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buddhafish 's review for:
The Unconsoled
by Kazuo Ishiguro
29th book of the year.
I've been avoiding this one for a while as Ishiguro's books are usually slow, not bad, but slow reading and this is huge compared to his other works; it's 535 pages, my edition, anyway.
I came up with some similes whilst I was reading, to capture what reading this book is like. I'm going to list them here.
- Like getting your zip stuck half way up your coat.
- Like finally getting comfortable and then realising you need the toilet/the remote.
- Like trying to untangle headphones, but only end up tangling them further.
- Like desperately wanting to add to a conversation but never finding the right moment.
- Like wanting to get somewhere but your dog constantly stops to sniff.
- Like putting something on the side and it immediately falls off again.
- Like stubbing your toe.
This book is frustrating. It makes you want to scream at every character involved, at Ishiguro himself; it is a nightmare. A literal nightmare. The protagonist, Mr Ryder, is constantly failing to get somewhere, remember something, meet someone, do anything. It's mind-numbing. The tone begins to annoy you, even. Everything is so difficult. Characters talk for several pages, without break, about something you, nor Mr Ryder, even care about - but you're stuck. You're stuck in this nightmare. Ishiguro has taken an escape artist and made it impossible to escape so we sit and watch as he writhes and writhes, struggles and pants, but can never get out. The only way to escape this nightmare is to finish the book.
I feel as if I've made it sound like I didn't enjoy this book, or that anyone else should read it. If I have given that impression, it's wrong. The Unconsoled is an absolute masterpiece, Ishiguro's control of the form, the novel, is wondrous. He deserves the Nobel Prize for this novel alone. If you haven't read it, I urge you to, however, go in with patience. Ishiguro will make you work, make you itch and sigh, but he does it to give you an experience, a trippy, brilliant, work of genius. Now, I need to read The Buried Giant and then I have read all this man's fantastic novels. I might need a minute to compose myself after finishing this book, though.
I've been avoiding this one for a while as Ishiguro's books are usually slow, not bad, but slow reading and this is huge compared to his other works; it's 535 pages, my edition, anyway.
I came up with some similes whilst I was reading, to capture what reading this book is like. I'm going to list them here.
- Like getting your zip stuck half way up your coat.
- Like finally getting comfortable and then realising you need the toilet/the remote.
- Like trying to untangle headphones, but only end up tangling them further.
- Like desperately wanting to add to a conversation but never finding the right moment.
- Like wanting to get somewhere but your dog constantly stops to sniff.
- Like putting something on the side and it immediately falls off again.
- Like stubbing your toe.
This book is frustrating. It makes you want to scream at every character involved, at Ishiguro himself; it is a nightmare. A literal nightmare. The protagonist, Mr Ryder, is constantly failing to get somewhere, remember something, meet someone, do anything. It's mind-numbing. The tone begins to annoy you, even. Everything is so difficult. Characters talk for several pages, without break, about something you, nor Mr Ryder, even care about - but you're stuck. You're stuck in this nightmare. Ishiguro has taken an escape artist and made it impossible to escape so we sit and watch as he writhes and writhes, struggles and pants, but can never get out. The only way to escape this nightmare is to finish the book.
I feel as if I've made it sound like I didn't enjoy this book, or that anyone else should read it. If I have given that impression, it's wrong. The Unconsoled is an absolute masterpiece, Ishiguro's control of the form, the novel, is wondrous. He deserves the Nobel Prize for this novel alone. If you haven't read it, I urge you to, however, go in with patience. Ishiguro will make you work, make you itch and sigh, but he does it to give you an experience, a trippy, brilliant, work of genius. Now, I need to read The Buried Giant and then I have read all this man's fantastic novels. I might need a minute to compose myself after finishing this book, though.