Some Consolation

Did a bit of reading online about The Unconsoled yesterday after posting about my puzzlement in regard to the novel. Was a bit relieved that I hadn't missed anything too obvious in relation to what Ishiguro was up to in his fourth book - after all, as someone who purports to teach Lit I'm supposed to be good at this sort of thing. In fact, most of what I read confirmed aspects of my own reading of the text - its nods to Kafka, the dream-logic involved, the sense of dread.

I'm very pleased indeed that I didn't try and look up anything about the novel whilst reading it since I'm sure that would have diluted my own sense of anxiety as I read, a response that seems to me (now, after reading around) central in terms of Ishiguro's curious achievement. I was haunted throughout by a feeling it would all turn out badly, that some dreadful humiliation was in store for Ryder, the narrator. And I think that's exactly what the writer wanted: to force the reader into recognition of the kind of vulnerability we all live with as part of the human condition, except here intensified, as it is in dreams. The contradiction is, though, that nobody would want to read the book twice - certainly I know I'd never want to repeat the experience, salutary as it was the first time around.

The most useful aspect of yesterday's further reading was the light it shone on the title. I came across the suggestion that Ryder is continually attempting to give consolation to the 'ordinary' people who cross his path as he prepares (or, rather, fails to prepare) for the big concert. In each case he fails the character and they remain unconsoled. That works for me, especially when extended to include the idea that his art fails to give consolation.

I had a nagging suspicion when reading the novel that Ishiguro might have been drawing on his own experiences, especially anxieties, on book tours having become quite the star, and rightly so, after The Remains of the Day. I must say, that feeling has grown on me since yesterday as I've been recalling various aspects of the work. Funnily enough, although I have absolutely no desire to ever reread the book I'm certain I'll remember quite a lot of it - which is unusual for me.

I remain perplexed by a number of loose ends in relation to the text that I just can't thread together, and in that sense I'm thinking of the book as a failure. But a brilliant and audacious one. What a risk to take after the success of Remains!