Lesson learned from "The Remains of the Day"

Of  Kazuo Ishiguro's celebrated novel The Remains of the Day, someone left this simple one-line review on the Goodreads site: "I think this book just broke my heart."  Yes, exactly; mine too.

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. 

It is no wonder that this book is such a success. In less than 200 pages of unpretentious prose, this novel touches on an impressive number of topics that, judging from the reviews, strike a chord with countless readers.  Some -- but not all -- of these topics are quite well summarized in this review.  It is a story of lost love, of a misspent life, of human hypocrisy and hubris ... something for everyone.

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!

With Apology to Gutenberg ...

Gutenberg's printing press 

I have crossed the Rubicon and gone digital.

It all started with a Nook given to me by my son on Christmas some years ago.  I quickly discovered the convenience of digital books.   But it was not until earlier this year that I bit the bullet and cancelled my home delivery of the Los Angeles Times and a local paper.  This was done not without a great deal of regret and wavering.   

I had been a subscriber to these newspapers for well over twenty years.  Day in and day out, I used to step out of my house first thing in the morning to look for my papers lying somewhere on my driveway.  Those rolled up bundles were like old comforting friends, and I had nothing but gratitude to the carriers who faithfully brought them to my doorstep everyday, almost without failures.


What drove me over the edge, finally, were news stories about unscrupulous carriers who took advantage of "vacation hold" requests to rob the homes of newspaper subscribers. Gone were those innocent, trusting days. I gave e-delivery a serious investigation, and discovered that technology had advanced to the point where a digital facsimile of each complete printed edition is now available, and each section and each story can be expanded on screen at a touch. I am able to finger through the digital paper page by page, if I like; or I scan through the headlines and choose the articles I want to read. No longer is it necessary to flip back and forth to finish a story. And no longer do I haul out, each week, a recycling bin full of hundreds of printed pages, many bearing advertisements and sections of no interest to me, unread.

Digital newspapers siphoning print readers 


Now I am deprived of the morning exercise of stepping out of the house for my papers. The digital edition arrives miraculously on my iPad -- a relatively inexpensive vintage model bought on sale from Walmart. On my broadband feed, the digital delivery is often choppy but -- with patience on my part -- it always does eventually get the job done. By experience, I have learned to read one publication at a time, closing each one before downloading the next. It works for me.

For now at least, the digital subscriptions are considerably less costly. The trade-off is that I do pay a little more on electricity. As a bonus, the subscriptions even provide access to back copies of the most recent two weeks, and I can read them all while traveling anywhere in the world where wifi reaches.

To be sure, I miss the old-time pleasure of leafing through Sunday papers in leisure. Funny thing is: with the printed version, I used to often miss out on stories at the top of the pages spread out on my dining table. Now, it is just the opposite. As it is cumbersome to scroll up and down on the small screen of the iPad, I end up often overlooking the articles at the bottom -- happily where most advertisements sit. Reading cartoon strips -- especially the wordy ones -- is challenging on a small screen. Then again, no longer am I subject to jarring photos whose colors do not line up; nor do I now ever turn to page 10 to continue reading an article, only to forget what headline I am supposed to look for.

My friends -- many of them book lovers -- look askance whenever I mention that I have abandoned paper copies. I was a voracious reader of the print media until now, and I sincerely hope that printed words will be with us forever. But this change to e-papers has been good to me, and, with due apology to Gutenberg, I am not going back.

Tsukemono Pickle Press

Most things in life are beyond our control.  Shikata ga nai.  But with the wisdom gained with age, I have learned to enjoy what little over which I do have control.

Mostly, these are simple pleasures.
Take this gizmo that I ordered from Amazon, it is called a tsukemono pickle press. They come in different models, but this is the one that I chose to purchase for myself. 

I admire the elegance in the design as well as in the esthetics of this practical device.  It is used for pressing water from vegetables, to preserve them Japanese style. Tsukemono (pickled things) is quintessentially Japanese: a minimalist technique for pickling -- preserving -- thinly sliced cabbages, eggplants or cucumbers.  I love Persian cucumbers in my salad, but often could not finish a whole carton from Trader Joe.  These little cukes are delicious but highly perishable, and must be enjoyed while they are fresh and crisp.  I get a new batch each week and, sad to say, I used to have to throw out the leftover ones after they go limp.

No more. These days I thin slice the extra cucumbers, stack the slices in layers at the bottom of the pickle press, sprinkling a small amount of salt on top of each layer, close the lip, turn the screw on top to tighten the press, and leave the gizmo on my kitchen counter.  Within an hour, I can see water rising above the press.  After two to three days, I harvest the pickled cucumbers -- thin and slightly yellowish -- and store them in a glass jar in my refrigerator.   I enjoy them with rice or noodle, as a palate cleansing side dish. 

Photo above: Persian cukes and my tsukemono pickle press.

Photo above: Harvested tsukemono to be enjoyed with soy sauce, sesame oil and vinegar.  There is something about this combination that is irresistible to me, especially eaten with steaming hot rice.   I think I can survive on this stuff indefinitely!

Many years ago when I needed to buy a car, I deliberately chose a Volvo.  I did that although the voice of reason had told me to get a Toyota or Honda, which were (and still are) everywhere in California.  Japanese products were riding high at the time, and I resented seeing Japanese tourists everywhere as if they owned the places. 

It is now 10 years later, and, shall we say, I have flipped.  Mainly it has to do with a certain Japanese pianist who has captured my fancy since 2009 --  a story for another blog.  But even before that, I was subconsciously attracted to the Japanese esthetics.   I am ethnically Chinese, but have always been partial to the arts of Japanese.  The minimalism coupled with a subtle charm appeals to me instinctively.

Over the years, I have become a big fan of many things Japanese!  Such is life.   Shikata ga nai.   

Shigata ga nai

A line of pine trees that stand guard on an incline overlooking our highway is turning brown.  Are they victims of the California drought, or victims of pine wilt?  The first time I noticed the blight, only some limbs were affected.  Each time I passed by since, the color of rust had spread more.  The writing is on the wall.  We are losing these proud Scotch Pines planted over a decade ago when an upscale development was built behind them.

I have always made a point to catch a glimpse of these giant trees while driving northbound on the highway.  These line of perhaps a hundred evergreen formed an elegant natural fence, towering above us motorists as we speed through that stretch of Highway 101 somewhere between Los Angeles and San Francisco.  Who planted those pines?  Was it the developer who built those upscale homes, as a good will gesture?  Or was it the city's attempt to beautify the landscape?  In any case, it was a good thing for the landscape, a nice touch to counter urban blight.  Together those trees have grown for over a decade, stretching for perhaps half a mile on the slopes along the freeway.  Now their existence is rudely disrupted, and someone will have the unenviable task of removing the fallen giants from a steep incline.

Who is to blame when nature takes such a wonton turn?  Something like that, on a smaller scale, happened to me.  Five years ago, I planted a row of xylosma by a low fence in my front yard.  It didn't take long for the 5-gallon starters to shoot up a neat row of graceful branches and luscious leaves to form a 10-foot fence that nicely provided a screen between me and my next-door neighbors. 

Some time last year, mushrooms started to sprout in the dirt just around the slender trunks of these graceful trees.  Soon, their lustrous leaves began to be tinged with brown spots and gradually they turned yellow.  I tried every remedy mentioned on the web, but one by one, these supposedly hardly xylosmas succumbed.  Now, only one is left standing.  Was it the drought?  Or were they victims of fungus in the soil?

The longer one lives, the more one becomes aware of just how tenuous things are in this world.  That most of us in this country live in relative harmony is a luxury that I did not have the maturity to appreciate.  Until my recent retirement, life had been a blur of activities for survival, obligations and ambitions.  In my earlier days, the demise of a tree would hardly bat an eyelid.  Looking back at the sixty-five years that I have been on earth, I realize just what a wonder it is that I have managed to last that long.  I have been lucky.  Doubly so because I am blessed with, for now at least, relatively good health that allows me to enjoy in leisure what life has to offer.  My life is modest and uncomplicated.  I have minimized my obligations.  I have a son who stays in touch.  I travel.  I have a passion in a young pianist who keeps me engaged in classical music and piano playing. I can't complain.

Life is good.  But nothing lasts forever.  The best laid plan is no match for Mother Nature and Fate.  A perfect row of trees, carefully planted, can whither under the attacks of microscopic insects or underground fungus.

Shikata ga Nai, the title of this blog, is a Japanese term: 仕方が無い, meaning "somethings just cannot be helped."  I think the U.S. expression "That's the way the cookie crumbles" carries a similar connotation.   A crude but effective expression is "S...  happens."  I like the melodic sound of the Japanese phrase, and I like that it is inscrutable to most people.

I am not Japanese, and I suspect that this is one of those sayings where something is lost in translation.  But the expression is generally taken to mean that there are adverse situations where nothing can be done, and must be accepted and endured.  The phrase is not always viewed positively.  As described in Japan Times article The Curse of Shigata ga nai, the expression fosters defeatism, and can be abused as a cop-out for inaction, an excuse for passivity.    I use the phrase in a more philosophical and personal light: there are times when I must accept a disagreeable situation, an unhappy happenstance that turns out not as I prefer. 

People become curmudgeons as they age.  I am no exception, although I believe I am less ornery than most.  You live, you learn to cope.  I am not one given to rage, and at my age, few things really matter. But there are still things in life that troubles the mind, as they seem so absurd and even obscene.  At times like that,  I would utter to myself  Shikata ga Nai, as I do these days whenever I drive past that long stand of wilting pines.

I started this blog, on this day, as a vehicle to document my musings on such things, and others that come with age.  Shikata ga Nai.

image via Internet link