The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro
Stevens is the butler of Darlington Hall, a Great English House. He has held this post for his whole working life, and hardly missed a day; dedication to service is his raison d'être, and Darlington Hall is his world. Now, it's the summer of 1956. The World Wars are over, Lord Darlington has died and been succeeded, and Stevens, though getting on in years, is still serving as butler. Plenty has changed, but not him. At the start of 'The Remains of the Day', strongly encouraged by his employer, Stevens embarks on a holiday - and as he leaves the House and drives through the West Country, he begins to reflect on his life.
'The Remains of the Day' is a study of character. If you're looking for a ripping good plotline, this is not where you'll find it; the ageing man's driving tour of West Country villages is not especially edge-of-the-seat content. But of course, this book isn't really about Stevens's trip: it's about Stevens himself. What Ishiguro does (very well indeed) is paint a picture of a man, beginning with a mere impression and gradually filling in the colour and the detail and the background, until before we know it we are looking at a whole human being. Through Stevens's journey, his narration, and the flashback memories that appear like a series of vignettes, the big picture of his life unfolds before our eyes. I really liked it.
If I had to describe this book in one adjective, I would say subtle, because we glean a great deal from the things that remain unsaid. So much of what we learn about Stevens comes through indirectness, inference and hints. This is because, fantastically, the whole book is narrated as though from the inside of Stevens's head. Ishiguro creates his voice brilliantly; for much of the book, Stevens has a very endearing way of addressing us directly, and it feels as convincing as if we were really being spoken to, confided in. The caveat - and the thing that makes the book work so well - is that Stevens is the most unreliable narrator I have ever come across.
Not only does he get terribly side-tracked (his recount of his countryside getaway thus morphing into soul-searching recollections of his past experiences at Darlington Hall), but he frequently misremembers, mis-represents, and misinterprets things that have happened. For example, he tells us early on that he plans make a stop on his tour to visit Miss Kenton, Darlington Hall's former housekeeper, whose recent letter unequivocally expressed her desire to return to her old post owing to her unhappiness in her marriage. This is how he tells it the first time. Each time Stevens's mind wanders back to the letter, it brings renewed doubts about his initial interpretation of her words, and eventually he reveals (perhaps admits) that he had read a great deal into Miss Kenton's letter which wasn't there at all. Whole memories, too, he retells with firm conviction, before musing that that probably wasn't how it had transpired after all. Stevens isn't honest with himself, and as a reader you have to see through that layer.
You see, Stevens is all about professional restraint. His role depends on self-effacement - melting into the background, serving the master without hesitation and without question - and he is so devoted to wholly fulfilling this task that he has become completely insular. Set in his ways and stuck in his own head, thinking only of professional dignity in all circumstances, Stevens cannot fathom any other ways of thinking and cannot understand anyone who takes their job less seriously. It's a fascinating critique of the role of a traditional butler, in which the perfect enactment of service means total repression of your self.
This concept was at times extremely funny. I chuckled aloud at some of Stevens's social faux-pas; there were some brilliant moments of cross-purpose conversation, and his awkward mis-handling of situations was ripe for second-hand embarrassment. But Ishiguro peppers the humour with seriousness. High stakes sneak in - matters from Nazism to Anti-Semitism to death to democracy - and we slowly but surely begin to realise the bigger implications of Stevens's ways. 'The Remains of the Day' evolves into a profound evocation of how it feels to regret, and that was very clever.
Overall, this was a subtle, clever, funny and profound book, a masterful character study steeped in themes of nostalgia, professional dignity, waste and regret. Well worth a read.
You can buy 'The Remains of the Day' from Waterstones by following this link (I'll receive a small commission if you do):
The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro - Waterstones
