Tag Archive: Kazuo Ishiguro


Sir Kazuo Ishiguro asks: Are Friends Electric?

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March 14, 2021

KLARA AND THE SUN by Kazuo Ishiguro(US: Alfred A. Knopf; UK:Faber & Faber, 2021)  A spoiler-free review.

One of the characters in Sir Kazuo Ishiguro’s eighth novel says “It’s not faith you need. Only rationality.” Yet, while never undermining the importance of pure science, Ishiguro is primarily concerned with how humanity and machines can co-exist healthily.

Although, ‘Klara and the Sun’ will be classified as a work of Science Fiction, he, like Ian McEwan is not fundamentally aiming to write within this specific genre. McEwan’s flawed ‘Machines Like Me’ failed because he introduced elements of political satire into the story and it was also obvious that he had only a superficial interest in exploring the moral dilemmas surrounding Artificial Intelligence. Ishiguro is more disciplined and doesn’t allow himself to be distracted by wider social issues or to stray too far off topic. Continue reading →

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Making time for Ishiguro

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September 30, 2018

A PALE VIEW OF HILLS by Kazuo Ishiguro (Faber & Faber, 1982)

paleviewofhills72436I can’t remember why , after reading and enjoying ‘Remains Of The Day’ in 1989, I didn’t follow this up by immediately seeking out other books by Kazuo Ishiguro. Maybe I was swayed by negative reviews of his other novels or perhaps I dipped into one without any real committment.

Certainly, if I had been looking for fast-paced fiction with a clear linear narrative structure I would have been disappointed. Ishiguro’s writing is built around emotional reflections rather than being preoccupied with standard plot-driven devices.

I have come to recognize that patience is a virtue when it comes to reading. Writers that are superficially accessible are usually the least rewarding. Thankfully, therefore, I’ve belatedly discovered how rich and powerful Ishiguro’s other novels are. Continue reading →

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Ishiguro’s When We Were Orphans

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June 1, 2010

Truth in fiction depends on getting the voice right. Kazuo Ishiguro hit the jackpot with his novel Remains Of The Day where the ornate language was perfect in giving a vivid portrayal of the repressed butler at the heart of the novel. The same cannot be said of his Y2K novel ‘When We Were Orphans’ where the style sounds more stilted and soulless.

For the first half of the novel meticulously constructed sentences like “I entertained a vague expectation of hearing something from her concerning what had occurred” establish the aloof formality of  protagonist Christopher Banks. Since the story is mainly  set in the 1930s, I can understand why Ishiguro chooses not to use snappier language or phrasal verbs.

Banks is a private detective who, we are told, has solved some high profile cases although we are given only the sketchiest of details about his investigations save for the fact that he knows how to use a magnifying glass to good effect.  There’s a vague love interest in the shape of social climber Sarah Hemmings but she fades from the picture as Banks gets immersed in the search for his parents who are presumed to have been kidnapped when he was a child.

As the inplausable plot progresses and the action shifts from the relative tranquility of Cambridge, England to the chaos and confusion of war-torn Shanghai, Ishiguro’s  writing becomes almost a parody of itself. Take, for example, when Banks is negotiating the rubble of bombed houses with his Japanese friend. He hears what sounds like the moans of a dying man in the remains of one building and states :  “I was on the point of remarking to Akira what a singularly unfortunate time this individual was having….”

Worse still, when he encounters a young girl whose parents have been killed in a bomb raid he ‘comforts’ her in this way: “Look here…All of this’ – I gestured at the carnage, of which she seemed completely oblivious – ‘it’s awfully bad luck. But look, you’ve survived, and really, you’ll see, you’ll make a pretty decent show of it if you just….if you just keep up your courage’ “.

Where death and tragedy is viewed respectively as  ‘singularly unfortunate’ and ‘awfully bad luck’ Ishiguro’s fictional creation begins to sound like Prince Charles stumbling into a war zone. This is the point I lost any sympathy for the character and for the novel as a whole.

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