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Kazuo IshiguroA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
In Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nocturnes, the romanticized idea of the struggling artist gives way to a more draining reality, as musicians repeatedly face the painful and sometimes absurd compromises needed for commercial survival. The different stories show a world built around marketability, where artistic integrity becomes a luxury and raw talent is reduced to one of many ingredients in a formula that often undercuts creative purity and personal identity. This conflict pushes characters to play sanitized versions of their work, set aside their originality, and in extreme moments, change their own bodies to satisfy commercial expectations.
In “Crooner,” the guitarist Janek has skill, yet he works in Venice’s Piazza San Marco and must perform any piece that the tourists request. He remembers one afternoon when he went “from band to band” and found himself “playing ‘The Godfather’ nine times in one afternoon” (4). His professional life thus becomes a routine in which his craft shrinks into background music for visitors, far removed from any idea of creative expression. The plot of “Cellists” repeats this pattern through Tibor, a gifted young cellist who takes a job in a hotel chamber group after a summer of artistic growth. The position requires him to provide quiet music for diners’ offhand enjoyment, marking a steep drop from the concert halls he trained for. This transition suggests that even promising musicians must temper their ambition with the need to earn money. In addition, Tibor’s position will involve nonmusical work, highlighting the lack of value placed on talented performers.
The book also depicts a music industry that treats originality with suspicion. For example, the narrator of “Malvern Hills” is a young songwriter who faces rejection at every turn because he writes his own songs. As another musician tells him in blunt terms, “It’s just that there are so many wankers going around writing songs” (91). This cynical comment captures a scene in which authenticity becomes a weakness, especially given that established formulas draw more interest than genuine creativity. Faced with this bitter realization, the aspiring songwriter realizes that the trait he values most about himself is the one holding him back.
Yet despite the intensity of these examples, “Nocturne” presents the harshest compromise by featuring a musician who changes his physical appearance in a desperate bid to revive his career. Pressure from his agent and his ex-wife leads Steve to undergo plastic surgery, financed by his ex-wife’s successful boyfriend. The commodity in this case is Steve’s face, which becomes a product to be redesigned for better appeal. This extreme situation reinforces the book’s bleak view that artists can only achieve commercial success by making dire, identity-erasing concessions that erode the integrity of their work and their sense of self.
In Ishiguro’s Nocturnes, performance often becomes a defensive gesture that allows those who live with failure, insecurity, and disappointment to build polished public façades and avoid painful truths. These performances, whether they take the form of musical serenades or social charades, create a thin shield between the characters’ private turmoil and the demands of the outside world. Ultimately, Ishiguro shows that the most polished displays often reveal the deepest anxieties.
The narratives also suggest that musical performance, which is usually linked to genuine feeling, often becomes a tool to manage difficult personal situations. In “Crooner,” the aging singer Tony Gardner hires a guitarist to help him serenade his wife, Lindy, from a gondola. The scene initially appears to be a final romantic gesture, yet Tony admits to the guitarist that “after this trip we’re separating” (29). The music and the dreamlike setting in Venice create a public scene of devotion while hiding the end of a 27-year marriage. Tony shapes the farewell into a picturesque moment, turning heartbreak into something he can control. Ironically, the love songs that Tony performs express his true feelings for Lindy even as they represent the career to which he is sacrificing their love.
This impulse to hide behind theatrics appears again in awkward social settings. In “Come Rain or Come Shine,” Ray, who feels uneasy about his stagnating life compared to his successful friends, accidentally damages a personal diary in which Emily insults him. When Charlie advises him to blame the neighbors’ dog, Ray builds the lie with a strange degree of intensity. He overturns furniture, spills sugar, and even kneels on the floor to chew magazine pages so that the mess will be convincing. His farcical performance grows out of a fear of being judged a failure. By putting in extra effort to stage a convincing display, Ray can hide his feelings of failure behind a minor success. The elaborate display shows the depth of the insecurity he feels about his job and his life outside the specific scenario of the story.
For a few characters, the performance becomes a lasting identity that protects them from disappointment. Eloise McCormack, in “Cellists,” introduces herself to Tibor as a discerning virtuoso, speaking with authority as she critiques his playing, but she later admits that she has not played the cello since childhood. Her entire persona as an expert shields her from the fear of discovering that her supposed talent might be average at best. Her “performance” lies in the persona of a “virtuoso,” subverting the traditional musical definition of a “performance” as a display of talent. By stubbornly remaining a figure of untapped potential, she avoids the risk of experiencing failure. Across the collection, Ishiguro shows that the characters are often the most fragile when their behavior is at its most theatrical, for they rely upon performance as a final layer of protection.
A quiet ache of unfulfilled potential hangs over Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nocturnes, as many of the characters live with the slow fade of ambition and the growing sense of their own limitations, marinating in a muted sadness. Their stories often turn on their efforts to reconcile with the fact that the current version of themselves no longer matches their early hopes. Whether their potential has waned or has been deliberately hidden, their narratives often strike an emotional tone of resignation as they contemplate the dull middle ground between their lofty dreams and their smaller realities.
Some characters feel their sadness most sharply when their past success begins to decline. In “Crooner,” for example, Tony Gardner was once a “bright, bright star” (22), but he now sees himself as “[j]ust some crooner from a bygone era” (16). In his mind, his potential has already reached its peak, leaving him to face his fading relevance in an ever-changing world. This awareness shapes his plan for a comeback, which requires him to divorce his wife, Lindy, whom he still loves. His melancholy grows from a loss he can measure, since the most promising version of his life lies behind him and casts a long shadow over the present. He acknowledges that Lindy, too, is approaching a point in her life when she will no longer be able to find a new relationship like theirs, and the narrative as a whole suggests that they both suffer from the same melancholy.
While Tony at least has the memories of past success, other characters feel trapped because their talent remains untested. In “Cellists,” Eloise McCormack builds her entire identity around being an “unwrapped” virtuoso (212): someone with great but unproven promise. By avoiding a musical career since childhood, she protects her supposed gift from the sting of failure and shields herself from the potential realization that she might turn out to be ordinary. This choice leaves her suspended in the sense of permanent potential, living in theory instead of daring to put her passion for music into practice. Her sadness arises from the life that she never risked seizing, and as a result, she is shaped by her fear of meeting her limits. Additionally, Eloise tries to convince Tibor to protect his talent, and the narrator’s view of Tibor seven years later shows that he feels unfulfilled despite taking a different path.
The book also captures the first cracks of disillusionment when youthful hopes meet resistance. This dynamic is most prominently displayed when the songwriter in “Malvern Hills” finds the London music scene to be cynical and uninterested in his originality as an artist, and it is clear that he has adopted the early stages of the resignation that the older characters in the story cycle exhibit. In “Come Rain or Come Shine,” Ray’s experiences demonstrate the long-term consequences of such disillusionment. Once seen as promising by his university friends, he is now a middle-aged English teacher whose life is consumed by frustration. His quiet stagnation shows just how far he has drifted from his early promise, and his story thus completes the arc of melancholy that runs through many of the narratives as Ishiguro’s characters navigate the gap between who they once hoped to become and who they actually are.



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