The author is Japanese-born but British enough through education and upbringing to have written The Remains of the Day. This is a long novel (more than 500 pages) that is a Kafka dream, or better, nightmare.

An eminent pianist wanders in a dream- state through an unnamed central European city. While the whole city awaits his performance, he misses appointments and neglects friends and family while he navigates through an unreal world of his own making.



It’s not a “pleasant” book but I found its value in reminding me how much a book can ”grab” the reader – and literally give one a visceral, if relatively unpleasant experience. The whole thing is one of those “frustration dreams” where you are foiled at every turn. It shows how physically powerful the written word can be.

Some quotes I d:

“It's nonsense to believe people go on loving each other regardless of what happens.”

“One should not, in any case, attempt to make a virtue out of one's limitations.”

“Leave us, you were always on the outside of our love.”



Not an easy read or a pleasant one, but a worthwhile read and very much un the authorÂ’s other works that I have read. (and in this case, re-read.)

Photo of Prague from academichelp.net
Photo of the author from theguardian.com
british-authors psychological-novel398 s William2782 3,290

Thoughts on my second reading of The Unconsoled.

The novel's form, I believe, is a veiled commentary on the text's processes and progress. Structurally, it may be IshiguroÂ’s most daring novel. It must have been awfully hard to write; the prose is lighter than air. It strikes me as Ishiguro's most Kafkaesque novel, especially in its use of dissociative states. Kafka's "In the Penal Colony" especially springs to mind.

Its narrator, Mr Ryder, a pianist of international reputation, checks into a hotel in an unnamed (ly German) provincial city. HeÂ’s there to be part of a civic event-cum-concert that has been developed by the town graybeards to reverse a perceived decline, which is never really defined except as a certain amorphous sense of personal dissatisfaction. The people of the town, the unconsoled, want to recapture what they perceive as their past way of life. What's tragic is that they never can. As one says to Mr Ryder: Perhaps youÂ’ll warn us of the hard work that lies ahead for each one of us if weÂ’re ever to re-discover the happiness we once had. (p. 115)

Ryder is there to both counsel and perform for them, but mostly he glides over the surface of events as one does in dreams. He has no itinerary, never knows where heÂ’s supposed to be, but drifts from encounter to encounter. He is seen as an outsider by almost everyone, yet he has a longstanding relationship with a local woman, Sophie, and her son. He is driven to events far outside town and returns to the hotel by way of a short passageway. He drifts about being importuned by one resident after another. For example, in the middle of some business or other he will run into an old school friend he hasnÂ’t seen for 30 years who will blather on for six pages. In another example, on the way to a reception he comes across his old family car which he once played in as a child, now decayed with rust. This revelation evokes pages of reminiscences.

Ryder is English so there are glimpses of his childhood in Worcestershire. Most remarkable I suppose is the way the author uses long monologues (my dreams are never verbal, always visual) to advance the story. Time tends to be attenuated. The first day of Mr. Ryder’s stay in town takes up 150 pages of the novel. Space is compressed, at times expanded. The book thus seeks to thwart reader expectations at every turn. We are kept in a constant disequilibrium. Everything is slightly off kilter as in dreams. Yet at the same time the surrealism, I think we can call it that, is held in check. The broad absurdist gesture is rare. Though neither are we ever very far from Lautréamont’s "beautiful as the chance meeting on a dissecting table of a sewing machine and an umbrella.” Ishiguro wants the striking incongruity, but he also wants a modicum of coherence. The text is a constant job of balance.

Perhaps IshiguroÂ’s strangest book to date, which is saying something. If you his work you must read it. For those new to Ishiguro, donÂ’t start here. Start with An Artist of the Floating World, The Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go, A Pale View of Hills or When We Were Orphans.

Final note. The book reminds me a little of Knut HamsunÂ’s Mysteries. It's Hamsun's off-kilter voice, not addressing similar themes, that seems close to Ishiguro's surrealist meanderings here.20-ce fiction uk345 s2 comments Emily172 234

Having loved all his other novels, I finally got around to reading Ishiguro's The Unconsoled, and boy, was it strange and wonderful. I'd heard a vast array of opinions about this book, from "It is one of my top ten novels of all time" to "I loved it in a tense, uncomfortable way" to "it was an unmitigated train wreck." It's always intriguing to me when a book attracts such a wide variety of reactions, so I was looking forward to The Unconsoled for that reason. It also just so happens that I read Ishiguro in what you might call "increasing order of weirdness," and I had heard that this is indeed his weirdest book. There is something deeply satisfying about continuing my trajectory in this way, although at this point I doubt it's sustainable any longer - it would be quite a challenge to write a stranger book than this one.

Of course, many of its strange qualities have been explored before. The surreality, the language of dreams and nightmares in which the protagonist tries in vain to accomplish simple tasks, the sudden and confusing shifts in setting and perspective, the garbled rationale and bizarre priorities of the natives in a strangely familiar city: all of these elements have been combined and recombined to create the "Kafkaesque" genre. That said, this book does all of these things in a way that seems more tense and fluid than many other dream stories I've read. Ishiguro really captures the shifting sands of perception that mark a dream consciousness. At the same time, he manages to maintain cohesion within the narrative - just barely, at times, but he manages it. Sometimes the balance between the surreality and the sense of coherent character and voice, feels a virtuosic juggling act that the performer is just barely pulling off; the audience is poised at the edge of their seats, transfixed at the intricate patterns traced by the juggled objects, and simultaneously nervous that they will, at any moment, come crashing down on the performer's head.

Appropriately, then, the main character of The Unconsoled IS a performer: Ryder, a famous English pianist revisiting a city which may or may not already be familiar to him, where he is supposed to give a performance which may or may not be very important in a variety of ways. One of the things I loved about this novel was the unique way that relationships slid in and out of focus; a few pages after seeking out the daughter of an acquaintance in a café, Ryder will gradually "remember" more and more details about her. Although it is at first implied that they have just met, they are soon having conversations that suggest a long history of mutual resentments and shared hopes, attacking and reassuring each other in a manner reminiscent of a (dysfunctional) long-term relationship. Ryder's own emotions and thought processes regarding the happiness and mental health of the woman's son, Boris, achieve a level of intensity more appropriate to a stepfather than a chance acquaintance, and Boris' own reactions to Ryder indicate a deep desire for approval reminiscent of a neglected child. At the same time, the closeness of Ryder's relationships with mother and child is never explicitly stated, and seems to wax and wane unpredictably throughout the novel.

In a similar vein, the life stories of different characters start to mirror and imitate one another in eerie and intriguing ways. Having been drawn into a conversation with the hotel porter, Gustav, about how Gustav has fallen into the habit of never speaking directly to his daughter, Ryder gradually adopts the same practice toward Boris, his sometime-son. Witnessing the fraught relationship between the hotel manager Hoffman and his son Stephan either suggests to or reminds Ryder of his own nebulous connection with his parents, who may or may not be arriving in the unnamed city to hear him play the piano for the first time in many years. The reader is never sure the extent to which the conversations and stories going on around Ryder create his perceived world, the extent to which he is extrapolating his own story outward onto those around him, and the extent to which a more complex dynamic is at work. The primal fears involved in many of these interactions (rejection by parents, arriving unprepared for important performances, the sudden realization that one's actions have been wildly inappropriate) add another level to the question of what Ryder is "half-creating" and what he perceives; there is a sense that we may be caught in an uncontrollable spiral, continually creating the worlds we dread through the very act of dreading them.

This sense of inappropriate behavior is a constant throughout The Unconsoled, and it runs the gamut from exhilarating to horrifying to surprisingly unexceptional. Nobody seems to notice, for example, when Ryder shows up to a fancy dress event in his dressing gown and slippers, and Ryder himself is strangely nonreactive when a journalist and photographer who are interviewing him commence talking about him as if her weren't present, planning how they will flatter and distract him into making unwise publicity decisions. On the other hand, he is horrified when the mourners at a funeral stop their sobbing to flock around him and deluge him with manic adulation, searching their pockets for refreshments to offer him and castigating themselves for having only a small piece of cellophane-wrapped cake. In one of my favorite scenes in the novel, Ryder and his wife-or-maybe-just-casual-acquaintance Sophie attend a late-night showing of 2001: A Space Odyssey - an alternate-universe version of the film involving interstellar gunfights between Yul Brenner and Clint Eastwood, who star as the astronauts who must dismantle HAL. The atmosphere in the theater is depicted as almost carnivalesque, with people laughing, talking, playing cards in the aisles, and, most bizarrely, rolling onto their backs with their legs in the air, shrieking with mirth, whenever anyone needs to inch by their seats. This is the flip-side to the terrifying or disconcerting abandonment of logical behavior in other sections - a giddy, liberating feeling which pervades the theater and lets the locals, as the hotel manager puts it, "unwind."

But the strangest narrative quirk of The Unconsoled is the way in which Ryder occasionally takes casual notice of a long, complicated back-story just by looking at a person, in the same way that he might notice a runny nose or a lipstick smudge. The first time this happens, as Gustav is showing him around his hotel room, I found the trick strangely disorienting, and actually doubled back to see whether I had missed a small phrase such as "I found out later" or "he would go on to tell me." But as I went on with the novel and similar incidents followed, it struck me as a very clever way to play with narrative. Readers are already familiar, after all, with narrators who notice small physical details about people they're observing, and even make assumptions or draw conclusions based on those observations. The next (il)logical step, in a novel of surreal perceptions taken to grotesque heights, is the ability to simply perceive another person's thoughts, feelings, past or present actions simply by looking at or thinking about them. So, for example, Ryder can take casual notice of Gustav's preoccupied air in the hotel room, and also casually notice that the porter is worried about his daughter, who has been handing off her son on certain days so that she can do errands, and then (Gustav has reason to believe) not doing the errands after all. Similarly, he can be waiting in the car with Boris while Stephan Hoffman runs an errand at a woman's apartment, and tell us how he watches Stephan climb the stairs and ring the bell, then recount his conversation with the woman as he enters the apartment and follows her down the hall, recounting the interior design as well as the conversation. Then, in case the reader is thinking that Ryder must have followed Stephen into the apartment after all, he writes that his attention was recalled by a noise made by Boris, and goes on to interact with the boy within the confines of the car. The liquidity of perception here is masterfully done, and once I cottoned on to this unique little trick, I quite enjoyed the experience of having the narrative stretch and balloon in unexpected and sometimes humorous directions.

Just as Ryder describes audiences reacting to the ultra-modern musical pieces performed in the novel, I loved The Unconsoled on a purely aesthetic basis. I'm not sure what lasting messages or morals I'll take away from it, beyond a sense of the universality of human fears and fallibility, but the tense, intriguing mood and skewed, shadowy universe it created are still tangible to me days after closing the covers. favorites read-in-2008220 s1 comment Beth91 14

I felt a tremendous sense of relief that I had finally completed IshigurosÂ’s The Unconsoled. I allowed myself to remember the experience of reading it, with its unusual memory-impaired narrator and the endless stream of absurdity and satire, and its improbable, dream- narration. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed it would make the perfect subject for a Goodreads review. I worried a bit about the time it would take to make my feelings clear about the book, but after looking around my office, seeing the sun was streaming through the windows and all of my other duties of the day were happening on schedule, it seemed to be the perfect time to start my review. There would be plenty of time in the day for my other duties. In fact, the more I considered it, the more I relished the idea of really striking a nerve with my fellow Goodreads readers. This could, in fact, be the very review that could pull the Goodreads community together once and for all. Yes, a concise, well-written review is just what was needed, indeed I felt quite keenly that I had a responsibility to be the one to write it.

And it is true, many people may well read this review. Dare I say, among the readers of this review might well be many discerning readers and perhaps a writer or two. Perhaps Mr. Ishiguro himself visits Goodreads! I imagine him in his fashionable London flat, asking his assistant to explain to his publishers and his agent and all of his various arrangers hoping that he will offer a reading or a lecture about his work that he himself was entirely transformed personally by my very words! Perhaps my review will help him to understand his own book, with its metaphors, mystery, and magnificent surrealism even more completely than when he was writing it!

Imagining this energized me greatly, and as the light was waning I sat down to begin my review. I was just reaching for my opening words when I noted my morningÂ’s work, still incomplete, on the screen. In the excitement of contemplating a brilliant review of The Unconsoled, I had completely forgotten to complete my responsibilities. I glanced at the time on my computer and saw I had a few minutes remaining before my deadline. In a matter of moments my clients would be calling me, asking for their reports. I figured that I could get a good bit done with the time I had remaining. I placed my hands on the keyboard.
186 s1 comment Baba3,724 1,132

From the writer of giants Never Let Me Go and The Remains of the Day comes something completely different. Ryder is an accomplished and famous musician who has being invited/hired to appear at a special event that is set to rejuvenate an artistically imploding city in an unnamed West Central European city. We then have 500+ pages of missed opportunities in business, life and love and by multiple characters!

I would even go further and say that the book itself could be seen (intentionally?) as a missed opportunity itself. Not only do characters miss out in the past, as well as the present in opportunities, it feels that Ishiguro himself does with the plot, which at many times seems to veer into something really captivating before dimming out and going back to the almost circuitous theme of Ryder or another character missing the chance (often through just bad timing or bad luck) to better their physical or mental wellbeing. I feel that Ishiguro really tests me, by not clarifying relationships in the book. Has Ryder been to this city before? Was he married, is the child in the book, his? Is Ryder delusional? All these grey areas enhance the book's themes, as much as they annoyed me whilst reading. An almost purposefully at times tortuous read, where the power of it lies with the greatness of the whole than the actual content, Ishiguro's read is challenging, and it is that itself that makes this book yet another quality piece of work by him, in my opinion. 8 out of 12.

2021 readcontemporary142 s Ahmad Sharabiani9,564 6,871

The Unconsoled, Kazuo Ishiguro

The Unconsoled is a novel by Kazuo Ishiguro, first published in 1995. The novel takes place over a period of three days. It is about Ryder, a famous pianist who arrives in a central European city to perform a concert. He is entangled in a web of appointments and promises which he cannot seem to remember, struggling to fulfill his commitments before Thursday night's performance, frustrated with his inability to take control.

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????? ?????? ????? 15/04/1399???? ???????? 03/02/1401???? ???????? ?. ??????? Fabian973 1,902

One very hefty tome about musical geniuses & unsure artists (plus the people who love them).

This is one strange, uber-Surreal in that Czech sort of way (yup, the birthplace of surrealism)--twisty streets, opaque individuals... resplendent crystals. Mr. Ishiguro strayed from his quiet solemnity to include literary examples of the picaresque.

But it does not reach the same heights of "Remains of the Day," "A Pale Vies of Hills" or "Never Let Me Go." It is not as perfect a novel as any one in his soul-affirming trifecta...92 s Marchpane316 2,491

ThereÂ’s a theory about dreaming that says all dreams are born out of an emotion. The emotion comes first, then your brain retrofits a narrative around it. This is the inverse of most novels which typically use narrative to induce specific emotions in the reader.

Under this theory it is pointless to ask what a dream means. If your high school principal turns into a giant mopoke, it doesn’t mean anything—all that matters is how you feel about it.

IshiguroÂ’s The Unconsoled seems to be written according to this inverted logic. What if you flip the novel on its head, start with an emotion and let the narrative unspool, almost randomly, from there? You get something circuitous and frustrating, elusive and uncomfortable, where time and space are elastic and anything that happens might be undone in the next scene. It enables you to experience the narratorÂ’s confusion and impatience (maybe his pique, too) and these emotions seep into your mood, leaving a taint the way a dream can.

a jigsaw puzzle put together wrong, it is possible to rearrange The Unconsoled into a conventional novel about a renowned concert pianist, the burdens of fame, familial obligations, and a provincial town with cultural pretensions. It would be half as long and much easier to stick with, but probably less affecting and memorable too.

The Unconsoled shares with all of Ishiguro’s works a very particular emotional weather—guilt, regret, duty, missed opportunities, unfulfilled potential—and adds to it the atmospheric pressure of an anxiety dream. What does it all mean? I don’t think that really matters.read-in-202174 s Issicratea219 405

The Unconsoled is an extraordinary work. It is close in themes and texture to Ishiguro’s equally extraordinary The Buried Giant, even though they were published at twenty years’ distance from one another, The Unconsoled in 1995, The Buried Giant in 2015. There are similarities in reception, as well. Both novels sparked wildly disparate responses in their readers, with some regarding them as masterpieces, others as unredeemed turkeys. James Wood’s original review of The Unconsoled in The Guardian stated that it had “invented its own category of badness.”

I am squarely in the masterpiece camp, in both cases, although I do feel that both The Buried Giant and The Unconsoled require a little patience and trust in the reader: a willingness to follow these deeply eccentric novels on their meandering journeys, secure in the knowledge that you are being taken somewhere worthwhile. I didnÂ’t have that patience and trust the first time round with The Unconsoled. As I started reading the novel recently, I found the first pages familiar and recalled an earlier, failed and long-forgotten attempt to get into it. I must have abandoned it then only a few pages in.

This was an ironic experience, since buried memories and their resurfacing are a major theme of The Unconsoled, as also of The Buried Giant. The consciousness of the mysterious first-person narrator of The Unconsoled, the concert pianist Ryder, is constantly disrupted by memories of his past. Following a kind of dream logic, these do not surface consciously as memories but rather as reshapings of reality, as when Ryder suddenly realizes that the hotel room he has been given in the unnamed Germanic city in which he is due to give a concert is the same room that he inhabited for a couple of years as a boy in an aunt’s house “on the borders of England and Wales” (I don’t think the liminal location is fortuitous.) Similarly, though far more strangely, when the hotel porter Gustav persuades him to meet with his daughter Sophie and grandson Boris, Ryder begins to recall past, shared episodes that suggest that Sophie and Boris may in fact be his own wife or partner and son.

I speak of “dream logic” advisedly. Ishiguro has talked in interviews about The Unconsoled as an attempt to capture the grammar of dreams, and to explore the shared territory of dreams and memory. As he notes, we do all experience this second, dream grammar, and we grasp its logic intuitively, even if we reject it by daylight. People suddenly surface where they have no right to be, the dead along with the living, new and slight acquaintances with people who have meant everything to us. Spatial and temporal divisions are collapsed or elided, as are the usual deictic functions of language. “Here” and “there” can be the same place, “then” and “now” the same time (and that’s before we even get on to “you” and “I”—a perfectly reasonable interpretive hypothesis is that Ryder is also Boris and perhaps the alcoholic former conductor Brodsky, in different temporal guises.)

The dreamscape of The Unconsoled is suffused with anxiety of a particularly dream- nature. Ryder has a few days in the city before his concert, during the course of which a tight schedule of meetings has been arranged for him; yet this schedule is constantly pulled out of place as new obligations are placed on him. He is rarely in the right place, and never prepared for what he is supposed to be doing. The extent of his obligations, meanwhile, keeps growing; it seems that the entire city feels it has lost its way and slipped from an earlier moment of civic harmony and unity, which only he, Ryder, can restore.

Ambitious, experimental novels of this kind live or die by the quality of their execution, and Ishiguro’s, in my view, is pretty much flawless. The Unconsoled is a very long novel—far longer than The Buried Giant—and the narrative material is (intentionally) highly repetitive. It’s really a set of variations on a theme. Yet it never, for me, got boring. It is endlessly inventive in formal terms; and it’s complex and subtle and original in its probing of the texture of human experience. Fissures, misunderstandings, disharmonies, at the level of individual, couple, family, larger social community—these, along with memory and the workings of the psyche, are what I take to be the primary themes of the novel. All are highly familiar, obviously, but “defamiliarized” here, to striking effect.

Most surprisingly of all, despite a very Ishiguro-esque undertone of melancholy, The Unconsoled is often quite hilarious. I really can’t remember the last time I laughed aloud so often when reading a novel. The humor is that of dreams, again, or surrealism. When the displaced conductor Christoff takes Ryder to meet a gathering of the city’s intellectuals, it seems distinctly odd that they drive off miles down an out-of-town highway for the rendezvous; and stranger still when Christoff stops outside what looks a lorry drivers’ café. It is even more surprising that the intellectuals are found bending over steaming bowls of “what looked to be mashed potato … eating hungrily with long wooden spoons.”

Two elements in Ishiguro’s toolkit in this novel particularly delighted me: one, from the outset; the other, incrementally. The first is the charming culture of Schoenbergesque modernist music that plays such a prominent role in the novel. I finished the novel somewhat unconsoled myself that I would never have the chance to listen in reality to Mullery’s Ventilations, Yamanaka’s Globestructures—Option II, or Kazan’s Glass Passions. This ethereal, demanding, non-existent music clearly offers some kind of formal analogue to Ishiguro’s literary experimentation in The Unconsoled, and it may well be that the accompanying critical language of “crushed cadences” and “pigmented triads” is the only one that could truly do justice to Ishiguro’s artistry in this novel. Certainly, there is a strong element of minimalism in the novel, in the utter, unrelieved, perfect-pitch plainness of its style.

The other element, which crept up on me more across the novel, was Ishiguro’s talent for creating peculiar places for his peculiar happenings. Heterotopias feature large among the novel’s locations; we have a hotel, a zoo, a graveyard, a concert hall, as well as various more or less dystopian roadscapes. Within the larger structures, there are mysterious sub-spaces, which captivated me more and more as I read on. I loved, for example, the two successive practice rooms that the hotel manager Mr Hoffman finds for Ryder on the morning of the concert: the tiny cubicle off a corridor, opposite a row of sinks, painted “an unpleasant frog-green colour,” and the out of town hut, up a muddy path, where his practice of Mullery’s Asbestos and Fibre is interrupted by a strange digging sound outside …

This was my first reading of Ishiguro since he won the Nobel Prize, and I felt more and more convinced of the rightness of that choice as I read this novel. His is a unique voice, highly distinctive, fresh and original in each novel but with very strong consistencies of form and thematic focus. These are the makings of a classic author. To paraphrase James Wood, Ishiguro has invented his own category of greatness.1990-2010 reviewed56 s Tara484 28

4.5 stars.

The Unconsoled is at once humorous, touching, uncanny, and intricately, beautifully absurd. My words are failing me at present; the best I can do to describe this paralyzing, captivating reading experience is to say that my inability to wrench my eyes from the page, even when my mind was desperately claustrophobic and screaming for air, felt remarkably similar to the exquisitely unbearable compulsion which gripped the narrator in his childhood:
“My ‘training sessions’ had come about quite unplanned. I had been playing by myself out in the lane one grey afternoon—absorbed in some fantasy, climbing in and out of a dried-out ditch running between a row of poplars and a field—when I had suddenly felt a sense of panic and a need for the company of my parents. Our cottage had not been far away—I had been able to see the back of it across the field—and yet the feeling of panic had grown rapidly until I had been all but overcome by the urge to run home at full speed across the rough grass. But for some reason—perhaps I had quickly associated the sensation with immaturity—I had forced myself to delay my departure. There had not been any question in my mind that I would, very soon, start to run across the field. It was simply a matter of holding back that moment with an effort of will for several more seconds. The strange mixture of fear and exhilaration I had experienced as I had stood there transfixed in the dried-out ditch was one that I was to come to know well in the weeks that followed. For within days, my ‘training sessions’ had become a regular and important feature of my life. In time, they had acquired a certain ritual, so that as soon as I felt the earliest signs of my need to return home I would make myself go to a special spot along the lane, under a large oak tree, where I would remain standing for several minutes, fighting off my emotions. Often I would decide I had done enough, that I could now set off, only to pull myself back again, forcing myself to remain under the tree for just a few seconds more. There was no doubting the strange thrill that had accompanied the growing fear and panic of these occasions, a sensation which perhaps accounted for the somewhat compulsive hold my ‘training sessions’ came to have over me.”
This sensation gradually but inexorably turned into something of a perverse pleasure, and I found myself beginning to savor the feeling of sinking in quicksand, enmired, immobile, and utterly confined. For while this novel was often painful to read, it became ever more painful to stop.i-think-i-m-turning-japanese51 s Biron Pa?a144 227

Avunamayanlar, Kazuo Ishiguro'nun 95 y?l?nda yazd???, 560 sayfal?k Kafkaesk bir bilinçalt? öyküsü. Müthi? incelikli bir ba?yap?t.

Piyanist Mr. Ryder bir konser için ad? bilinmeyen -Kafkaeskin kimliksizli?inden olsa gerek, bir Avrupa ?ehrine gider. Daha önce hiç gelmedi?i bu ?ehirde birkaç gün sonra çok önemli bir konser verecektir. Ama i?ler pek de bekledi?i gibi gitmez, biz okurlar?n da bekledi?i gibi gitmez, Ryder daha önce hiç gitmedi?i yerlerde bulundu?unu hat?rlamaya ba?lar, tan?mad??? insanlarla daha evvel konu?tu?unu, bir ili?kisi oldu?unu fark eder. K?sac?k yolculuklar uzar da uzar, esas önemli ?eyler saniyeler içinde olup biter. Bildi?imiz mant?k k?r?l?r ve roman düpedüz tuhafla??r. Ryder bir söyledi?inin tam tersini üç cümle sonra hemen söyler, saatlerce yol alarak gitti?i bir yerin, asl?nda yola ç?kt??? yer oldu?unu görür.

Romanda herhalde en aç?k olan ?ey, bir rüyan?n, rüya mant???yla hareket edilen bir bilinçalt? evrenin içinde oldu?umuzdur. Ryder, bu önemli gece öncesinde kendini, tarihini, ki?ili?ini sorgulamaya giri?ir. Roman?n karma??kl???n? kavrama anahtar? ?udur: Kitaptaki herkes, Ryder'?n ya kendisi-kendisinin bir yans?mas? yahut hayat?nda iz b?rakm?? biri-birinin yans?mas?d?r. Olaylar ise Ryder'?n endi?eleri, korkular?, travmalar?, an?lar?n?n rüyalar?ndaki yans?mas?d?r.

Bir Ishiguro klasi?i olarak, yine güvenilmez anlat?c? görüyoruz metinde. Biz tamamen Ryder'?n kafas?n?n içinde oldu?umuza göre, kitaptaki hiçbir ?eye güvenemeyiz. Birkaç örnek verelim: O?lu Boris belki de Ryder'?n o?lu de?il, çocuklu?unu temsil ediyor olabilir. Ama do?rudan onun çocuklu?u da diyemeyiz, en az?ndan elimizde böyle bir veri yok. Ryder'?n Boris'le ileti?im kurarken çocukla??yor, "ciddi" i?ler ortaya ç?kt???nda ise Boris oldu?u yerde unutuluyor ve yüzüne bak?lm?yor. Boris'in hayran oldu?u ta??y?c? dedesi ise, belki de Ryder'?n çocukken hayalini kurdu?u güvenilir, çal??kan insan.

Kitapta sürekli birbirini takip ve taklit eden izlekleri görüyoruz: Stephan ebeveynleri için, Brodsky eski kar?s? için piyano çalacakken, görüyoruz ki Ryder da ayn? Stephan gibi annesi ve babas? için piyano çalacak ve bu büyük günün Ryder gibi büyük bir piyanist için önemli olmas?n? da o sa?l?yor. Ryder ebeveynleri kar??s?nda y?llar sonra ilk kez piyano çalaca??nda, kendini onlar?n kar??s?nda onay bekleyen ergenlik ça?lar?nda bir genç gibi hissedebilece?ini dü?ünürsek, Stephan'?n neyi temsil etti?ini görebiliriz. Ayn? ?ekilde Brodsky'nin Ryder'?n olmaktan korktu ki?i oldu?unu söyleyebiliriz.

***

Ishiguro'ya Nobel ödülü verilirken, Kafka'ya, Jane Austen'a ve çok az da Proust'a benzettiklerini söylemi?lerdi. Neden Proust dediklerini anlayamam??t?m ama bu kitapta Proust etkisini net bir ?ekilde görüyoruz. Bilhassa Ryder'?n babas?ndan ve eski arabalar?ndan bahsettikleri bölümde Proust etkisi göze çarp?yor.

Ishiguro, Kafkaesk'i çok i?levsel bir ?ekle getirmi?. Evet, roman?n fazlas?yla üstü kapal? bir anlat?m biçimi var ama bu biraz da Türkçe kaynaklar?n s?n?rl? olmas? sebebiyle, eserin desteksiz kalmas?ndan kaynaklan?yor. Ishiguro, yukar?da yazd?klar?m?n bir k?sm?n? aç?k aç?k röportajlarda söylüyor ama neredeyse hiçbir Türkçe kaynakta bu kitapla ilgili bir yaz? yok, olan birkaç tanesinde de ?v?r z?v?rdan ibaret.

Bir yazar?n, bir insan?n bilinçalt?na rüyalar yoluyla -otobiyografik olmadan üstelik, girmeye cesaret etmesi ve aln?n?n ak?yla ç?kmas? heyecan verici. Kitab?n çok incelikli ve emekli oldu?u bir gerçek. Okudu?um en zekice ?eylerden biri oldu?unu dü?ünüyorum. Rüyalar?n mant???n? yazar?n kitapta bu kadar iyi kullanabilmesi hayranl?k uyand?r?c? ve okuyucunun dünyas?na yapt??? etki çok büyük. Rüyan?n kabusa dönü?tü?ü yerlerden biri de, hayat?mda okudu?um en gergin yaz?lardand?: Ryder'?n tramvayda kar??la?t??? çocukluk arkada??n?n evinde a?z?n? açamamas?, sürekli çabalay?p ba?aramamas?n? okurken kendimi s?kt???m? fark ettim.

Kitab? okuyacak olanlara tavsiyem, kesinlikle Ishiguro'yu okumaya bu kitaptan ba?lamas?nlar. Ishiguro okumas?, anlamas?, al??mas? çok güç bir yazar. Beni Asla B?rakma'dan da ba?lamas?nlar bence, herhalde son y?llarda en çok yanl?? anla??lm?? kitap odur, sevenleri taraf?ndan da sevmeyenleri taraf?ndan da. Günden Kalanlar okuduklar?m içinde en aç?k eseri, ondan ba?lanabilir.

***

Kitaba birkaç gün ara vermek zorunda olsam da yakla??k 300 sayfal?k bir k?sm?n? bir günde okudum. Arada bakkala gitti?imde, bir an asansörün dü?mesinin çal??mayaca??n? dü?ündüm. Sonra her zaman gitti?im bakkal?n yolunu bulamayaca??m akl?mdan geçti belli belirsiz. Bakkal? buldu?umda banka kart?n? kaybetti?imden, bulunca da ?ifresini hat?rlayamayaca??mdan emin oldum. Ishiguro benim dünyam?n mant???n? da büktü. Uzun zamand?r bu kadar güçlü bir roman okumam??t?m.1001-books british-literature contemporary ...more55 s Hakan212 167

ishiguro ortalama okur seviyesine edebiyat?n zirvelerinde say?lan ve ula??lmaz-anla??lmaz görülen romanlarla boy ölçü?ebilecek bir roman sunmu?. amac? bu olmasa gerek ama üzerine kitaplar yaz?labilecek, yazar adaylar?na-yazarlara ders olarak okutulabilecek, roman?n bugününe-gelece?ine dair tezlere konu olabilecek bir roman olmu? avunamayanlar.

merak uyand?ran hikaye-sade dil-ak?c? anlat?m ?eklinde özetlenecek ortalama okur kriterleriyle muhte?em bir roman dünyas? yarat?lm??: kendi mant???na ve iç tutarl?l???na sahip özel bir atmosfer, ustaca haz?rlanm?? ba?lant?lar, k?r?lma anlar?, kesi?me noktalar?, roman?n d???na aç?lan kap?lar ve hepsinden önemlisi geni? ama içinde kaybolmayacak ?ekilde tasarlanm?? okur alan?.

okur alan?nda hem ciddiyetle ve a??r a??r hem de bir oyun duygusu ve keyifle ilerlenebiliyor. istenirse derinlere inilebiliyor, istenirse yüzeyden geçilebiliyor. farkl? yönlere giden farkl? yollar aç?k. roman? büyüten, devle?tiren ?ey bu. okur alan?, okur özgürlü?ü. okur mutlulu?u.favorites49 s Tawfek Cat Catch Me2,825 2,189

?????? ?? ?? ???? ???????? ?????? ????? ??? ?? ???? ???? ???????? ?????? ???? ???? ? ???? ? ??? ????.
??? ???? ????? ?????? ????? ????? ???? ???????.
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? ??? ?????? ??????? ??????? ????? ?? ????? ?????.
??????? ???? ??????? ???? ?? ??? ?????? ???? ?? ???? ?????? ?????? ?? ???????? ??????? ???? ?? ???? ???? ????.
?????? ????? ?? ???? ????? ????? ?? ?????? ????? ???? ???? ?? ????? ?? ????? ????? ???? ??? ??? ???? ? ????? ????? ??? ????? ??? ???? ?? ?????? ???? ???? ?? ??? ?? ?????? ??????? ???? ?????? ?????? ??? ???? ?? ?????
? ????? ????? ?????? ???? ???? ????? ???????? ????? ?? ????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ?? ????? ?? ????? ???? ??????
?????? ???? ??? ???? ???? ??????? ??? ???? ???? ??? ?????? ?? ??? ??????? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ????? ??? ???? ??????? ???? ??? ???? ???? ??????????? ?? ??? ??????? ??????? ???? ??? ??? ??????? ????? ??? ???? ????? ???
?? ?? ??????? ????? ???? ????? ? ?????? ????? ??? ???? ???? ?????? ? ?????? ?? ????? ?????? ???? ????????? ???? ?? ??? ????? ?? ???? ?? ???????? ??? ??? ?? ???? ?????? ?? ?? ??????? ???? ??? ????? ??? ??? ??????? ??? ???? ?? ?????
??? ???? ??????? ????? ????? ?????? ??? ?????? ?????? ??? ?????? ??? ??? ?????? ? ??????? ?? ??? ????? ????? ??? ???????? ???? ??? ???? ? ??? ????? ??? ???? ??????? ?????
??????? ???? ??? ?????? ??? ????? ?????? ??? ??????? ??? ??? ????? ???????? ?? ?? ??? ????? ???????
??? ?????? ???????? ??????? ?? ????? ???? ?? ? ??? ?? ????? ????? ??? ????? ??????
?????? ???? ??????? ?????? ??? ???? ?? ????? ? ???? ??? ?????? ?????? ???? ??? ???? ??? ????? ????? ????? ??????? ??? ?????? ??? ?? ???? ?? ??????
? ???????? ????? ??????? ?? ?????? ?????? ??? ?? ????? ? ???? ?? ??? ??? ???? ? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ???? ???? 650 ???? ?? ?????
? ??? ?? ??? ??????? ???? ???? ???? ???? ????? ???? ?? ?????? ????? ???? ????? ??????? ? ???? ????.
????? ??? ????? ?? ??????? ????? ?????? ?????? ???? ??????? ??? ????? ????? ?? ????? ? ??? ?????? ?? ???? ?? ????? ??? ????? ???? ????? ???? ????? ????? ?? ??????? ??????? ??????? ???? ?????? ???? ??????? ? ??? ????? ???? ?????? ????? ?????? ????? ??.
??????? ???? ?? ????? ?? ????? ???? ???? ?? ??????? ? ??????? ?????? ?? ??? ??????? ? ?? ????? ?????? ????? ??????? ???? ??????? ? ???? ????? ???? ? ?? ?? ?????? ??? ????? ?????? ????? ?????? ??? ??? ??????? ??????? ?? ????? ?? ?? ????? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ??? ? ???? ???? ????? ????? ?? ??? ??????? ??? 15 ??? .
?????? ?????? ??? ??????? ??? ????? ?? ?????? ? ????? ?? ??? ?? ???? ????? ????? ?? ??? ??
?????? ???? ????? ????? ?? ??????? ???? ????? ??? ????? ? ???? ?????? ???? ????? ??? ?? ???? ????????? ??? ???? ??? ???? ??????.
??? ??? ?? ????? ?? ??????? ????? ?????? ??? ???? ??? ????? ??? ????? ????? ? ????? ???? ?????? ????.
? ??? ????? ???????? ????? ?????? ??? ????? ??????? ? ??? ?? ?????? ?? ???? ??? ?????? ???????? ????? ???????? ????? ??????? ?? ???????.
???? ????? ???? ??? ?????? ? ????? ?????? ??? ?? ??????? ???? ??? ?????? ?????? ?? ???? ????????? ????? ?????english-literature magical-realism social47 s Ellen134 9

As a person who compulsively makes lists and worries about crossing things off them, I read this book with a continual low-level anxiety. The main character, a pianist traveling in an unnamed European city, continually makes promises and takes on enormous responsibilities and then fails to follow through with them for various absurd and aggravating reasons. The style of the book is unique and unexpectedly engaging, but the experience of immersing yourself in the story is one of frustration. I see that other people noticed similarities with Kafka. I find Kafka extraordinarily frustrating as well, for many of the same reasons, so those comparisons seem apt to me. Overall: argh!fiction47 s K.D. Absolutely1,820

A long 500plus-page read but an easy one. You don't need to grab the dictionary when you read an Ishiguro but you have to pause, drop the book, every hour or two just to take a breather. An Ishiguro is a joy because it is a silent but deep pond but if you love to shoot the rapids, it can be boring. What I am saying is that this book is not for everyone and judging from the of my GR friends who have read this already, their ratings tend to go either very/quite high (5 or 4) or very/quite low (1 or 2). I am settling for 3 not that I am playing safe (I'd to keep those friends whose taste on books is unquestionable) but that is really how I felt upon finishing this book.

This is a story about a pianist Ryder who is also the narrator of the story. The whole 500+ pages happened only in the span of 3 days. It begins with Ryder checking in a hotel located in a city where he is supposed to hold a concert. Over those 3 days, however, he experiences partial loss of memory that he can't even remember his schedule. He meets many people during his sleepwalking- state including a woman and her son who happen to be his own wife and son and he couldn't recognize or remember them. The encounter with the porter with a long 4-page monologue that could have been delivered in just few minutes and the trip to an annexe that his supposed to be a ramshackle hut at the back of the hotel seems to indicate to me that Ishiguro is trying to show the unreal (the unconsoled) vs the real and so all those surreal scenes are part of our memories, the ones that we keep to ourselves because those are what we want to look back at when we are in the later part of our lives.

This is my 5th book by Kazuo Ishiguro and it seems to me that the theme of unreliable memory is always there in his first-person narrators: from Stevens, to Kathy, to Masuji Ono, to Etsuko and now to Ryder. Since I am now 48 (today is my birthday), I have no issue with this theme. Who wants to keep bad or sad memories? They will just creep into your heart and will lead to heart attack and so you die early and strain the finances of your family.

However, I also agree with my brother that this book has no denouement. But I think that is by design. The structure is formless. For some people, this differentiates Ishiguro from his Booker compatriots the powerful plots of Salman Rushdie, the strong political themes of J. M. Coetzee, and the grandiose yet sublime attacks of Alan Hollinghurst. If these gentlemen always make sure that their female readers always achieve orgasm when these writers, through their books, make love with them, Ishiguro chooses to be different: there is a long foreplay and he leaves the woman to work her own orgasm. I hate to think of a married woman pleasuring herself. That is an "unconsoled" scene. But let's face it: for some women, this could be more satisfactory because they know their bodies best. Also, as they say, different strokes for different folks.

So, I suggest that let's leave it to her... at that. In the end, everybody's happy.1001-core booker drama ...more43 s Lucy21 6

I hated this book almost as much as I hated myself for finishing it! If it hadn't been a library book I genuinely would have thrown it away. It infuriated me incessantly. I honestly expected to get the end and see the phrase 'and then he woke up and it was all a dream' but was even more irritated when this didn't even happen, such was the non-sensical dreamesque drivel that had occupied the previous 500 pages. The character's weak will and inability to do what he wants to do was beyond irritating and it was impossible to feel anything towards Ryder other than contempt by the end. I understand that certain characters were obviously intended to represent Ryder in his youth which might have been a clever concept if the events surrounding this concept hadn't been so annoying and so even this wasn't enough to make me respect this book. I read this straight after reading Remains of the Day which I loved. To say I was disappointed with this book would be an understatement. I really did hate it and it put me in the worst mood ever after finishing it. I can honestly say I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. 43 s Boris450 187

???? ?? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?? ??????? ???? ?????? ? ??? ?? ?? ???????? ??????????? ????????? ??? ?? ???? ?????????, ?? ??? ????????? ????.

???? ? ????? ????? ????? ?? ????????.
???? ???????????, ?? ??????? ?? ?? ????????? ???? ????? ????? ????????, ????? ?? ?????????? ??? ???????? ????? ?? ?????? ???? ????? ? ????? ? ?? ?? ?? ????? ?? ?????. ?? ?????? ??????? ? ????? ????????? ? ????? ????? ? ???? ?? ?? ?????? ?? ???????? ?? ???? ? ???????????? ???? ?? “???????????”.

????, ?? ????? ?? ???????? ? ??????? ? ?? ????? ??? ????? ??? ????? ?? ? ??????? ? ??????????? ? ?????????. ???? ??, ?? ?? ?????? ?????????? ?? ??????? ???????? ?? ???? ? ???? ????. ?? ???????????? ?? ??????? ????????????? ? ???????????????? ???? ???????? ????, ?? ?? ????? ???? ????? ??? ??? ?? ?????, ????? ?????????. ? ???? ???????? (???? ??????????? ?????? ???-????, ?? ???? ????) ????? ?? ??????? ?? ????? ????? ??? ?? ?????, ????? ?????? ???????? ??????? ? “???????? ????????”.

????????? ??????? ?? ????? ??????? ?? “???????????? ???????????? ??????, ????? ????????? ????????? ??? ?????????? ?? ??????? ?? ?????? ??? ?????”. ???? ????? ?????? ?? ? ?????????? - ???????? ??? ????? ?????? ?? ?????? ?? ???????? ? ?????????? ?? ??????, ?? ?????? ?? ? ???? ??????????, ?? ?? ??????? ????? ????? ???? ???????; ? “???????????” ????? ?????? ???-???????? ?????? ? ?????? ?? ?????????? ????.

???? ?? ???-????????, ?????? ? ?????????? ???????? ?????, ????? ??? ???.

????????? ?????? ?? ???????? ?????. ????? ?? ?????? ????, ???????? ? ?????????? ?? ???? ???????? ?? ?????????.38 s MichaelAuthor 2 books1,410

A strange, surreal, dream- work, this book--to me--is Ishiguro's most daring and ambitious, and the one I'm tempted to re-read above all his others, if only to plumb the depths I might have missed the first time.37 s Katie LumsdenAuthor 2 books3,211

This is a bizarre, dream-, meandering and somewhat bewildering book – and I think I rather loved it.36 s Matthew Ted839 824

29th book of the year.

I've been avoiding this one for a while as Ishiguro's books are usually slow, not bad, but slow reading and this is huge compared to his other works; it's 535 pages, my edition, anyway.

I came up with some similes whilst I was reading, to capture what reading this book is . I'm going to list them here.

- getting your zip stuck half way up your coat.
- finally getting comfortable and then realising you need the toilet/the remote.
- trying to untangle headphones, but only end up tangling them further.
- desperately wanting to add to a conversation but never finding the right moment.
- wanting to get somewhere but your dog constantly stops to sniff.
- putting something on the side and it immediately falls off again.
- stubbing your toe.

This book is frustrating. It makes you want to scream at every character involved, at Ishiguro himself; it is a nightmare. A literal nightmare. The protagonist, Mr Ryder, is constantly failing to get somewhere, remember something, meet someone, do anything. It's mind-numbing. The tone begins to annoy you, even. Everything is so difficult. Characters talk for several pages, without break, about something you, nor Mr Ryder, even care about - but you're stuck. You're stuck in this nightmare. Ishiguro has taken an escape artist and made it impossible to escape so we sit and watch as he writhes and writhes, struggles and pants, but can never get out. The only way to escape this nightmare is to finish the book.

I feel as if I've made it sound I didn't enjoy this book, or that anyone else should read it. If I have given that impression, it's wrong. The Unconsoled is an absolute masterpiece, Ishiguro's control of the form, the novel, is wondrous. He deserves the Nobel Prize for this novel alone. If you haven't read it, I urge you to, however, go in with patience. Ishiguro will make you work, make you itch and sigh, but he does it to give you an experience, a trippy, brilliant, work of genius. Now, I need to read The Buried Giant and then I have read all this man's fantastic novels. I might need a minute to compose myself after finishing this book, though. 1001-list-2006-ed 20th-century lit-british ...more36 s Lobstergirl1,786 1,318

I read quite a bit of this during insomniac chunks in the middle of the night. In spite of the fact that much of what is happening to the narrator, Ryder, if it happened to me in real life would be intensely disturbing - things such as time and distance warping, people making constant and unreasonable demands on me, missing scheduled appointments, not recognizing people I knew well - I found the whole novel soothing, and actually hard to put down. Of the Ishiguro novels I've read, which is now most of them, this one verges closest on magnificence, I think. I now look back on many of the odd and dream sequences of Murakami and suspect that Murakami is the poor man's Ishiguro.

Some books are really fantastic and yet you feel you would not want to reread them. This book feels one that could be, and wants to be, reread. I'll give it a few years and come back to it.fiction own vacation-reads35 s Margarita Garova475 198

„??????? ???? ??????? ????????, ??????? ? ?????????“.

???? ????? ?? „???????????“ ?????? ??????? ????????????? ?? ???? ????? ????? ???.

?? ????? ????? ????? ??? ?????????, ?? ?? ?????, ?? ?????? ?? ??? ???? ?????? ?????.

?????? ? ? ?????? ????????, ????? ? ?????. ? ??? ??, ???? ????????? ???????? ??, ?? ? ???????, ???????, ??????????? ??????. ????? ??, ?????? ?. ?? ????? ???? „???????????“ ? ???????????? ????????? ???????? ?? ?????? ???????, ?????????, ????????? ? ?????????????. ???-???? ?? ?????????? ?? ?? ????? ????????. ????????????, ? ????? ??????? ? ?????? ?? ?????? ???????? ?? ????????, ???? ??????? ????? ? ????? ? ?????????? ?? ???? ???????????? ?????.

???????? ? ???? ?? ?????? ???? ? ?????????, ????? ????? ??????? ?? ????? ?? ??????? ??????, ?????? ???????? ????? ????????. ? ??????? ???????????? ???????? ?? ???????, ?????????, ????????????, ?????????? ??????????????, ???????? ???????.

???????? ????? – ?????????????????? ??????? ??????, ???????? ? ???????? ??????????? ????, ?????? ?????? ?? ?????? ???????. ??????? ?? ?????? ??????? ?? ???????? ??????, ????? ?? ????? ???? ???? ?? ????, ????? ?? ????? ?? ?????? ? ??????? ? ??????? ?? ???????????? ? ??????? ?????. ? ?????? ?? ??????, ???????? ?? ??????, ?? ???? ?????, ?? ???? ????? ????, ?? ?????????, ?? ???????? ?????. ?? ?? ??????????? ???? ? ???????????. ?? ?????????? ??????? ? ???????????? ????, ????? ??????? ???????, ? ??????????? ?? ?????? ? ???? ?? ????????? ?? ??? ?????? ?????. ? ???? ?? ???-?????????? ????????? ? ??????? – ?????? ?????? ??? ????? ?? ???????? ? ??????? ??????????, ????? ????? ???????, ? ?????? ???? ?? ?? ??????? ?? ????, ??? ???? ????? ???????? ????????. ???? ? ?????, ? ????? ???? ???? ???? ???????? ?????, ??????? ?????????????? ??????????? ?? ??????????????.

??????? ?????????? ????? ??? ??? ??-?????? ??????????, ??????? ????????? ??????? ?? ?????? ? ??? ? ?? ? ?????? – ?????? ???? ?? ????????? ?? ????? ?????. ?????, ????? ????????????, ???????? ? ????? ???????? ? ????????? ??????????, ?? ??????? ????????????? ?? ?????, ????? ?? ? ???????? ? ????????. ??? ? ????? ?? ?????????? – ???? ?? ?? ?????, ?????? ???? ????????? ? ??????????; ?? ??????? ? ???? ?? ??????????? ?????? ?????? ?????????????; ?????????? ?? ?? ????? ?? ??????? ?? ?? ????????, ?????? ?????? ???? ???????? ???????????? ??.

?????? ????? ?? ???
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