The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro [Review]

It seems I am working through Kazuo Ishiguro’s novels backwards; first I read Klara and the Sun, I then read Never Let Me Go, and now The Remains of the Day. Ishiguro is a curious author; I’m yet to read a book of his that I felt immediately wowed by, though I don’t doubt that is a [possibly unintended] consequence of his writing style, of which I am generally a fan. However, in each case so far, I have left thinking about what I have just read for days, weeks, months. The characters and scenes are not overwritten but are generally realistic, and by the end of the first page the world he has constructed is instantly familiar. His writing is effortless.

This book, however, was boring. If it was written by a new author, I’d have given up early or simply not have read it. This is many peoples favourite Ishiguro, but when I started reading it I couldn’t understand why. Stevens comes across as a cold and robotic narcissist. Ironically in contrast, Klara came across as warm and human in Klara and the Sun. I’m generally not a fan of historical fiction, and so that aspect of it, combined with the above and Stevens tiresome dialect, initially felt just too much for me. 

But here’s the thing; I really liked it.

Stevens is all of us — good people who do their job, take pride in their work, but ultimately work as a cog in a big machine with little comprehension of their contribution and what they are contributing to. Of course, Stevens is a caricature of this, but the premise remains and is exacerbated in the scene with the residents in Moscombe, where Harry Smith confronts him about his idea of dignity. Someone close to me once professed that they always thought that if they were honest and worked hard they would eventually get their “big break”, but that is not how the universe works, and that big break never came.

We are hammered with the idea of the pursuit of dignity almost from minute one, but there are some other more subtle themes covered. Slowly, however, Stevens worldview is challenged; this idea of dignity is tested and he changes that view by the end, where he realises that he has possibly wasted his life after reacquainting with Miss Kenton.

Stevens did care when his father died, demonstrated by the emotion picked up by one of the guests in Darlington Hall when he returns to his post, but he mistakenly believed professionalism and dignity must prevail. He didn’t protest when Lord Darlington dismissed the two Jewish maids, despite his reservations, for the same reason. And he did not act on his feelings towards Miss Kenton because his role must come first.

At the end the facade fades, and the moment he admits his heart is breaking is made so much more powerful precisely because of the writing style and Stevens manner up to that point. He promises to banter more, he thinks this will change his life but deep down he knows, as he knew his dad was dying, as he knew he had feelings towards Miss Kenton, that it is too late for him; his life had been wasted and, as he admits, his mistakes weren’t even his own.

Ishiguro writes in a way I wish I could. He has the ability to tell what appears to be a boring story, going off and seemingly meaningless tangents, but in the way that you trust is leading somewhere. Yes, it’s probably true that if this were written by an unknown author it would’ve been discarded pretty early on, but Ishiguro has earnt the right to demand a certain level of trust from the reader.