When I found out that Kazuo Ishiguro got the Nobel Prize in Literature this year, I decided that I will read something of his as I thought I never even had heard his name before. I may have had not heard his name before, but I saw the film based on his novel – The Remains of the Day. This was the first of his book I have read to acquaint myself with Ishiguro writing. It seemed to me a lot deeper than the film itself, even though I liked the film. The next book was The Buried Giant and I moderately liked it, but I thought that it was a good book with wise and deep messages so I read the third one When We Were Orphans. This time I got hooked and decided to read all of his books except Never Let Me Go. The reason why I excluded this book was that of its subject. Human clones being created for organ donation. I thought it will be too depressing and cruel subject to get involved with. But, I’ll see…
Since I decided to really get acquainted with the author, or rather his books, I thought that starting from the beginning would be quite appropriate. So, the next book to read was The Pale View of Hills, Ishiguro’s first book. I did not expect fireworks of writing, but surprisingly I found a lot to admire about the book. The author was young when he was writing it, but he already knew a lot about life and human nature. His writing is elegant in his first book as it is in all other books I have read so far. It is difficult to explain the adjective “elegant” in this case, but this word was coming with some intensity to my mind while reading, so I now feel compelled to mention it. I am impressed by the structure of the book. It is not a linear story, it meanders and goes back to the starting point and tells the story from a different, new perspectives. The story of three mothers and their daughters. Or so it seems, but it could be a story of one woman who is re-arranging her memories not being able to accept memories of some events in her life. The story the narrator, Etsuko, tells us about her friend Sachiko may be a version of her own story she is not able to face up to. The same message of a mother hurting her daughter is coming back few times as a guilt of our past dealings surfaces up in our consciousness at times. We have to push it away and we may never be able to own our shameful actions. This is what for me, this story is all about.
The action is set in Japan, in Nagasaki, but it is not about the atomic bomb or Japan, so the author tells us and I agree. Ishiguro is often called a Japanese writer by literary critics and this irritates me. He is not a Japanese writer in any sense, he is not even writing about Japan in any of his books. He was just born Japanese and he has oriental features. To me, he is a quintessential Englishman, maybe because The Remains of the Day was the first book I have read and this left the lasting impression of Englishness on me?
What I would call Japanese about his behavior (I have seen some interviews with Ishiguro) is his above average politeness and stoicism with which he takes comments and questions that are designed to unnerve him.
There is one thing that is perhaps based on his experience of being a child in the Japanese family. The children in his first two books that are set in Japan are irritatingly self-assured and often patronising towards their elders. This, I found out later, comes from Japanese treating children as demi-Gods with a lot of respect and reverence. This may be worthwhile finding out more about at some stage. For now, I just mark it as surprising and annoying in the first two books.
I find that all books of Ishiguro, I have read so far, make me ponder on some aspects of my life. The conclusions are not necessarily uplifting so I perhaps will take a break in reading this author and go to see some feel-good movies and read The Nix by Nathan Hill, the book my literary guru suggested I read. At a glance, it will be a massive change of mood.
