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3.54 AVERAGE
3.54 AVERAGE
3.5/5
The only reason why this work earned higher than a two or three star from me is because I've previously read [b:The Castle|333538|The Castle|Franz Kafka|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1331696371s/333538.jpg|17778410] and as a result recognize a great deal of what Ishiguro is trying to do. Of course, Ishiguro may have never even heard of Kafka before (obscenely unlikely) writing this work, but I have a hard time believing something somewhere didn't come seeping through the chain of influence and a give a vision of that true satiric vision which so many modern day folks ape without success. Ishiguro doesn't completely succeed either, to be quite honest, but there is enough of it to make one think that, if Kafka's world was feudalism transitioning to capitalism in as slow and tortuous a manner as the birth of bureaucracy can afford, Ishiguro's scope is one of early capitalism rotting into late capitalism with all the bourgeoisie spinning their futile sophist wheels and clutching their pearls the entire way. It bored at times, I will admit, and 500 pages is a bit much for these kinds of antics (admittedly, Kafka never finished his, so I may be making an unfair comparison), but while it didn't have the power of [b:The Remains of the Day|28921|The Remains of the Day|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1327128714s/28921.jpg|3333111] or [b:Never Let Me Go|6334|Never Let Me Go|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1353048590s/6334.jpg|1499998], it's not nearly as clumsy as [b:When We Were Orphans|28923|When We Were Orphans|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1465820100s/28923.jpg|3333606], and I am content enough in my interpretation to cut Ishiguro some slack.
There is a singularly middle class sort of obsequious wheedling alternating with vindictive bursts repressed fury throughout the book I-must-pretend-to-read-everyone's-mind-else-I'll-make-them-hate-me-forever that, not surprisingly, resulted in myriad domestic quarrels and petty misunderstandings that snowballed into one final catastrophe of apathy, belligerence, bad faith, and contempt. I know this doesn't at all sound appealing, but if you've read as much Ishiguro as I have, along with the aforementioned Kafka, and have had this book hanging around for a number of years, you'll want to make the best of what you have, and poor ratings haven't deferred me for some time. As stated, it's definitely not my favorite Ishiguro, but it does have some awfully true things to say about the middle class, the arts, and what conflicts are permissible in the decaying towns and living on the remnants of colonialism landscapes of late 20th century Europe. Done to death by now, I'm sure, but if had to choose an author through which to delve into the issue, Ishiguro would be near the top of my list. I could writ ea good paper about this work if I needed to, but for now, I'm glad to be done.
I have one more Ishiguro work after this one, which I don't foresee myself giving up on for any reason. I haven't picked up any of his newer works, and chances are good that, after this sixth and that final seventh, I'll be done with this author for the time being. I wouldn't mind a nonfiction piece or two (an essay collection would be grand), but the novels are getting old, and the fact that I've saved the short story collection [b:Nocturnes|4772110|Nocturnes Five Stories of Music and Nightfall|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320430211s/4772110.jpg|4836931] for last may be a sign that I crave newer forms more than I crave newer names. Still, six works of one name is a lot, and a Nobel Prize for Lit midway through my reading relationship with Ishiguro means he's in no danger of being neglected. There's a good chance I'll come back to him, but for now, one to greener pastures.
The only reason why this work earned higher than a two or three star from me is because I've previously read [b:The Castle|333538|The Castle|Franz Kafka|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1331696371s/333538.jpg|17778410] and as a result recognize a great deal of what Ishiguro is trying to do. Of course, Ishiguro may have never even heard of Kafka before (obscenely unlikely) writing this work, but I have a hard time believing something somewhere didn't come seeping through the chain of influence and a give a vision of that true satiric vision which so many modern day folks ape without success. Ishiguro doesn't completely succeed either, to be quite honest, but there is enough of it to make one think that, if Kafka's world was feudalism transitioning to capitalism in as slow and tortuous a manner as the birth of bureaucracy can afford, Ishiguro's scope is one of early capitalism rotting into late capitalism with all the bourgeoisie spinning their futile sophist wheels and clutching their pearls the entire way. It bored at times, I will admit, and 500 pages is a bit much for these kinds of antics (admittedly, Kafka never finished his, so I may be making an unfair comparison), but while it didn't have the power of [b:The Remains of the Day|28921|The Remains of the Day|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1327128714s/28921.jpg|3333111] or [b:Never Let Me Go|6334|Never Let Me Go|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1353048590s/6334.jpg|1499998], it's not nearly as clumsy as [b:When We Were Orphans|28923|When We Were Orphans|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1465820100s/28923.jpg|3333606], and I am content enough in my interpretation to cut Ishiguro some slack.
There is a singularly middle class sort of obsequious wheedling alternating with vindictive bursts repressed fury throughout the book I-must-pretend-to-read-everyone's-mind-else-I'll-make-them-hate-me-forever that, not surprisingly, resulted in myriad domestic quarrels and petty misunderstandings that snowballed into one final catastrophe of apathy, belligerence, bad faith, and contempt. I know this doesn't at all sound appealing, but if you've read as much Ishiguro as I have, along with the aforementioned Kafka, and have had this book hanging around for a number of years, you'll want to make the best of what you have, and poor ratings haven't deferred me for some time. As stated, it's definitely not my favorite Ishiguro, but it does have some awfully true things to say about the middle class, the arts, and what conflicts are permissible in the decaying towns and living on the remnants of colonialism landscapes of late 20th century Europe. Done to death by now, I'm sure, but if had to choose an author through which to delve into the issue, Ishiguro would be near the top of my list. I could writ ea good paper about this work if I needed to, but for now, I'm glad to be done.
I have one more Ishiguro work after this one, which I don't foresee myself giving up on for any reason. I haven't picked up any of his newer works, and chances are good that, after this sixth and that final seventh, I'll be done with this author for the time being. I wouldn't mind a nonfiction piece or two (an essay collection would be grand), but the novels are getting old, and the fact that I've saved the short story collection [b:Nocturnes|4772110|Nocturnes Five Stories of Music and Nightfall|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320430211s/4772110.jpg|4836931] for last may be a sign that I crave newer forms more than I crave newer names. Still, six works of one name is a lot, and a Nobel Prize for Lit midway through my reading relationship with Ishiguro means he's in no danger of being neglected. There's a good chance I'll come back to him, but for now, one to greener pastures.
whow. JUST WHOW.
What did I just read? Imagine Samuel Beckett, Franz Kafka and Kazuo Ishiguro spending a long night drinking, dressed up in a jersey #19, juggling heavy suitcases, having endless snacks on a circular tramline and writing a novel .. one sentence each in turns amidst contemporary experimental orchestra music yet to be composed.
Such a rich novel. Entertaining, confusing, challenging, a brainbending pageturner. I am sure it is great literature - I am sure I didn't understand it (yet). It will keep running around my brain for a long while.
What did I just read? Imagine Samuel Beckett, Franz Kafka and Kazuo Ishiguro spending a long night drinking, dressed up in a jersey #19, juggling heavy suitcases, having endless snacks on a circular tramline and writing a novel .. one sentence each in turns amidst contemporary experimental orchestra music yet to be composed.
Such a rich novel. Entertaining, confusing, challenging, a brainbending pageturner. I am sure it is great literature - I am sure I didn't understand it (yet). It will keep running around my brain for a long while.
challenging
mysterious
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The Unconsoled is without any doubt, one of the most bizarre, infuriating, irritating masterpieces of modern literature. But definitely not for the faint of heart or anyone who has ever used a diary planner.
The prose is lovely to read, the imagery is striking and the characters are compelling. However the story is absolutely bonkers in a way that had me scratching my head throughout. A jumble of life events shoved into a few days in a small town creates an eerie backdrop to the unraveling of the main character.
I’m not sure I’d recommend it to everyone, and would have hated it had I read it before last year, but there’s something in how diaphanous the storyline is that really made me stop and think.
The prose is lovely to read, the imagery is striking and the characters are compelling. However the story is absolutely bonkers in a way that had me scratching my head throughout. A jumble of life events shoved into a few days in a small town creates an eerie backdrop to the unraveling of the main character.
I’m not sure I’d recommend it to everyone, and would have hated it had I read it before last year, but there’s something in how diaphanous the storyline is that really made me stop and think.
this was wild. so rewarding, and I wanted…..idk, an answer at the end? and I didn’t really get the answer I was looking for but really this was just a challenging and lovely and often hilarious book
Absurd and labyrinthine. The definition of a love it or hate it novel? Despite it's lack of logic, it's actually quite accessible. Truly dreamlike.
the best and most kafkaesque ishiguro novel. this is a perfect book.
mysterious
reflective
slow-paced
How can I explain that this is not an angry, or disappointed, or otherwise strongly negatively intended star rating?
Much of this review I'll put in spoilers (meaning theories) just cause. But I'll put here that I could not shake the feeling, beginning around a third of the way into the book, that Ryder is the portrait of the artist, and we are all of the townsfolk who clamor to rain down showers and showers of praise at the slightest show of even nonsensical pointless drivel from... the artist... A view which a scan of the reviews on the back of the book throughout the reading of the book, couldn't help but reinforce.(i.e. the reviews on the back of the book are saying *almost exactly* the same things as the audience members/townspeople when Ryder was, at the very least, a complete dick, and then also in the very upmost way, did not do his job
Ok, so theories:
1. the writing
So, this is the most lulling, dull, repetitive, pointless narrative. All of the characters are... *the same person* (figuratively (?)) and it's almost like you could read any of the chapters in any order, and come out with exactly the same result. So. How he could have stood to write this? Beyond me. HOW anyone could have EDITED this???? My goodness that experience must have been awful. So I didn't care about anything, all that to say, but I guess (hope) that's not the goal of the book.
2. ~the dickery~
Ryder's a dick. Yeah. The way Ishiguro made this surrealist setting so we (I) didn't figure that out for 100 or so pages...ok??? But, to be real, if we're gonna look at this (somewhat (UNTRAINEDLY)) critically, Sophie has no voice, by all accounts Ryder's abandoned his family to do this job and the surrealism is a metaphor (more on that later) for how his choice of how he conducts himself has ended him up... yeah, ok??? Ryder's a Dick. I don't care. We know this story, I don't care to read it with ~The Unconsoled~ yeah, no resolution.
3. ~~ The Metaphor~~~
Ok I'm really not sure on this... but... so basically this dude's wrapped up in his career and has ruined his and his family's lives, and all the public clamor after him showing their braindead need for celebrity, but then the end is they ~figure out they don't need him~... and all the surrealism is... there for the point of metaphor? Ok???? I don't think that's *good*??????????
ok, but the thing is, I would like to talk to someone about this book. How long it remains in my mind only time will tell (there was something oddly readable about it- this is not my usual kind of book, but if it was *bad* it would have been infuriating? I think? (don'y get me wrong, I did not like it)), but the fact I want to discuss it with someone... I guess that's a measure of a book in and of itself? But in the end, as of right now, I kinda wanna forget it. I don't think it was all that useful, I think it could have been done in a more skilled way had it been around 200 pages, with more elements slightly pushed and pulled to the more extreme. But who am I to know what's good, really? I just don't think it was a) good and b)that useful a contribution to whatever conversation I think it's talking to. Perhaps it was a self indulgent project.
Wouldn't recommend if you're wanting to explore Ishiguro (I've only read Never Let Me Go). I'm interested to go and read other reviews and see if I change my thoughts. Also think I'm still interested to read more Ishiguro and see... what's up with that...
Much of this review I'll put in spoilers (meaning theories) just cause. But I'll put here that I could not shake the feeling, beginning around a third of the way into the book, that Ryder is the portrait of the artist, and we are all of the townsfolk who clamor to rain down showers and showers of praise at the slightest show of even nonsensical pointless drivel from... the artist... A view which a scan of the reviews on the back of the book throughout the reading of the book, couldn't help but reinforce.
Ok, so theories:
So, this is the most lulling, dull, repetitive, pointless narrative. All of the characters are... *the same person* (figuratively (?)) and it's almost like you could read any of the chapters in any order, and come out with exactly the same result. So. How he could have stood to write this? Beyond me. HOW anyone could have EDITED this???? My goodness that experience must have been awful. So I didn't care about anything, all that to say, but I guess (hope) that's not the goal of the book.
2. ~the dickery~
Ryder's a dick. Yeah. The way Ishiguro made this surrealist setting so we (I) didn't figure that out for 100 or so pages...ok??? But, to be real, if we're gonna look at this (somewhat (UNTRAINEDLY)) critically, Sophie has no voice, by all accounts Ryder's abandoned his family to do this job and the surrealism is a metaphor (more on that later) for how his choice of how he conducts himself has ended him up... yeah, ok??? Ryder's a Dick. I don't care. We know this story, I don't care to read it with ~The Unconsoled~ yeah, no resolution.
3. ~~ The Metaphor~~~
Ok I'm really not sure on this... but... so basically this dude's wrapped up in his career and has ruined his and his family's lives, and all the public clamor after him showing their braindead need for celebrity, but then the end is they ~figure out they don't need him~... and all the surrealism is... there for the point of metaphor? Ok???? I don't think that's *good*??????????
ok, but the thing is, I would like to talk to someone about this book. How long it remains in my mind only time will tell (there was something oddly readable about it- this is not my usual kind of book, but if it was *bad* it would have been infuriating? I think? (don'y get me wrong, I did not like it)), but the fact I want to discuss it with someone... I guess that's a measure of a book in and of itself? But in the end, as of right now, I kinda wanna forget it. I don't think it was all that useful, I think it could have been done in a more skilled way had it been around 200 pages, with more elements slightly pushed and pulled to the more extreme. But who am I to know what's good, really? I just don't think it was a) good and b)that useful a contribution to whatever conversation I think it's talking to. Perhaps it was a self indulgent project.
Wouldn't recommend if you're wanting to explore Ishiguro (I've only read Never Let Me Go). I'm interested to go and read other reviews and see if I change my thoughts. Also think I'm still interested to read more Ishiguro and see... what's up with that...
This was my last Ishiguro I hadn’t read and it is a masterpiece. It’s funny while also being an anxious mess. Everything about this novel is absurd and incredibly executed. Ishiguro uses “dream logic” for the entirety of this anxiety dream of a novel. Seemingly nothing is happening, and Ryder is just ushered around everywhere, but thinking about this book as a whole, a lot happens, there are major side quests and subplots with actual linearity, which is shocking considering the atmosphere of this. And atmosphere, is something Ishiguro always builds so well, even in his works I haven’t enjoyed as much, the atmosphere is always very well created and present.
I feel like I just had one very long, very stressful dream. This book is deeply beautiful and clever, but also incredibly painful to read. I love Ishiguro’s works, but reading this one felt like a chore at times.
Täydellinen teos, kokemus. Unenomainen maailma, ihana, ahdistava ja käsistä lipeävä juuri sillä hetkellä, kun uskoo ymmärtävänsä kaiken. Upea.