
The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro is a poignant and introspective novel that follows the life of Mr. Stevens, a butler reflecting on his dedicated service at Darlington Hall. Through a series of memories and musings, the book delves into themes of loyalty, dignity, the impact of personal relationships, and the consequences of unwavering dedication to one's work. The narrative unfolds as Stevens embarks on a journey through England's countryside, providing a backdrop for his contemplation of past events and relationships, particularly with the housekeeper, Miss Kenton.
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From The Publisher:
From the winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, here is the universally acclaimed novel-winner of the Booker Prize and the basis for an award-winning film.
This is Kazuo Ishiguro's profoundly compelling portrait of Stevens, the perfect butler, and of his fading, insular world in post-World War II England. Stevens, at the end of three decades of service at Darlington Hall, spending a day on a country drive, embarks as well on a journey through the past in an effort to reassure himself that he has served humanity by serving the "great gentleman," Lord Darlington. But lurking in his memory are doubts about the true nature of Lord Darlington's "greatness," and much graver doubts about the nature of his own life.
Ratings (125)
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Loved It (46) | |
Liked It (28) | |
It Was OK (11) | |
Did Not Like (4) | |
Hated It (1) |
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7 comment(s)
A very casual book/story where not a lot happens but is a fairly pleasant read. 3.5/5
It's especially amazing when a book can break your heart subtly. Beautiful writing, sad, beautiful story.
Want to regret every major choice you've ever made? Here's your manual. The blurbs refer to it is a comedy of manners as well as a tragedy, but I didn't see the comedy until I was looking for it. This book is just. So. Sad.
And Ishiguro is basically the undisputed master of prose.
When i started this book, i thought it was a story about journey. Journey of a butler on the road. But i was wrong but not completely, its a journey but journey of a butler through his life.
This talks about being a good, great butler. A butler's responsibility on his master, or house.
Mr.Stevens gave very little importance on his personal life. He made it very clear that whatever may happen but his duty to his master is first and it is the only way to be a great butler. And his personal emotions are not to be showed at all.
I liked Miss.Kenton, who worked hard but showed her emotions and thoughts to others. She , in several points tried to bring out the thoughts of Mr.Stevens but was not succeeded.
Well all other characters were fine and i liked the journey of the great butler. (except the talk regarding the "great butlers" and i do not know whether Mr.Stevens is a great butler or not )
I am not much impressed with the storyline, even though the narration is great..
This is an interesting book. I was not a huge fan of
Never Let Me Go by this same author, but these two books are vastly different. This book is highly character-driven and very little happens plot-wise. That being said, Mr. Stephens is an interesting and intriguing character. It was very hard for me to understand his motives and his culture, the British aristocratic social system being such a foreign concept for this young idealistic American. Mr. Stephens is such a sad character, one that donates his entire life and sacrifices basically all his natural human emotions and even his personhood in serving a boss that perhaps was not that great of a person in the first place. Interesting and thought-provoking how in some societies, some people really have little choice over their own fates or destinies.
Un libro en el que no pasa nada, con un protagonista sin emociones y a la vez pasa mucho y es muy emotivo.
Extra puntos por la voz unica del protagonista.
But what is the sense in forever speculating what might have happened had such and such a moment turned out differently? One could presumably drive oneself to distraction in this way. In any case, while it is all very well to talk of ‘turning points’, one can surely only recognize such moments in retrospect. Naturally, when one looks back to such instances today, they may indeed take the appearance of being crucial, precious moments in one’s life; but of course, at the time, this was not the impression one had. Rather, it was as though one had available a never-ending number of days, months, years in which to sort out the vagaries of one’s relationship with Miss Kenton; an infinite number of further opportunities in which to remedy the effect of this or that misunderstanding. There was surely nothing to indicate at the time that such evidently small incidents would render whole dreams forever irredeemable.
The Remains of the Day is, quite simply, exquisite. Quiet, calm, melancholic, and laden with subtext, this short character study is an instant favorite. Ishiguro is a master of voice: his writing is careful and precise, and the effect is flawless. He captures the character of Stevens so completely that it’s difficult to believe this is not actually the narrative of an English butler from a bygone era.
The structure and style bolster that effect further. Stevens speaks directly to the reader (to whom he attributes the same level of knowledge about great butlers and their duties as he himself possesses), sprinkling in phrases like
As you might expect, or
But let me make it immediately clear what I mean by this;, which gives every word a feeling of weighty intent—especially as we come to understand Stevens and how carefully exact he is in all that he does.
On the surface, the plot of the novel follows Stevens on a short tour of the English countryside as he journeys to visit an old colleague he hopes to recruit back into his service. But the real story is told in half-forgotten echoes as he recalls brief vignettes that slowly paint a picture of his relationships: with his aging father, who he respects but with whom he is unable to fully connect; with Miss Kenton, with whom he might have built a very different life had he been a bit less dignified; and with his employer, Lord Darlington, who becomes intimately involved in European politics following WWI and on the eve of WWII. Stevens’s memory is imperfect, and he often reconsiders whether he has placed a notable event accurately within a broader scene:
But now that I think further about it, I am not sure Miss Kenton spoke quite so boldly that day. We did, of course, over the years of working closely together come to have some very frank exchanges, but the afternoon I am recalling was still early in our relationship and I cannot see even Miss Kenton having been so forward. I am not sure she could actually have gone so far as to say things like: ‘these errors may be trivial in themselves, but you must yourself realize their larger significance’. In fact, now that I come to think of it, I have a feeling it may have been Lord Darlington himself who made that particular remark to me that time he called me into his study some two months after that exchange with Miss Kenton outside the billiard room…
The result is contemplative and dreamlike as Stevens drifts between memories and the present day. That he can remember some things so clearly while other (superficially key) details are muddled is just as telling as the memories themselves.
Above all,
The Remains of the Day is a character study about a dignified man coming to terms with an unspoken and quiet regret that some parts of life have passed him by. Even while he looks back on his accomplishments during his years of dedicated service and his pursuit of greatness within his profession, he is keenly aware that, just as Giffen’s silver polish has been replaced with a newer chemical product, the world has moved on from the days when great butlers presided in great houses with great staffs…leaving him little to show for it.
It is a beautiful novel, perfectly executed, and profoundly sad.
Some favorite passages:
It seems increasingly likely that I really will undertake the expedition that has been preoccupying my imagination now for some days.
But then eventually the surroundings grew unrecognizable and I knew I had gone beyond all previous boundaries. I have heard people describe the moment, when setting sail in a ship, when one finally loses sight of the land.
This whole question is very akin to the question that has caused much debate in our profession over the years: what is a ‘great’ butler? I can recall many hours of enjoyable discussion on this topic around the fire of the servants’ hall at the end of a day.
It is with such men as it is with the English landscape seen at its best as I did this morning: when one encounters them, one simply knows one is in the presence of greatness.
At this very moment, no doubt, she is pondering with regret decisions made in the far-off past that have now left her, deep in middle age, so alone and desolate.
It was one of those events which at a crucial stage in one’s development arrive to challenge and stretch one to the limit of one’s ability and beyond, so that thereafter one has new standards by which to judge oneself.
I paused at one of the few spots where a bright streak of light fell across the boards and, as she approached, said: ‘Ah, Miss Kenton.’
As it happened, I had a word or two more to say on the topic of – as you put it yourself – the glories of nature. If you will indulge me by listening, I would be most grateful. But I am afraid this will have to wait for another occasion.’ ‘Well, I shall look forward to it, Stevens. Though I’m more of a fish man myself. I know all about fish, fresh water and salt.’ ‘All living creatures will be relevant to our forthcoming discussion, sir.
Taking my cue from this programme, I have devised a simple exercise which I try to perform at least once a day; whenever an odd moment presents itself, I attempt to formulate three witticisms based on my immediate surroundings at that moment. Or, as a variation on this same exercise, I may attempt to think of three witticisms based on the events of the past hour.
One of these destinations is the village of Mursden. Perhaps ‘Mursden’ will ring a bell for you, as it did for me upon my first spotting it on the road atlas yesterday. In fact, I must say I was even tempted to make a slight detour from my planned route just to see the village. Mursden, Somerset, was where the firm of Giffen and Co. was once situated, and it was to Mursden one was required to dispatch one’s order for a supply of Giffen’s dark candles of polish, ‘to be flaked, mixed into wax and applied by hand’. For some time, Giffen’s was undoubtedly the finest silver polish available, and it was only the appearance of new chemical substances on the market shortly before the war that caused demand for this impressive product to decline.
But perhaps one should not be looking back to the past so much. After all, I still have before me many more years of service I am required to give.
In fact, one has to accept the distinct possibility that one may have previously – perhaps through wishful thinking of a professional kind – exaggerated what evidence there was regarding such a desire on her part. For I must say I was a little surprised last night at how difficult it was actually to point to any passage which clearly demonstrated her wish to return.
Let us establish this quite clearly: a butler’s duty is to provide good service. It is not to meddle in the great affairs of the nation.
Then, very soon afterwards, the rain had come down with such ferocity that for a moment all the guests seemed to stop eating just to stare out of the windows.’
Harry has a lot of ideas about changes to this and that, but really, no one in the village wants upheaval, even if it might benefit them. People here want to be left alone to lead their quiet little lives. They don’t want to be bothered with this issue and that issue.’ I was surprised by the tone of disgust that had entered the doctor’s voice.
‘His lordship is a dear, dear man. But the fact is, he is out of his depth. He is being manoeuvred. The Nazis are manoeuvring him like a pawn. Have you noticed this, Stevens? Have you noticed this is what has been happening for the last three or four years at least?’
Over the last few years, his lordship has probably been the single most useful pawn Herr Hitler has had in this country for his propaganda tricks. All the better because he’s sincere and honourable and doesn’t recognize the true nature of what he’s doing. During the last three years alone, his lordship has been crucially instrumental in establishing links between Berlin and over sixty of the most influential citizens of this country. It’s worked beautifully for them. Herr Ribbentrop’s been able virtually to bypass our foreign office altogether.
And that was how Miss Kenton and I talked for the next two hours or so, there in the pool of grey light while the rain continued to fall steadily on the square outside.
But it was not so much the content of our conversation as the little smiles she gave at the end of utterances, her small ironic inflexions here and there, certain gestures with her shoulders or her hands, which began to recall unmistakably the rhythms and habits of our conversations from all those years ago.
‘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 over some trivial little thing and leave. But each time I do so, 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.’
Moreover, as you might appreciate, their implications were such as to provoke a certain degree of sorrow within me. Indeed – why should I not admit it? – at that moment, my heart was breaking.
His claim was that for a great many people, the evening was the best part of the day, the part they most looked forward to.
‘The fact is, of course,’ I said after a while, ‘I gave my best to Lord Darlington. I gave him the very best I had to give, and now – well – I find I do not have a great deal more left to give.’
‘Lord Darlington wasn’t a bad man. He wasn’t a bad man at all. And at least he had the privilege of being able to say at the end of his life that he made his own mistakes. His lordship was a courageous man. He 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?’
About the Author:
KAZUO ISHIGURO was born in Nagasaki, Japan, in 1954 and moved to Britain at the age of five. His eight previous works of fiction have earned him many honors around the world, including the Nobel Prize in Literature and the…
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