The Remains of the Day

Probably Ishiguro's best-known work (and Booker winner), this is a genius of a novel in which both everything and nothing happens. Across all of Ishiguro's work, there is a certain subtlety, a slow burn of events that, almost without the reader realising, builds into something very powerful. In one interview, Ishiguro talks about his desire to write pared-down sentences — or to deploy as few words as possible to convey a maximum effect. In The Remains of the Day, readers encounter Stevens, an ageing butler. His narrative is more unreadable rather than unreliable, in the sense that we never know what Stevens is holding back, and also to the extent to which he may have imposed a retrospective interpretation on events long past. The novel focuses on the dangers of subservience, questions of loyalty (both to ideas and to people), and — as the title hints at — adopting a carpe diem attitude. The England Stevens lives in is increasingly anachronistic — 1956, when the action occurs, was the year of the Suez Crisis and when Britain finally abandoned its illusion of empire. ‘Dignity’ of utmost importance to Stevens, leads him never to forming a proper relationship with his father, admitting his love to Miss Kenton, or calling out his employer for his Nazi sympathies. Readers of The Remains of the Day may first be struck with admirations for Stevens' adherence to principles, but later are entitled to almost beg him to abandon them. Only when it is too late does Stevens seem to regret the course of action chosen. Powerful and revealing, Ishiguro shows how, as humans, we are all clearly flawed: eight and a half out of ten.

By Kazuo Ishiguro