This prize-winning book came out in 1989, and yet I found out about it only recently. If you have not yet read it, please allow me to recommend it-- highly.
image via Internet link
This is a book deserving of the term tour de force. Sheer brilliance. It is that rare once-in-a-lifetime achievement that is more than anyone can ask for. I am filled with admiration for Japanese-British author Kazuo Ishiguro. How exactly could someone in his 30's understand that moments from one's past ebb and flow in the mind of an aging person? And how does someone whose parents did not grow up in Britain come to have such a penetrating grasp of the psyche of that nation?
The book came to my notice because I have been on a kick with Japanese novels:Yasunari Kawabata (Palm of the Hand Stories, Snow Country and more),Yukio Mishima (Spring Snow: The Sea of Fertility), Natsume Soseki (The Gate), Junichiro Tanizaki (The Makioka Sisters ), Kobo Abe (The Woman in the Dunes), Minae Mizumura (A True Novel), Yoko Ogawa ( The Housekeeper and the Professor). I can't get enough of these masterpieces that convey so much in -- in most cases -- so few words.
"The Remains of the Day" is not translated from Japanese (unlike the other works mentioned above). It is not a Japanese novel at all, except for the heritage of its author. Writer Ishiguro migrated with his Japanese family to U.K. early in his life, and somehow managed an impressive command of English without the benefits of a literary family background nor a British aristocratic education. (By his own admission, his Japanese is awful.) And this novel has nothing to do with Japan at all -- the only mentioning of anything Asian is in a minor scene involving a misplaced "Chinaman" porcelain figure. What this book does have in common with the Japanese novels that I love are a quiet storyline, an economy of words, and an understated beauty.
But the topic most relevant to this blog is one mentioned in another review:
"The
story is also about growing old. I like the phrase uttered by another
aging butler towards the end of the book: 'You've done your day's work.
Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it. That's how I look at it. Ask
anybody, they'll tell you. The evening's the best part of the day.' How
about that for people looking forward to their retirements? BTW, that's
where the title REMAINS OF THE DAY came from. It refers to what is left
of the day - the evening."
The evening of one's life, to be more precise. The central character and narrator of the novel is one Mr. Stevens, the ultimate British butler with the ulitmate upper-stiff lip who devotes his entire being to his self-construed standard of professionalism in serving a single master, to the exclusion of all else in life. But politics, history and events conspire to subvert his perfectly calculated world, forcing Stevens to confront with what has become of his life after some pivotal events.
At the end of the book, a man who has devoted his entire life to attain professionalism and dignity is reduced to sorrows and regrets. The only remaining meaningful human relationship that he has hoped to salvage eludes him even as he just begins to recognize the emptiness in his world of self-inflicted abnegation.
We can all learn from this story, whatever our age. But for those of us who have reached an age of looking back on our lives, some passages are especially meaningful. To illustrate, I share below a few excerpted passages from the book -- these are inner thoughts of the central character, Mr. Stevens:
- “What can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished? The hard reality is, surely, that for the likes of you and I, there is little choice other than to leave our fate, ultimately, in the hands of those great gentlemen at the hub of this world who employ our services. What is the point in worrying oneself too much about what one could or could not have done to control the course one’s life took? Surely it is enough that the likes of you and I at least try to make our small contribution count for something true and worthy. And if some of us are prepared to sacrifice much in life in order to pursue such aspirations, surely that is in itself, whatever the outcome, cause for pride and contentment.”
- “He [Lord Darlington, the service to whom Mr. Stevenson was devoted] chose a certain path in life, it proved to be a misguided one, but there, he chose it, he can say that at least. As for myself, I cannot even claim that. You see, I trusted. I trusted in his lordship's wisdom. All those years I served him, I trusted I was doing something worthwhile. I can't even say I made my own mistakes. Really - one has to ask oneself - what dignity is there in that?”
- “But that doesn't mean to say, of course, there aren't occasions now and then - extremely desolate occasions - when you think to yourself: 'What a terrible mistake I've made with my life.' And you get to thinking about a different life, a better life you might have had. For instance, I get to thinking about a life I may have had with you, Mr. Stevens. And I suppose that's when I get angry about some trivial little thing and leave. But each time I do, I realize before long - my rightful place is with my husband. After all, there's no turning back the clock now. One can't be forever dwelling on what might have been. One should realize one has as good as most, perhaps better, and be grateful.
- “Naturally—and why should I not admit this—I have occasionally wondered to myself how things might have turned out in the long run.... I only speculate this now because in the light of subsequent events, it could well be argued that in making my decision...I was perhaps not entirely aware of the full implications of what I was doing. Indeed, it might even be said that this small decision of mine constituted something of a key turning point; that that decision set things on an inevitable course towards what eventually happened.
- But then, I suppose, when with the benefit of hindsight one begins to search one's past for such 'turning points', one is apt to start seeing them everywhere.... What would have transpired, one may ask, had one responded slightly differently...? And perhaps—occurring as it did around the same time as these events?”
- “For a great many people, the evening is the most enjoyable part of the day. Perhaps, then, there is something to his advice that I should cease looking back so much, that I should adopt a more positive outlook and try to make the best of what remains of my day. After all, what can we ever gain in forever looking back and blaming ourselves if our lives have not turned out quite as we might have wished?”
It is easy to see the flaws in Mr. Stevens' ways even as we read the novel written entirely from his point of view. But I share with many reviewers on the Goodreads site that, by the end of the book, this fictional character has become almost like a real person that one knows, whose irrational behaviors are entirely understandable; and whose regrets are palpable and heart-breaking.
Kazuo Ishigur saved the most heart-rending moment for the novel's ending. It is subtle. After all the wrenching introspection and regrets, did the ultimate butler learn his lesson? We come to this final passage.
...when
I return to Darlington Hall tomorrow ... I will begin practising [the art of bantering] with
renewed effort...that by the time of my employer's return, I shall be in a
position to pleasantly surprise him.
As other astute Goodreads reviewers have noted: we can safely assume that Mr. Stevens -- given what we know of his disposition -- would never manage the art of bantering American style (the new owner of the Darlington Hall is an American). So ingrained is Stevens' self-repression that nothing is learned to the bitter end, and a sad fate most certainly lies ahead for this ultimate English Butler.
Shiata ga nai!
