This is a book, at least in part, about the reliability of memory – and so, in keeping with that theme, I’m going to start by talking about what I remember of the film.God knows when I saw this film – I assume I would have been still married and I think I might have even gone to see it with the estranged wife when it first came out, but it is hard to say now. I see the film was made in 1993 – so, if I saw it at the cinema when it first came out that would have been 15 years ago. There are only two things I can remember clearly from the film – one is Emma Thompson sort of simpering and the other is Anthony Hopkins sort of looking perplexed and maybe even a bit confused about how he ought to behave. So, although you could hardly say I ‘remember’ the film, I do remember that Stevens, the Anthony Hopkins character, was what might be called today ‘Socially Retarded’. When I started reading Ishiguro novels I thought I would pretty much avoid this one. I mean, I’d seen the film and there wasn’t all that much too it – I’ve never been all that fond of ‘simpering’ or even ‘perplexed’ (though, obviously, I’ve more sympathy with perplexed, it being my attitude of choice towards the world) and so I figured I would have little interest in the book.Oh, how wrong I tend to be about things. Look, even though I couldn’t tell you all that much about the film, I had thought that as I got into the book some things would register and I would go, “Ah, yes, that’s right.” All the same, there were very few such moments – well, virtually none until the Emma Thompson character (Miss Kenton) talks about how funny the narrator is when he holds his nose while applying pepper. It is a worry that the only thing I remembered from the film is an insult – but I’m choosing to believe that says more about the film than it does about me.I have said before that I don’t really trust irony anymore in fiction – well, that’s not totally true, obviously, but if it is not handled well by an author it comes across as being ‘smart’, if not ‘smart-arsed’. Let me explain. I think I worry when an author is trying to show how much smarter they are than their characters. Showing how much better they are at recognising the motivations of their characters than their characters are capable of themselves. Sometimes in novels I feel I am in a conspiracy against the actual narrator of the piece with the author of the piece – almost like an under-voice whispering ‘check this idiot out’. This was something that worried me from time to time in this book.While Stevens (the narrator and butler) is chatting away to us we are expected to see beyond the surface explanations of his life and see the deeper, darker and more troubling causes of his misfortune. We are supposed to see that his great pride in his father is horribly counterpoised against his inability – on his father’s death bed – to even say to him that he had been a good father. Stevens is a man who appears superficially to have been incapable of understanding the effect he has on other people and someone who has trained himself to be devoid of human feeling for the sake of his profession. He seeks to be the perfect butler, the perfect servant, by becoming someone without emotion other than in reference to his master. That Miss Kenton loves him and loves him throughout her life is yet another example of how inexplicable love is.In a sense it is clear from the book that Stevens feels that the ideal butler is a bit like the ideal wife, if not more so. 'Behind every great man is a great butler' is quite an amusing twist on this and I think a feminist reading of this book would be very interesting.There is much talk in the book of ‘dignity’, most of it by Stevens himself – and this is something else I’ve often found interesting about people. As soon as someone starts talking about dignity it is a fair bet that they have none. I think life is much more ironic than fiction and I become increasingly concerned when people talk to me about ‘self-respect’ or their ‘principles’ or in this case ‘dignity’. There is a wonderfully long description of Stevens’s philosophical understanding of the nature of dignity, something he has clearly spent a life-time worrying over (and, naturally, one would need to ask why this should be of so much interest to him) and then, when he is asked by the doctor (who drives him back to his car at one point in the novel) what he thinks dignity is he says dignity is not taking off one’s clothes in public. Typical Ishiguro: setting us up to expect profound and slapping us down with prosaic. A servant knowing his place and being prepared to appear foolish, even though we know he is not nearly so.Stevens is little more than a slave – at one point he is made the butt of a terribly cruel joke at the hands of some of the right-wing guests Lord Darlington (Stevens’s boss and a Nazi sympathiser) has invited to the house. This is a beautifully written passage as Stevens quickly understands the ‘role’ he is expected to play and plays it perfectly. Stevens even assimilates the ‘lesson’ learnt here – agreeing he is not worthy of making a contribution to how he is ruled. The book raises some very interesting questions about the nature of democracy, including questions about the willingness of ‘slaves’ to be slaves. One of the themes is that we lesser mortals should leave the great decisions of the day to our betters. The consequence of this is Stevens’s master and better, Lord Darlington, pandering to Hitler. Again, it would be hard to find a more blatant example of irony in fiction than what is presented in this book.There is also some wonderful stuff about nationalism at the start of the book – about what makes Great Britain GREAT, even in landscape. We have all heard rot like this from time to time. The irony here too, that the man saying all this about the ‘bulldog bred’ is about as obsequious and servile as a person can get, is hard not to notice.There are some very moving and very painful moments in this novel – and like always Ishiguro lets these sneak up on you when you least expect them. I love his way of drifting through a story and linking ideas and themes in ways that are quite confronting. I will try not to spoil the book for you, but there are two wonderful instances of precisely this sort of slap-in-the-face both times Stevens remembers Miss Kenton crying behind her bedroom door. The fact that these same outcomes have different ‘causes’ is a moment of ‘compare and contrast’ that is – as I’ve said – quite poignant. This is a book that takes place inside the head of Stevens – and the fact that being inside his head is impossible to portray on film is at least part of the reason why, I suspect, I remember so little of the film. There is little of what actually happens, physically happens, in the book that is of real importance. What really matters in this book ‘happens’ in Stevens head. This is not the most obvious book to turn into a film, I wouldn’t have thought.The other bit of the film I remembered in reading the book was the moment where Miss Kenton tries to see what Stevens is reading. Yet another poignantly sad moment in his life and one he acknowledges as a turning point in his life. Stevens is not really as unaware of the consequences of his choices as he lets on. You will notice, as you read this book, that each time he stuffs up his life – each time he makes certain he is going to be alone and devoid of human contact that was so winningly close to being his – he presents himself as being stoic and strong, but one of the other characters invariably says something like, “Are you alright Stevens? Perhaps you should sit down and let me get you a brandy.”Throughout the book Stevens says he is seeking to learn to engage in banter and we know all too well that he never will master this particular skill - and why? I think this is because banter requires an understanding of irony, an ability to laugh at one's self too, perhaps. Stevens can never allow himself to do this - as his only hope is to never allow a crack to appear in the surface he has coated himself in. Anyway, banter, like all humour, requires one to feel they are on the same level as those they are bantering with – and this is a book about not being on the same level as those around you. The horrors of the English class system writ large.While I struggled to remember anything about the film, I doubt I will have the same trouble remembering the novel. Yet another Ishiguro tour de force.
I was in a bookshop a few weeks ago, looking to add to my collection, when this book caught my eye. At first I was wary, having fucking hated Never Let Me Go, but then I read the plot description. The Remains of the Day is narrated by Stevens, an English butler taking a road trip across England while reflecting on his long career serving Lord Darlington of Darlington Hall through two world wars. That was all I needed. As has been previously discussed, I love Downton Abbey, so as soon as I read the plot synopsis and realized that this was going to be similar, I was on board. And Ishiguro did not disappoint me - the book could easily be retitled Mr. Carson Takes a Road Trip. To call this book's pace "leisurely" would be an understatement. But I didn't mind it, because unlike Never Let Me Go, which demanded urgency and excitement on its characters' part and never delivered, the slow pace of this book makes sense. Every day of his trip, Stevens writes a bit in his diary - sometimes he reports what he did and what he saw that day, but often he uses the time reflect on his career and muse about what it means to be a good servant."And let me now posit this: 'dignity' has to do crucially with a butler's ability not to abandon the profession he inhabits. Lesser butlers will abandon their professional being for the private one at the least provocation. For such persons, being a butler is like playing some pantomime role; a small push, a slight stumble, and the facade will drop off to reveal the actor underneath. The great butlers are great by virtue of their ability to inhabit their professional role and inhabit it to the utmost; they will not be shaken out by external events, however surprising, alarming, or vexing. They wear their professionalism as a decent gentleman will wear his suit: he will not let ruffians or circumstances tear it off him in the public gaze; he will discard it when, and only when, he wills to do so, and this will invariably be when he is entirely alone. It is, as I say, a matter of 'dignity'."Stevens's reflections on his career are quietly fascinating because they reveal truths to the reader that the narrator remains unaware of. Stevens tells us about his relationship with his father, his strained rapport with the head housekeeper of Darlington Hall, and his employer Lord Darlington. Very quickly we realize some important things that have eluded Stevens: his father was emotionally unavailable and Stevens has never fully dealt with his death, Stevens is probably in love with the housekeeper, and Lord Darlington was not nearly as perfect as Stevens wants to believe he was. The willful ignorance and refusal to see things the way they really are was also present in Never Let Me Go, but it didn't irritate me here. I wasn't angry with Stevens for failing to see what I could see; mostly I was sad for him, and a little envious of the confident bubble he lived in. His journey is slow, uneventful, and there is no real resolution (God, it's exactly like Never Let Me Go there) but there was a sad beauty to it, and I loved every page. "For it is true, when I stood on that high ledge this morning and viewed the land before me, I distinctly felt that rare, yet unmistakable feeling - the feeling that one is in the presence of greatness. ...And yet what precisely is this 'greatness'? Just where, or in what, does it lie? I am quite aware it would take a far wiser head than mine to answer such a question, but if I were forced to hazard a guess, I would say that it is the very lack of obvious drama or spectacle that sets the beauty of our land apart. What is pertinent is the calmness of that beauty, its sense of restraint. It is as though the land knows of its own beauty, of its own greatness, and feels no need to shout it."(actually, that's a pretty damn good explanation of Ishiguro's writing style too, now that I think about it)
What do You think about The Remains Of The Day (2015)?
BR with Mishy!Wow! What a book! The Remains of the Day is, as I expected, an excellent novel. I thought, having seen the film many years ago, that it would be a character study of an emotionally crippled man and it is that, but it's much, much more. There's a tragic, frustrating love story and allusions to some members of England's upper classes flirtations with fascism in the run up to WWII. More than anything, though, it's a book about a man who has so thoroughly closed himself off from other people that he's lost the ability to even interpret his own emotions. The fact that this man is the narrator is what makes the book so great. The reader sees the MC's flaws, but he does not. Good Stuff!
—Nick Pageant
I realize that there are thousands of reviews of this book on this site alone and it is unlikely that I can offer anything truly new. However I do want to review what, for me, is the high point of this novel...the amazing consistency of tone that Ishiguro maintains from beginning to the very last line. Stevens is perhaps the most internally consistent character I have ever read, which does not mean that he does not appear damaged on some level. Without the author presenting any neutral back story, we learn the history of Darlington Hall during the years between the wars, the story of its Lord, the story of the people "below the stairs", and most particularly, the story of Stevens, the butler. Through his own words, we learn of how he interacts (or does not) with family, co-workers, employers, people he meets on his one trip away from the Hall. And these interactions reveal a man so closed both to himself and to the world that he does not actually interact, he stands next to others, blankly.Here we see one moment with his extremely ill father.He went on looking at his hands for a moment. Then he said slowly: 'I hope I've been a good father to you.' I laughed a little and said: 'I'm so glad you're feeling better now.' 'I'm proud of you. A good son. I hope I've been a good father to you. I suppose I haven't.' 'I'm afraid we're extremely busy now, but we can talk again in the morning.' My father was still looking at his hands as though he were faintly irritated by them. 'I'm so glad you're feeling better now,' I said again and took my leave. (p 97)This is a "Stevens'" moment, a Stevens level of interaction. Ishiguro follows him on a trip to Cornwall and memory voyages to important times in his past and we see how he has seen life around him but perhaps not seen it at all.Truly wonderfully written.
—Sue
This book is a scab that's still attached in the middle but all flaky on the periphery, where the new pink skin is smooth underneath, tempting us to pick it until the entire scab pops free and a little spot of new blood wells up in the center. This book is the silence that fools engage in to protect themselves from actual engagement with the egos and personalities and beings surrounding them.This book is the pause that goes on so long that action cannot be taken, when one stands there searching for the right thing to say or the right thing to do so that the only thing one can do is react to what someone else has done, and that reaction is muted and aquiescent.This book is an examination and condemnation of the way we tacitly agree to the stations we've been born into, no matter the station, and the way we live that station and the way we die that station. It is inaction. This book is emotional pain. This book is suffering. This book is stultification. This book is a mire of self-loathing. This book led to a movie that reminded me that Anthony Hopkins was great, that solidified Emma Thompson's greatness, that raised Christopher Reeves in my estimation, that suggested depths to Hugh Grant that he's rarely ever aspired to again, that made me see how hollow my first marriage really was, that made me realize the primacy of communication, that made me love the magic of the cinema again.This book is a masterpiece, yet it's not a book I can love.This books is an intermindable dream that keeps us on the edge of sleep for hours, longing to awaken or slip deeper, but holding us on the edge like a drippity-droppity water torture. This book should be read by all.
—Brad
