The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro

The Remains of the Day is not in my deck of cards. I picked this up because I’ve been hearing a lot about that movie Never Let Me Go, and it just sounds like such a mash-up of Gattaca and The Island that I was wondering why people keep going on about it. And from what I’ve read, it seems that the real driver in the novel is the character development and Kazuo Ishiguro’s prose (and that if that can be translated and captured onto film then the movie will be pretty solid). Now, I’m a sucker for good prose. There’s probably a fine line somewhere in my head where I prefer the way a story is told over what the actual story is or who the characters are. One of the reasons 100 Years of Solitude is my favorite book is because the prose and narrative itself is such a huge part of the novel as a whole. It makes the book fun and interesting and compelling to read. And if I look back at the list of books I’ve blogged about since I started this, the books that stick out the most to me are the ones that were told in interesting ways: All the Pretty Horses, Slaughterhouse-Five, Catch-22, A Handmaid’s Tale. So I was pretty sold on reading Ishiguro after reading so many praises regarding his prose and style. Clearly, this isn’t Never Let Me Go, because that book is all out at my local library, but damn it I was determined to read something by Ishiguro, so here we are.

The Remains of the Day is told from the first person perspective of Mr. Stevens, a butler who once served for one of the grandest houses in pre-WWII England. The story follows him on his vacation, a journey through the countryside, during which he reminisces about his past life, his accomplishments, and his relationship with Miss Kenton, who he is planning to visit at some point during his trip. I was pretty skeptical when I started the book because that is not a particularly interesting plot. But I have to say, Ishiguro writes masterful prose.

Stevens’ recollections (told in flashbacks during his road trip, as if he’s writing a letter to someone, presumably another butler) are mostly about examining his life, to assure himself that he has lived with dignity and purpose because he has served a great man. It’s a quietly sad story that Stevens is telling but he’s too damn proper to come out and say it. In fact, he’s a very unreliable narrator, but there is enough for the reader to read between the lines of the stories he is re-telling and get at the real heart of it. As his unreliable narration continues, the reader gleams that Stevens is actually doubtful, both about his purpose and the greatness of the man he served, and that’s the real tragedy of the story.

The writing is probably the most proper English I’ve ever read, and I think I said the same about Jane Eyre. But where Jane Eyre was boring me to tears (the narration was just too damn dry*), Ishiguro uses it to unfold his story, drawing you in, setting up an environment, and using it to fully describe the character of Mr. Stevens. The novel begins as a study of proper English manners and subtly transforms into a study of character, life lessons, regrets, and missed opportunities. By the time I was halfway in, I couldn’t put it down.

And the heart of the whole novel really is the prose. Ishiguro weaves in Stevens’ flashbacks, unreliability, and melancholy musings, while always maintaining an excruciatingly proper English demeanor. If this was just a story about a butler taking a road trip during which he realizes his life could have been better, it would be pretty straightforward and unremarkable. But the manner of the telling is what makes the entire story interesting and deeply affecting.

Now I need to get my grubby paws on Never Let Me Go. You out there holding on to those copies: return them to the library, now!


* An aside: if I were to explain what “dry prose” means, well I wouldn’t be able to put it into useful words. But it just so happens that I was reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland last night and towards the beginning of the book (chapter 2 or so) there’s the bit about how Alice is all wet because of the pool of tears she created and she meets up with a bunch of other animals that also got caught in the pool and when they finally get out they want to dry off, and so the mouse says “this is the driest thing I know”, and he starts reciting some passage about William the Conqueror (har har, but actually that was pretty funny commentary on Carroll's part). My point being, Lewis Carroll also says prose is dry so that’s good enough for me, and also how weird is it that coincidences like those happen at all. (And, that was quite an aside.)

Perhaps, then, there is something to his advice that I should cease looking back so much, that I should adopt a more positive outlook and try to make the best of what remains of my day. After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished? The hard reality is, surely, that for the likes of you and I, there is little choice other than to leave our fate, ultimately, in the hands of those great gentlemen at the hub of this world who employ our services.

~The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro