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A review by korrick
The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro
4.0
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.