with a difficult customer ends up having unforeseen consequences. In these first three stories, the musician/music appreciators are witnesses of relationships that are struggling, providing fascinating insights.

Ishiguro changes tack in the title short story. Once again there are farcical elements in this account of two people undergoing facial reconstruction surgery and recovering in a hotel. They roam the hotel at night with their heads swathed in bandages, keen to escape their rooms. The narrator is a musician whose manager believes has not fulfilled his potential because he is unattractive.

The final story Cellists is probably the one that most resonated with me. It's another story about a complicated relationship and unfulfilled potential. It is partly about who we choose to teach us things, about standards and truth, about disappointment and bitterness.

These are not easy stories to read, they will make you reflect on your own relationships and hopes. They play on the false stories of our age: "beauty will be rewarded', "you can be whatever you want to be', "you will find love', "success is everything', "happiness is everything', "success leads to happiness', "everyone likes me', "I am a genius but just haven't been discovered yet', and "it's all about me'.

Humanity's dark underbelly is exposed, though in unexpected ways, and almost gently. They are stories to chew on and to reflect on the flavour of, and to appreciate that sin is revealed not as something others do, but in the ugliness of our thinking and choices, and the way we manipulate others.

The emptiness of the promises of the world is graphically portrayed, and the difficulty is that there is no comfortable alternative presented. In the end these stories leave a discordant hint at a tune, but I am grateful for a singer who knows what moves my heart, with a melody to guide my living, and music that washes clean my soul, and a triumphant choir echoing my steps and calling me on.