The Remains of the Day
1989
In order to
do it justice, The Remains of the Day ought
to be judged on two different grounds: as
the work of an author and as fiction. My opinions on both vary widely.
The first turned out to be very positive and it is in fact Kazuo Ishiguro’s talent which renders the fiction actually deceptive and, eventually, a deception. Way before the end, I found myself liking the book, yet disliking its story. Be sure of this: nothing happens for the story centers chiefly on the butler Stevens as he recalls life at Darlington Hall during the 30s. Nostalgia, melancholy and bittersweet memories, a lot of denial, too, will make this flawless study essentially a ‘feeling’ book. With a great sense of structure, Ishiguro makes memories seem as if they sprang up spontaneously from Stevens’ own memory, when this recalling is actually organized along a shrewd line. But it is through a thoroughly mastered and precise use of language that Ishiguro best delivers his character, without ever betraying him with his own authoritative voice. You really are left in Stevens’ thoughts to judge for yourself. Beware spoilers!
As past events unveil and Stevens’ thoughts unravel, the horror surfaces from behind the façade of good old English sentiments. Little by little you come to understand that this is a systematic tale of a failed human mind and heart, best summarized by a critique addressed to Stevens: ““You just let all this go on before you and you never think to look at it for what it is.”” (234)
Indeed, Stevens is so obsessed with the little matters of his life that he avoids any personal and moral engagement when important ones come his way. This is what his great moments are made of: random and often absurd trivia. He talks a great deal about righteousness and dignity, yet fails to show any when most needed (his father’s illness, the Jewish maids, relationship with Nazi Germany,…) and it seems he busies himself so as to avoid growing up and confronting the tasks ahead of him as an independent human rather than as a submissive butler. This is a rather amoral man who lives in demanding times and refuses to meet them. Does he believe in anything beyond the excellent quality of silver polish?
He has managed to become quite the spitting image of his dear Lord Darlington, himself a coward devoid of values of his own who sheepishly follows any conduct of his friends_ wasn’t this one of Stevens’ chief ambitions: reflect in his own way the “great men” of his time…? Well, Lord Darlington is one ugly character and Stevens becomes another for refusing during 99% percent of the book to see it_ for admitting that much would put into question the importance he gives to his own life.
With his obsession of wanting everything just so, he remains nice without ever being kind. He is too concerned with his best course of action to show empathy and sympathy and eventually remains clueless. His recalling is hardly composed of the mature thoughts of an old man but is rather that of a teenager who’s skin deep in character and refuses to shake it off when the moment most requires it. Having constantly changed his views so as to feel more comfortable with his increasingly haunting reminiscences, epiphany comes in late and the real question is: will he keep it going and face the ‘new’ world without repeating old wrongs?
The Remains of the Day felt like a writing masterpiece which credibly delivered a difficult story to read through without banging the book against the wall. I will always dislike Stevens, but now I really love Ishiguro.
The first turned out to be very positive and it is in fact Kazuo Ishiguro’s talent which renders the fiction actually deceptive and, eventually, a deception. Way before the end, I found myself liking the book, yet disliking its story. Be sure of this: nothing happens for the story centers chiefly on the butler Stevens as he recalls life at Darlington Hall during the 30s. Nostalgia, melancholy and bittersweet memories, a lot of denial, too, will make this flawless study essentially a ‘feeling’ book. With a great sense of structure, Ishiguro makes memories seem as if they sprang up spontaneously from Stevens’ own memory, when this recalling is actually organized along a shrewd line. But it is through a thoroughly mastered and precise use of language that Ishiguro best delivers his character, without ever betraying him with his own authoritative voice. You really are left in Stevens’ thoughts to judge for yourself. Beware spoilers!
As past events unveil and Stevens’ thoughts unravel, the horror surfaces from behind the façade of good old English sentiments. Little by little you come to understand that this is a systematic tale of a failed human mind and heart, best summarized by a critique addressed to Stevens: ““You just let all this go on before you and you never think to look at it for what it is.”” (234)
Indeed, Stevens is so obsessed with the little matters of his life that he avoids any personal and moral engagement when important ones come his way. This is what his great moments are made of: random and often absurd trivia. He talks a great deal about righteousness and dignity, yet fails to show any when most needed (his father’s illness, the Jewish maids, relationship with Nazi Germany,…) and it seems he busies himself so as to avoid growing up and confronting the tasks ahead of him as an independent human rather than as a submissive butler. This is a rather amoral man who lives in demanding times and refuses to meet them. Does he believe in anything beyond the excellent quality of silver polish?
He has managed to become quite the spitting image of his dear Lord Darlington, himself a coward devoid of values of his own who sheepishly follows any conduct of his friends_ wasn’t this one of Stevens’ chief ambitions: reflect in his own way the “great men” of his time…? Well, Lord Darlington is one ugly character and Stevens becomes another for refusing during 99% percent of the book to see it_ for admitting that much would put into question the importance he gives to his own life.
With his obsession of wanting everything just so, he remains nice without ever being kind. He is too concerned with his best course of action to show empathy and sympathy and eventually remains clueless. His recalling is hardly composed of the mature thoughts of an old man but is rather that of a teenager who’s skin deep in character and refuses to shake it off when the moment most requires it. Having constantly changed his views so as to feel more comfortable with his increasingly haunting reminiscences, epiphany comes in late and the real question is: will he keep it going and face the ‘new’ world without repeating old wrongs?
The Remains of the Day felt like a writing masterpiece which credibly delivered a difficult story to read through without banging the book against the wall. I will always dislike Stevens, but now I really love Ishiguro.
Rosamunde PilcherRetour en Cornouailles (Coming Home)
1995
Voici un livre magnifiquement poignant, l'un des premiers romans qui me fit ressentir ses personnages, qui me fit aimer la littérature. Une belle écriture, douce-amère, nous conte l'histoire de bourgeois et propriétaires terriens de la campagne anglaise du début 20ème siècle. Le livre parle de foyer, alors sortez les mouchoirs. D'une caresse de la plume de l'écrivain, Pilcher y dévoile les affres et les douceurs du cœur humain. Doucement, sans mélodrame, et sans réluctance, les mots nous mènent au cœur de ces blessures intimes qui demeurent. Coming home, indeed.
Tags: early 20th century, saga familiale, présence distante du British empire, roman de mœurs, soupçons de pensée féministe, close quarters, famille & land
Ngῦgῖ wa Thiong’o
The River Between
1965
A small but important book, full of truths that have aged
somewhat if you’ve studied all this before, but pertinent nonetheless. The River Between rests on a dual vision
of the world (here, limited to the tribe) and what happens when these two
collapse and drown in the river instead of meeting on its banks. Yet, following
a character who is an enlightened man before his time (and his people) and lacks
the means to enlighten in return, the book systematically falls into the trap
of Waiyaki’s mind and fails to escape precisely the dualism it set out to
criticize. The point is not so much to reconcile Christianism and the tribe’s
old way in a sort of meeting of traditions and religions without colonisation,
as to question why Christianism is pervading the tribe in the first place. For
a book on colonisation, it almost never addressed the question of race and kept
faithfully to that of culture and religion, which limited the debate to just a
difference of opinions that refuse to bend. We end up like the people, furious
to see things going this far and turning against the messiah’s lament for
moderation. Life and death are no matters of moderation; but how could the
tribe know, then, that defending their ways was defending their life? Waiyaki
is the most enlightened man of Kameno
and Makuyu, yes, but not necessarily the most enlightened person (Muthoni, for one, has some things to say that will
effectively forever be silenced), and, unfortunately, not enlightened enough. Since
he cannot listen, he has a hard time to teach. The book is fully aware of that;
in fact, it exposes those weaknesses early on. But where is the answer?
It is dark tale, full of atmosphere, diffusing it as the book’s weather diffuses rain drops: consistently and unflappably. Standing with, rather than above, his characters, the author dives into their minds, showing you how they come to think like that but not how they could get out, because the truth is: it’s unlikely they could get out, then. You feel the drama coming, though you’re unsure where it will come from, and you know you can’t escape it. A good tale, in terms of fiction, an interesting look into the prevention of colonisation from a socio-cultural and intellectual perspective, and a strong, seductive book in terms of the written word, relying more on the force of simple words and sentences positioned at the right place than on a long and complex narration. Ngῦgῖ unfolds the tale as a storyteller: he doesn’t develop characterisation more than is needed to say what he must say in order for the tale to make sense and grow roots deep within its readers. Then, the last page closes, and that is all you’ll have.
Don’t expect to approach the characters too closely, they (and their writer) are ferociously defensive of their own privacy and you feel like a child peeping through the key hole to witness a discussion which is not yours to participate in, to begin with (and I’m of African origins, too). Keep behind that key hole and you’ll be pleasantly surprised, awakened somewhat, and saddened. Try and force entry, wanting to know more, and you’ll come out vexed and frustrated. This is a book from which you learn. You can enjoy it, in fact it’s hard not to for the sensual writing pulls you in; but I don’t see how one can love it.
It is dark tale, full of atmosphere, diffusing it as the book’s weather diffuses rain drops: consistently and unflappably. Standing with, rather than above, his characters, the author dives into their minds, showing you how they come to think like that but not how they could get out, because the truth is: it’s unlikely they could get out, then. You feel the drama coming, though you’re unsure where it will come from, and you know you can’t escape it. A good tale, in terms of fiction, an interesting look into the prevention of colonisation from a socio-cultural and intellectual perspective, and a strong, seductive book in terms of the written word, relying more on the force of simple words and sentences positioned at the right place than on a long and complex narration. Ngῦgῖ unfolds the tale as a storyteller: he doesn’t develop characterisation more than is needed to say what he must say in order for the tale to make sense and grow roots deep within its readers. Then, the last page closes, and that is all you’ll have.
Don’t expect to approach the characters too closely, they (and their writer) are ferociously defensive of their own privacy and you feel like a child peeping through the key hole to witness a discussion which is not yours to participate in, to begin with (and I’m of African origins, too). Keep behind that key hole and you’ll be pleasantly surprised, awakened somewhat, and saddened. Try and force entry, wanting to know more, and you’ll come out vexed and frustrated. This is a book from which you learn. You can enjoy it, in fact it’s hard not to for the sensual writing pulls you in; but I don’t see how one can love it.
Tags: spiritualism, spiritism with a hint of magic and philosophy…a lot!, the tribe’s way vs. Christianism as part of colonisation, political intertribal war, the religious fight, a mask for a political fight, not enough questions of race but perhaps they were irrelevant then, prophecy of a messiah based on the origin of the Gikuyu people, an interesting love conflict or jungle fever due to a river, real African socio-cultural and political struggle of the early 20th century, Waiyaki’s tragic destiny, Joshua’s wife and daughters, change and revolutions in the 1920s, misunderstood prophet, life within the tribe
A Room with a View
1908
À coups de comparisons and not-so-subtle metaphors, Forster tells of the young upper-middle class Lucy's discovery of herself, by means of first discovering Italy. Through what have now become clichés of romance fiction, he diffuses a feminist analysis which refuses to pass equality off as superiority. If it's not Forster's best novel, it certainly is him at his best as a funny moralist. The novel is so pleasant to read, so curt, that you don't see yourself turning the pages. It could have been a play for the shortness of the narrative and the amount of dialogues but, then, let's forgive him, the dialogues can be so good, nothing seems to miss, nothing needs to go. Little event after little event, you realise how it is all very well scripted.
Tags: early 20th century or perhaps even before, two places, same people, one drama, feminist approach to romance fiction and social satire, funny funny!, romantic interests all mixed up, social satire of the English at home and abroad, Italy vs. England, George Emerson's question mark
Lynn Flewelling
Le Royaume de Tobin (The Tamír's Triad)L'Intégrale I: Les Jumeaux; Les Années d'Apprentissage (The Bone Doll's Twin)
L'Intégrale II: L’Éveil du Sang; La Révélation (Hidden Warrior)
L'Intégrale III: La Troisième Orëska; La Reine de l'Oracle (The Oracle's Queen)
2001/2003/2006
Une belle œuvre, pleine d’âme, plus sérieuse et dure que Nightrunner, sombre, tellement sombre. On
sent que l’auteur y a mis beaucoup de cœur. Un récit marquant, des personnages
ravagés, une narration joliment tournée; ce n’est pas de la fantasy qu’on peut
lire à la légère. Le Royaume de Tobin
requière l’attention du lecteur, il demande qu’on s’y attache, nous défie d’oser
tourner la page, nous défie d’oser poser le livre. Ne posez pas ce livre.
Tags: relations homosociales (et plus), transgenderism, gender & feminism, héros malmenés, monde des magiciens et étude de la magie, socio-political structure, guerres here and there et forts assiégés, mythopoeia, vie de château, prophéties et destinées, spectre maudit genre "mort vivant", confrontation de préjugés raciaux, peinture des mœurs, magie vs. cycle de la vie, semences de sagesse, "coming of age" parcours, la vie de la cour, lord & vassal, suivre ou non l'oracle
David Farland
The Runelords
The Sum of
All Men. I.
1998
1998
A good
book, one that I would have loved to love, but ultimately couldn’t.
First, the racial divide: the “Arabic” people are uniformly hard, servile and stupid_ the bad asses of the tale_ while the Whites are in 3D, with varied personalities_ the victims. If fantasy is to represent the physical and cultural races of our world so obviously, then it may want to show some respect in doing so and grant each and every one human with credibility. Too often did this first volume read like a nod at the great patriotic flag of whiteness.
Beyond this, imagine the board of a fantasy game with great obstacles, cards of power, heroes and foes, and a complete inventive lore at hand to make you truly get into it. The systems of endowments, the Days, and the House of Understanding work to form a clever and deep context that really sets the story going. Too bad, then, that in this first book Farland never tackles them too seriously. From one adventure in the woods to the next, the pages read fast, too fast to let you ponder the underdevelopments and the character complexity that should have necessarily flowed from them, yet didn’t. All in all, The Sum of All Men lays the ground for achieving an emotional and philosophical masterpiece, but never reaches.
First, the racial divide: the “Arabic” people are uniformly hard, servile and stupid_ the bad asses of the tale_ while the Whites are in 3D, with varied personalities_ the victims. If fantasy is to represent the physical and cultural races of our world so obviously, then it may want to show some respect in doing so and grant each and every one human with credibility. Too often did this first volume read like a nod at the great patriotic flag of whiteness.
Beyond this, imagine the board of a fantasy game with great obstacles, cards of power, heroes and foes, and a complete inventive lore at hand to make you truly get into it. The systems of endowments, the Days, and the House of Understanding work to form a clever and deep context that really sets the story going. Too bad, then, that in this first book Farland never tackles them too seriously. From one adventure in the woods to the next, the pages read fast, too fast to let you ponder the underdevelopments and the character complexity that should have necessarily flowed from them, yet didn’t. All in all, The Sum of All Men lays the ground for achieving an emotional and philosophical masterpiece, but never reaches.
P.S. That
Iome character is one insufferable girl. 5 pages after meeting her, I started
to call her ‘Princess Useless’.
