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tromber 's review for:
The Unconsoled
by Kazuo Ishiguro
Don’t know the last time I found myself so repeatedly pissed off by a character’s actions. Here, Ishiguro populates a destination town’s cultural scene with countless such clowns. Pages and pages of grievances and apologies, all hilariously passive aggressive, increasingly disturbing the lengths people go to to maintain their right to believe whatever justification spills out of their mouths. I could have read another 500 pages of this shit. Had no idea how it could possibly end in a satisfying way when from the outset there appear to be two options. In the end, it felt right. Takes a couple turns in the last couple chapters that were politely jaw dropping. Just really dug the book’s wavelength. Conversational control, expectation vs projection, prideful anxiety bumping against prideful anxiety. Self importance is self defeating. V relatable. This book is how it feels to have a conversation when everyone in 2023 has their insecurity walls securely patrolled. Hoffman can fuck himself right into Hell.