― Alice Blanding, Monday, 29 November 2004 14:45 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― MikeyG (MikeyG), Monday, 29 November 2004 17:11 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
Hi Alice, welcome aboard.
― MikeyG (MikeyG), Monday, 29 November 2004 17:13 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― Kevan (Kevan), Monday, 29 November 2004 17:50 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― Remy Snush (x Jeremy), Tuesday, 30 November 2004 06:37 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
To the original poster, I haven't read that one but I'm sure what you detect is what Ishiguro was going for (not that it matters what he was going for -- if you can make the case for it, it's there!).
― W i l l (common_person), Tuesday, 30 November 2004 22:10 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― Not That Chuck, Wednesday, 1 December 2004 22:02 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― the bellefox, Thursday, 2 December 2004 15:06 (fourteen years ago) Permalink
― Marcello Carlin (nostudium), Friday, 2 June 2006 11:47 (twelve years ago) Permalink
One review of "Never Let Me Go" suggested that, between the title and the cover, it's very likely that a whole lot of ppl will pick it up thinking it's litechicklit.
― Daniel_Rf (Daniel_Rf), Friday, 2 June 2006 12:01 (twelve years ago) Permalink
Have you read it, Marcello? What did you think of it? Please tell me without giving loads away, because I haven't read it yet, although it's on The Pile.
― accentmonkey (accentmonkey), Friday, 2 June 2006 12:08 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ray (Ray), Friday, 2 June 2006 12:29 (twelve years ago) Permalink
The last page is particularly terrifying, all the more so because of its outward placidity, and the underlying horror which I think is really being suggested.
― Marcello Carlin (nostudium), Friday, 2 June 2006 12:50 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― o. nate (onate), Friday, 2 June 2006 14:21 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Gravel Puzzleworth (Gregory Henry), Friday, 2 June 2006 16:06 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Friday, 2 June 2006 23:12 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Jibé (Jibé), Sunday, 4 June 2006 17:14 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― kyle (akmonday), Monday, 5 June 2006 00:26 (twelve years ago) Permalink
I understand Never Let Me Go is vaguely sci-fi, but is it otherwise realistic? I'd be tempted to give it a go if so.
― ledge (ledge), Tuesday, 6 June 2006 13:54 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Jaq (Jaq), Tuesday, 6 June 2006 14:17 (twelve years ago) Permalink
I liked that "half-way house" aspect. There are these great "through the looking glass" moments in both books, where you feel like the moorings of the narrative to reality are coming loose, it's almost like vertigo.
― o. nate (onate), Tuesday, 6 June 2006 15:25 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Jeff LeVine (Jeff LeVine), Friday, 9 June 2006 19:43 (twelve years ago) Permalink
One review of "Never Let Me Go" suggested that, between the title and the cover, it's very likely that a whole lot of ppl will pick it up thinking it's litechicklit.
Plus the back cover blurb is barely related to the content of the book. I know partially this is because publishers always try to disguise the SF-ness of SF-ish literary novels but that alone can't explain how off it is.
― Raw Patrick (Raw Patrick), Wednesday, 21 June 2006 11:02 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Wednesday, 21 June 2006 14:23 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― accentmonkey (accentmonkey), Wednesday, 21 June 2006 15:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Raw Patrick (Raw Patrick), Thursday, 22 June 2006 07:26 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Friday, 23 June 2006 14:28 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Beth Parker (Beth Parker), Saturday, 24 June 2006 02:11 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― accentmonkey (accentmonkey), Saturday, 24 June 2006 07:30 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Beth Parker (Beth Parker), Monday, 26 June 2006 00:58 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ionica (Ionica), Monday, 26 June 2006 07:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ionica (Ionica), Monday, 26 June 2006 08:02 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Raw Patrick (Raw Patrick), Monday, 26 June 2006 11:48 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 11:58 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 12:10 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ionica (Ionica), Monday, 26 June 2006 13:11 (twelve years ago) Permalink
They were about as likely to do this as I am likely to do the same things about my crappy job and I think that was part of the whole point. It would have involved a way of thinking that was beyond the whole world as understood by them. A book where they led some sort've resistance would have been a wholly different book, amd a book that has been written a lot more than this one has. It would have been a cop-out that told lies about the world.
― Raw Patrick (Raw Patrick), Monday, 26 June 2006 13:48 (twelve years ago) Permalink
Even comparing their situation to your crappy job (and you know, your job is not that crap), not everyone just continues going to work every day. Some people get on a different bus in the morning and end up in Ulan Bator. Some people bring a shotgun into work. Some people embezzle money and run to the Caribbean. Lots of people form or join unions, and fight for better working conditions. But the donors did none of these things.
― Ray (Ray), Monday, 26 June 2006 13:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 14:20 (twelve years ago) Permalink
And if it was trying to make a point... well, who is it that needs to change but doesn't? Not people in their ordinary working lives, because they do change sometimes (and think about changing a lot of the time). Not people faced with the same kind of deadline as the donors, because they usually do whatever they can to change their situation. So who should be drawing a lesson from this?
― Ray (Ray), Monday, 26 June 2006 14:51 (twelve years ago) Permalink
as i read the novel i was just baffled that the huge plot holes weren't going to be registered by the characters & author let alone resolved. the main one, of course, is: WHY THE HELL DON'T THEY JUST DISSAPPEAR INTO SOCIETY? since they seem to be similar to humans in every way possible it seems like an easy option but Ishiguro doesn't even raise it in order to dismiss it, he just doesn't acknowledge it as an option.
plot hole number 2, as i see it, is that after being surveilled 24 hours a day (to the point where Kath and Tommy find it difficult to meet up somewhere on the grounds of the school where they can talk in private) they are sent away, at school leaving age, to live on communes with absolutely no security at all. can someone explain to me exactly what, in their situations, changes in order to allow these characters almost total freedom after being locked up for all of their formative years? and why doesn't it change the characters outlooks except in the most superficial ways? why doen't it make them realise that they could dissappear without question? and crucially, what is it that makes them acquiesce at some stage with tyhe whole donor project by giving themselves up as donors, knowing what it will lead to?
another problem: the link between the art work they do + "The Gallery" (ahem), on the one hand, and this notion they have that it might be linked in some way to some possibility of deferrment (FROM CERTAIN DEATH!!!!) starts off puzzling then ends up completely ludicrous! because 1. how could they be linked anyway, even in the characters' somewhat underdeveloped notions of society? 2. if you and your partner were looking at certain death you may wish for more than a "deferrment" from it and 3. when the link becomes clear, as much as it does, it ends up being part of the only meagre resistance movement that exists in defence of the donors - to wit: "this practice is inhumane because, well, look at these pretty pictures!". it's baffling.
BUT BUT BUT. this isn't the main reason the book is bad. it's bad because of the abolutely atrocious writing. line for line this is one of the most poorly written novels i've ever finished. it doesn't seem convincing to say that it's badly written because it's written by Kath (there is no real reason why Kath should be a bad writer considering that she is fairly well read*) it's simply badly written because of Ishiguro.
i'll pick out some howlers (as i see them) when i have the book to hand.
*SHE HAS EVEN READ "DANIEL DERONDA"!!!!
― jed_ (jed), Monday, 26 June 2006 14:56 (twelve years ago) Permalink
More like a dream state then - imagine a dream or a nightmare where the most bizarre and nonsensical things happen. Regardless of whether or not you try to change them, you never question why they're happening, you never say to yourself "this is insane!", you just accept that that's how things are.
That's why the obvious plot holes and the strange acceptance of the characters don't worry me - he's not trying to write a "what-if" sci-fi novel, it's all just a device to explore how people react to each other, and the situations they find themselves in, in a much more abstract way.
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 15:18 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ray (Ray), Monday, 26 June 2006 15:22 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 15:29 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Monday, 26 June 2006 16:06 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Monday, 26 June 2006 17:01 (twelve years ago) Permalink
Perhaps you don't need to. I mean, a lot of Jews accepted their fate under the Nazis and just kind of went along with it. One could argue that people's lives are being directed and manipulated towards their own accelerated destruction everywhere, every day, and they just go along with it.It's not so much the fact that they didn't do anything that bothered me. It's that they didn't even talk about doing anything. That would have seemed more realistic to me, I think.
Why the hell don't they disappear into society? Because they can't. Maybe they look different, we don't know. But they certainly behave differently. They don't know how shops operate, or ordinary relationships, or what jobs are even out there, never mind what they themselves could do. And they are also pampered and privileged and sheltered for a long time before they start their 'donations', by which time it's too late. They remind me of the rabbits in Watership Down who lived in the lovely warren and were sleek and well-fed and had invented an elaborate belief system for themselves and did not run away from the snare, because that was the trade off.Hmm, I might just be talking myself round to liking this book a little bit more than I did before. Thanks, ILB.
― accentmonkey (accentmonkey), Monday, 26 June 2006 18:15 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Monday, 26 June 2006 19:13 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ray (Ray), Monday, 26 June 2006 19:46 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ray (Ray), Monday, 26 June 2006 19:47 (twelve years ago) Permalink
From John Mullin in the Guardian:
"If this were a science fiction novel, one would expect the central character to rebel, but there is never any question of that. When one of their "guardians", Miss Lucy, appears angry about their fate, Kathy and Tommy are curious, but uncomprehending. The cleverest, saddest aspect of the novel is the limit upon their imaginings."
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 09:12 (twelve years ago) Permalink
The occupation of France is a bad example because most people were able to get on with their lives. And those who rubbed close to the occupation didn't simply ignore it, they thought about, tried to make peace with the occupiers, fought against them... reacted in some way. The donors don't react.
There's no indication that the rebelling minority of donors exists, and the donors that we see don't even fantasise about being in that minority. There are rumours of the donors who fell in love and got a deferment, not of the donors who stowed away on a boat to America, or who just disappeared, or who ran away at the last moment and had to be dragged to the operating table. Why is there a limit on their imaginings? I don't think it's psychologically defensible.
― Ray (Ray), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 09:17 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 09:42 (twelve years ago) Permalink
"It is sometimes a feature of really arresting novels that some readers take as a virtue what others find a failing. I wrote in an earlier column that Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go is made compelling by its characters' compliance with their fate. Human clones, bred to provide vital organs for others and condemned to die an early death, they embark willingly on each stage of the progress to "completion". Among the many readers writing in to the Guardian Book Club weblog, the issue of this failure to rebel has provoked the most animated questions and disputes. Several readers have strenuously questioned the willingness of the "students" and in particular the narrator, Kathy H, to cooperate with those who would exploit and finally kill them.
Here is one characteristic comment. "I was wondering what others thought of the characters' overwhelming passivity - they never once tried to escape or tried to actually live a normal life once out 'in the world'." Often the objection comes from readers who are otherwise moved and convinced by the novel. "I found the book overwhelmingly powerful, but I am bothered by the issue of passivity - given that it's clear that the 'students' could pass for non-clones in the society around them." The same reader points out that, in one episode, Ishiguro shows us that "normal" people cannot identify them as clones. Another reader argued that the novelist could have devised a sci-fi way out of the problem. "Why would the Hailsham donors read and discuss complex works of literature, poetry and philosophy and not question or rebel against their fate in any way? I did not understand how this annoyance was not addressed in the novel by a simple ploy of electronic chips/tagging or (more chillingly relevant) by sophisticated ID cards."Yet there were readers who felt the force of the novelist's decision. One noted that the story of the rebel against some future tyranny is the conventional pattern of dystopian narrative. "Writing a novel of rebellion is an easy option - though it's the difficult thing to do in life. Going with the flow is the easy thing to do - and is a much more difficult story to write in an interesting way." Another noted that Ishiguro does make one of the "students", Tommy, angry, but without allowing him the clarity of actual rebellion. "Through him, Ishiguro shows us just how far it is possible for conscious rebellion to take place - the result being nothing more than the impuissant bouts of inarticulate rage that mark his childhood."
The character of Tommy, furious about he knows not what, fascinated several who discussed the novel with its author at last week's Guardian Book Club. One reader spoke of the powerful "absence of rage" on the part of the "guardians" who look after the clones as well as the clones themselves. There was no one saying "this is intolerable", she observed, before adding, "I found that quite satisfying". The exclusion of anger from the book, and from the school where the clones are looked after, made the reader "turn inwards, and think about it".
Ishiguro said that he sympathised with the objection to the apparent passivity of the clones. When faced with the task of making some axiomatic condition of a novel more plausible, his instinct as a novelist had always been to avoid the problem. "Let's just assume that it is out of the question for them to escape. There is some big reason why it is impossible ... You just ask the reader to enter into the conceit." He admitted that he had no interest in sci-fi possibilities of technical explanation, which is why the book is set not in the future but the very recent past ("England, late 1990s").
Some bloggers were troubled about this, the plausibility of setting the novel not in a future place but in what one of those who discussed the setting with the novelist called "an analogue England". "An England where human beings are bred and killed for their organs would not much resemble today's world, but Ishiguro's is almost identical. There is no serious political controversy surrounding 'donation', no indication that a single clone has ever fought against their fate, none of the propaganda, incarceration and perversion of a democratic society that would be necessary to make the system work."
Yet there were readers ready with critically eloquent explanations of why this was an achievement of the novel. As one of them put it: "You don't escape or rebel against your reality if it's part of who you are, and all you've ever known. And, most of all, it is this that makes the novel so tragic. The real theme of Never Let Me Go is a more universal one: lives that are never what they could be, something I think most people in real life experience." The sense that a narrator's limitations were the point of a narrative reminded many readers of other Ishiguro novels, notably Remains of the Day. "He writes about characters who, however tragically or misguidedly, have a sense of their fate or role in life and he explores how those characters bestow value on their lives, which to others may seem unfulfilled or stunted." Feeling frustrated about what characters cannot do might be part of the purpose."
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 09:49 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Ray (Ray), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 10:15 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 10:53 (twelve years ago) Permalink
OTM. I seriously do think it comes down to Ishiguro's lack of intelligence and imagination.
& with that i'm out: i've already spent too much time thinking about this bad book.
― jed_ (jed), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 11:17 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― ledge (ledge), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 12:26 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― jed_ (jed), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 12:35 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 13:57 (twelve years ago) Permalink
XPost - Remains of the Day is pretty realistic, isn't it?
― Ray (Ray), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 14:02 (twelve years ago) Permalink
― Revivalist (Revivalist), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 14:34 (twelve years ago) Permalink
the more i think about this book the weker it seems.
― jed_ (jed), Tuesday, 18 July 2006 17:31 (twelve years ago) Permalink
the more i think about this book the weaker it seems.
This is the second novel I've read of his and it seems to be his thing to build a visual world with frustratingly blurry edges.
― Mikey G (Mikey G), Monday, 24 July 2006 10:14 (twelve years ago) Permalink
...it seems to be his thing to build a visual world with frustratingly blurry edges.
Just finished When We Were Orphans, reading the entire second (Shanghai) half in a rush before falling asleep around 1:00 AM last night. Had very bad dreams. Fantastic book! Surprised it's generated so little discussion around here.
Upthread, someone described it as an amusing unreliable narrator piece built around a “cracking detective yarn” (or words to that effect), but I think that sidesteps the novel’s biggest challenges. I took it for a slow-building psychedelic horror novel about madness, nostalgia and how easily we mistake our own motives. It toys with the idea and devices of detective fiction, but the mystery that sends the narrator on his quest is a MacGuffin, and very little of the action of the novel is devoted to criminological investigation. Instead, Ishiguro trades here in a crawly sort of suspense based on the clever piecing out and subversion of information, and a slowly accumulating, surreal distortion that creeps in from the edges and erodes any comfortable accommodation we might try to make with the “reality” of the story.
At the beginning of the novel, it’s hard to know how to take the narrator’s depiction of himself and the world he inhabits, and when it’s over, things aren’t any more certain. How crazy is he? How much of what he seems to observe should we accept, and what should we doubt? It’s clear, for instance, that he does not see himself as others do, but how far does that extend? Why are the importance of Shanghai and “The Detective” so seemingly exaggerated in the minds of others? Is he really a detective at all? What the hell is going on here?
Joan Acocella, in the New Yorker said that, “…unlike Ishiguro's earlier novels, this one never points us to the reality we're supposed to read through the narrator's distortions. At the same time, it never actually renounces realism,” which is exactly correct. It works at every moment to make credible the world it describes, while at the same time casting doubt on every aspect of that world. It does this not to encourage the reader to see through the surface narrative to a truer story hidden within, but simply to generate strange effects.
More than anything, this novel seems like an experiment in applying the techniques of The Unconsoled to the more traditionally realistic storytelling of Ishiguro’s earlier novels. As in that novel, reality is fluid, profoundly anxiety ridden, and as much a projection of the narrator’s psychological state as a depiction of a believable “real world”, but here the distortion is more subtle and more controlled, so that it’s less easy to pigeonhole the entire novel as the recounting of a fictional fever-dream. However, in the absence of an easy fallback like that, I’m not sure what to make of When We Were Orphans. I enjoyed it, but it bothered me quite a bit. I don’t think I understand the political ramifications, but get the impression that the narrator’s ordeal is a parable of some sort. I suspect that it does not seek to tell a story, but rather to manipulate the psychological effects of storytelling on the reader – in other words, to read When We Were Orphans is to have an experience that resembles “reading a novel”, but is in fact one step removed from that.
Any help, ideas, suggestions, etc? I’d really like to know what others made of this novel.
― contenderizer, Monday, 11 August 2008 16:49 (ten years ago) Permalink
I only read it once, a long time ago, and I didn't really rate it. I absolutely adore The Unconsoled, and I think you're right in that WWWO uses the same dream-like techniques, but in the service of a scenario that is presented much more realistically. And that's really what irked me, I couldn't discount everything as obvious elaborate fantasy, but nor could I accept anything at face value. A definite falling between two stools, I thought. But, I didn't think too hard about why it might be like that - perhaps it's worth revisiting, especially as I was so sympathetic towards Never Let Me Go, which was similarly dismissed upthread and elsewhere as implausible and unrealistic.
― ledge, Monday, 11 August 2008 17:02 (ten years ago) Permalink
I love The Unconsoled, too, but I don’t know that it would be worth your while to reread WWWO. I thought it was amazing, for whatever that’s worth. Then again, I like any puzzle that resists an easy solution but dangles one seemingly just within reach. Plus, it’s just so damn strange. Looking forward to Never Let Me Go, which I haven’t yet read.
― contenderizer, Monday, 11 August 2008 17:33 (ten years ago) Permalink
P.S. Do think that WWWO's falling action and final scenes are a bit disappointing after the dizzying climax in the mazelike, bombed-out ghetto. Christopher's attempt to put things back in the box (so to speak) ring true, but undercut the power of what came before. And while it's hard to tell whether we're meant to accept the final reveal as the truth or just as a more subdued symptom, it's at least a mild letdown either way. Still, I liked the book enough to overlook these few small flaws.
― contenderizer, Monday, 11 August 2008 18:12 (ten years ago) Permalink
I do think one problem with the switching back between unreliable narrator games and realistic historical detail in WWWO is that it can frustrate the reader's expectations. It would be interesting to read a straight historical novel about the Battle of Shanghai. It would also be interesting to read a psychological novel about an unreliable narrator who thinks he's a great detective. However, switching between the two, sometimes you might end up with the worst of both worlds - the surreal elements interfere with the interweaving of historical details and textures that transport us back in time, and the historical elements run the risk of seeming arbitrary and unrelated to the psychological inner story.
― o. nate, Monday, 11 August 2008 21:08 (ten years ago) Permalink
...the surreal elements interfere with the interweaving of historical details and textures that transport us back in time, and the historical elements run the risk of seeming arbitrary and unrelated to the psychological inner story.
It may not all work, and having had a day or so to think things over, I'm willing to concede that, whatever it's metaphorical implications, the handling of the final revelation regarding what really happened to Christopher's parents is probably a huge mistake on Ishiguro's part. It undercuts the terrible destabilization the preceding narrative had acheived in favor of something much less satisfying (if not quite as tidy as it might seem).
― contenderizer, Monday, 11 August 2008 23:50 (ten years ago) Permalink
I just finished Never Let Me Go - for the second time, it turns out, as I'd read it a couple of years ago when someone lent it to me and told me what it was about. This time I was browsing the library and didn't recognise the name, and the blurb on the back didn't sound anything like what I'd remembered from the book, so I didn't realise.
I'd had most of the arguments on this thread running through my head as I was reading - ultimately it is slightly frustrating, but I think I fall on the side of "The cleverest, saddest aspect of the novel is the limit upon their imaginings." I've grown to really hate the style of novel where some secret is kept right until the end and the reader's main interest is figuring it out rather than caring about the characters. I don't think this book suffers too much from this, although the 'final confrontation' was slightly forced & formulaic.
I actually quite like the writing style, it exudes a childlike quality (although I could happily never read the phrase "as I say..." again). I thought all the little observations of, say, Ruth's actions were really well-written and touched a chord with me.
Slightly puzzled by the suggestion that the clones might/might not be distinguishable from "humans" - surely they are just the equivalent of a twin? I wonder if the flatness or immaturity is meant to be nature or nurture - I saw it as a result of how they'd been very carefully raised. That said I was half expecting one of the characters to hang themselves or something at the end. I noticed they never talk about love either, just 'being in a couple'.
My only other criticism is that I found it weird that the author would so overtly have the character say several times "I thought there was something darker underlying XYZ" - strikes me as superficial and lazy rather than giving us the feeling of 'darkness' himself. I guess without that kind of realisation by Kathy it would have been *too* flat and unfeeling. I don't know.
― Not the real Village People, Tuesday, 30 March 2010 01:29 (eight years ago) Permalink
OK I don't know what I was thinking when I said they don't mention "love" as the whole last bit hinges around convincing people they're in love, but they don't *talk* about it convincingly or seem to have a grasp of what it is (hence Tommy's idea that you can prove it with the art). I guess that's the point he was trying to make..?
― Not the real Village People, Tuesday, 30 March 2010 01:40 (eight years ago) Permalink
Also, just finished The Unconsoled, would be interested in anyone's ideas as to WTF it was all about.
― Not the real Village People, Friday, 9 April 2010 18:50 (eight years ago) Permalink
in a more revealing but excised last chapter, the action switches to a domestic setting, where a young man is sat at a kitchen table. a calendar on the wall is turned to june. the young man with sagging shoulders stares at the back of a novel, a mixture of loss and confusion in his eyes. outside the kitchen window, a british man of japanese descent points and laughs at the young man, while autumn leaves fall around him.
― aarrissi-a-roni, Friday, 9 April 2010 19:13 (eight years ago) Permalink
Up until about halfway through I was sure there was going to be some kind of real-world hint about it all, or I dunno, he was in a coma or something. Then I realised that probably wasn't going to happen, but I thought all the recurring and hinted-at events would culminate in something. For instance, I was sure there was going to be some car crash involving the kid Boris as there are refs to vertebrae breaking and his neck contracting and a few other things. Or we'd find out something about what his old school friend wasn't allowed to tell him.
I kind of like the dreaminess and characters but it seemed like there were tons of metaphors at play that I just didn't get.
― Not the real Village People, Friday, 9 April 2010 19:43 (eight years ago) Permalink
I dunno man I think it's pretty straightforwardly just about LIFE and our basic inability to connect with anyone else... what's that quote along the lines of "we are all alone but it's important to keep on making gestures through the glass"? The message in The Unconsoled seems to be that the gestures are usually misinterpreted and largely futile. The dreaminess is just a way to let the protagonist experience - and inflict - this barrage of emotional torment without having to worry too much about the strictures of space and time and basic day-to-day plausibility.
When I put it like that it makes the book seem like a massive downer but, well, it is! I mean there's lols throughout but overall I do not come away from it filled with joie de vivre and love for my fellow man.
― the big pink suede panda bear hurts (ledge), Friday, 9 April 2010 22:32 (eight years ago) Permalink
And not just about miscommunication, but poor self knowledge as well - or rather a lack of objectivity, how we place massive demands and expectations on other people but don't live up to what they demand of us.
― the big pink suede panda bear hurts (ledge), Friday, 9 April 2010 22:38 (eight years ago) Permalink
I read it straight after 'Never Let Me Go' so was kind of primed to be looking for 'clues' about this world, that probably affected my reading of it.
There are so many specific touches that seem personal to one person or character but yet don't really shed any light - like the number of times Boris says "This book is great- it shows you everything" [meta-lol]. To me it seems that the general states everyone slips in and out of, and the nicely detailed relationships, were enough to create the point you make, yet these specific details were on top of all of that but I couldn't tell why. All the stuff about the city having problems, and the changing perceptions of their past leaders, seemed so far removed from the 'personal' introspective aspect of the book that I was sure it had to be some kind of metaphor.
― Not the real Village People, Saturday, 10 April 2010 01:34 (eight years ago) Permalink
Maybe it's a metaphor that unasks your question - the city hoping that art will save it but it all comes to naught = do not look for answers in art! Although that's so nihilistic and self-contradictory I don't want to buy it.
Tbh I'm such a surface reader it's almost embarrassing, I'm hopeless at uncovering metaphors, pretty happy to just enjoy stuff at face value.
― the big pink suede panda bear hurts (ledge), Sunday, 11 April 2010 13:23 (eight years ago) Permalink
― Romeo Jones, Thursday, 29 July 2010 16:53 (eight years ago) Permalink
REALLY liked this. Hater's got it wrong.
― Romeo Jones, Thursday, 29 July 2010 16:54 (eight years ago) Permalink
Gonna be made into a movie too. Trailer looks allright, but I'm scared it's gonna suck because it's by the guy who directed "one Hour Photo," that movie where Robin Williams works in a photomat and goes psycho.
― Romeo Jones, Thursday, 29 July 2010 16:56 (eight years ago) Permalink
Don't know that the film is wholly successful--it's so locked into a certain mood, it's a little flat--but I liked that it doesn't alter what I assume is the novel's ending (haven't read it), and I did, thanks it part to the score, connect with that mood. A even bleaker dystopia than Children of Men, I'd say, which I just saw last week (and which flinches at the end).
― clemenza, Sunday, 15 June 2014 13:00 (four years ago) Permalink
I read Remains yesterday! What a completely successful novel.
― Gravel Puzzleworth, Sunday, 15 June 2014 14:51 (four years ago) Permalink
that is one of my favourite books, I re-read it recently and if anything it was better the second time around.
― Angkor Waht (Neil S), Sunday, 15 June 2014 16:02 (four years ago) Permalink
i read 'remains' in high school and was, i think, the only person in my class who even finished it, let alone loved it. reread it last year and it's still a favorite. it seems to be a bit overlooked these days compared to his later novels, but i think it works beautifully.
― (The Other) J.D. (J.D.), Sunday, 15 June 2014 21:50 (four years ago) Permalink
Anyone read the new one, The Buried Giant?
― kinder, Thursday, 5 March 2015 09:06 (three years ago) Permalink
Waiting for the paperback, or library copy.
― ledge, Thursday, 5 March 2015 13:54 (three years ago) Permalink
― nostormo, Thursday, 5 October 2017 11:31 (one year ago) Permalink
Crikey. The Buried Giant had pages of plaudits in the paperback edition, I thought it was his worst by far. The Unconsoled is a masterpiece though.
― angelo irishagreementi (ledge), Thursday, 5 October 2017 12:32 (one year ago) Permalink
i read buried giant almost reluctantly because a lot of ppl were negative about it but i actually enjoyed it a lot. my favourite is artist of the floating world but the unconsoled is for sure his great work. that is a re-read i am saving up.
― Roberto Spiralli, Thursday, 5 October 2017 13:25 (one year ago) Permalink
anyway, congrats kazuo
Just read The Buried Giant - he got the Nobel after this? I liked Never Let Me Go, somehow the shoddy world-building made it sadder, and When We Were Orphans was engrossing enough to really piss me off, but this one just drifts along with nothing to grab hold of. And the amnesia thing is so lazy and poorly thought out. There’s a nice idea at the center of it but the surrounding novel feels like it barely exists.
― JoeStork, Wednesday, 25 July 2018 19:56 (six months ago) Permalink
The idea at the centre of it is the major problem - the amnesia means the characters don't have a past, so they don't have any depth. They're just hollow simulacra, repeating the same empty phrases. After I read it I leafed through Never Let Me Go and by contrast immediately had a sense of real people with hopes and fears and tangled inner lives. I'm a fan of a lot of his other work - The Unconsoled in particular is incredibly rich, perceptive, penetrating, inventive, humorous, and heartbreaking - but The Buried Giant is just really bad.
― home, home and deranged (ledge), Wednesday, 25 July 2018 20:17 (six months ago) Permalink
I've given up on maybe three books in the last 15 years and two of them were by Ishiguro. I got about four chapters into The Buried Giant before thinking "no way am I wasting a day of holiday on this". I've never been tempted to go back.
― Matt DC, Wednesday, 25 July 2018 20:18 (six months ago) Permalink
My first KI, from And The Snow Fell Softly in ILB: What Are You Reading Now Winter 2017/18
I'm reading Ishiguro's Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall. I like the first one, "Crooner," especially this bit:We went through that song, full of travelling and goodbye. An American man leaving his woman. He keeps thinking of her as he passes through the towns one by one, verse by verse, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Oklahoma, driving down a long road, the way my mother never could. If only we could leave things behind like that---I guess that's what my mother would have thought. If only sadness could be like that.
The second one, "Come Rain Or Come Shine," immediately and for most of it seems even better, or different: a wild/precise dark comedy, going toward farce, then more poignant---but ending up too The Big Chill for me, off-putting and retrospectively reductive in some ways. But I def. get his range and depth, to some extent---other Ishiguro I should read---?No clear objections to the actual The Big Chill, far as I can recall, but subsequent arts reminders of it seem too auto-generational re middle-ageing etc. (not nec. Boomer).
other Ishiguro I should read---?
I totally loved When We Were Orphans, which I don't hear anyone talk about much; I think I strongly identified with the narrator's status as an immigrant who thinks he's assimilated much more than he actually has. Remains Of The Day is good too, as you may have heard. Both feature sad unreliable narrators.
Tired of unreliable narrators, esp. sad, but whaddayagonnado, sigh. Will check, thanks. Also curious about his allegorical fantasy novel or straight-up fantasy novel or whatever it is.--dow
fear unreliable narrators are kinda Ishiguro's thing? I read his fantasy novel - The Buried Giant - recently and thought it was just ok. Reminded me a lot of T.H. White.
― dow, Friday, 27 July 2018 15:01 (six months ago) Permalink
Starting to notice what could be called a musical effect/approach in some of the xpost Nocturnes: "Crooner"'s (apparently reliable and not too sad)narrator is a young-seeming guitarist from an unnamed, formerly "communist country," as he and other Euros ( def.incl. the trash-talking two-faced gondolier) always refer to it, culturally deprived category being more important than name. He's regarded as an anachronistic but necessary evil by anxious cafe etc. owners around the Venetian plaza: they're afraid the tourists won't see a guitar as traditional enough, even though it's antique-y as possible and the various little folk etc. ensembles sound better with it judging by wine sales etc. One day he spots an American crooner, the one his sad Mom loved from afar, wearing out his records way back in that communist country.
In "Malvern Hills," the narrator is also a young guitarist, who has left school with his little old acoustic, is unable to find work with London band, none of whom want anyone without equipment and pref. transport, especially "one of those wankers who go 'round writing songs, " which he is. He goes to stay with his sister and brother-in-law in their Malvern Hills cafe--they live upstairs, it's actually in the hills, mostly serving locals, they can't afford to pay him, but the idea is he's working for his room and board, the brother-in-law, especially, seems torn between reproaching him for not working harder and feeling guilty for expecting/depending on him to work at all (hey, he's a guest, he's a volunteer, he's family, he's working on songs dammit). Then he meets an older couple from the Continent, who are travelling musicians---pref. experimenting with Swiss folk music, but very often expected by cafe etc.owners to play and dress trad., also to play the Beatles, Carpenters, ABBA (the often loudly positive hubbie looks like Bjorn or Benny might in later middle age). They came after seeing a documentary about Elgar riding these hills on his bicycle (hub loves the look, more mercurial wife later says the area is like a little park).So the "musical" part I meant is the way he repeats, varies, recombines elements of characterization and setting and plotting.Also the phrasing, pacing etc. are fluid enough without every getting gushy.
― dow, Friday, 27 July 2018 15:04 (six months ago) Permalink
We went through that song, full of travelling and goodbye. An American man leaving his woman. He keeps thinking of her as he passes through the towns one by one, verse by verse, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Oklahoma, driving down a long road, the way my mother never could. If only we could leave things behind like that---I guess that's what my mother would have thought. If only sadness could be like that.
I hate when novelists do this
― Number None
"that song" in reference to a title he had just mentioned, had mentioned several times.I like the way his narrators never tell me too much. Why, for instance, after the security guard flips the lights on in the hotel ballroom about 3 a.m. to see what the ruckus is, does the LAPD cop not more extensively question the man and woman standing on stage? They tell him they've been looking for munchies, and he does wonder aloud why room service isn't good enough for them, judging by his own experience---he's a guest too; maybe he's off duty and on vacation, just wearing a suit and carrying his badge when the guard calls, but wanting to get back to his plush room (how can a cop afford this ritzy place?) The lady he's interviewing is wearing a very fine bathrobe, the fact that she and the gentleman are wearing bandages that cover their whole heads, except for mouths and eyes, evidently working in there somewhere, are further indications of status, which he may take into account (LAPD prob knows about the context). Better to back off, for now anyway.And maybe the guy who sees them on another night, and comes up with his own tentative explanation in the form of a question, also knows when to go about his business, in this town of endless business permutations. The co-stars of "Nocturne" mean to stay on point too, but they just have to take the scenic route, especially when they get to the "go back to cover our tracks" fallacy (not so far from "spend money to make money," a given here). But there's much more to it---not too much, just typically spare and graceful and energetically generating textured details all along, for the right number of pages, although I hope the last story won't go to a downtempo ending, as usual----its titled "Cellists," so not expecting fireworks finale.---dow
― dow, Friday, 27 July 2018 15:05 (six months ago) Permalink
So "Cellists," the last story in xpost Nocturnes, turns out to be a strong finish. Continuing the recombinant flow, we go back to the opening "Crooner"'s setting, the Venetian Piazza San Marco, with the hopeful cafe managers and tourists and pigeons and musos. "The big Czech guy with the alto sax," mentioned by the "Crooner" guitarist-narrator, tells this one, and an American lady appears, with a secret, a talent, a calling, none of them quite the same, keep thinking she's also from a story by Elizabeth Bowen, Katherine Mansfield, even, vibe-wise, Jane Bowen---but mainly she's another driving, veering, purposeful, impulsive, compulsive, improvising self-projecting muse-agents in the winter of discontent, racing the clock or feeling it, at least, one of the ones in all these stories (one's in two).Good stuff. Could be quite different from the novels in some ways, at least judging by descriptions in the endpages of this Vintage International trade pb: grafs re An Artist of the Floating World, Never Let Me Go, A Pale View of Hills,The Remains of the Day, The Unconsoled, and When We Were Orphans.
Jane Bowles, not Bowen, of course! Sorry, Jane!
Just to confuse things further - there's an English photographer named Jane Bown. Here's a picture Bown took of Bowen:
― dow, Friday, 27 July 2018 15:09 (six months ago) Permalink