Book No. 45 of 2021
This book just DEVASTATED me, leaving me feeling hollowed out but also in total awe of Ishiguro’s frankly terrifying writing abilities. It feels very much like a genre-bending novel—the premise for it sounds like sci-fi, and there are moments where it’s horror (in a self-aware way, with a character saying that they know it sounds like a horror movie), but it reads like a bittersweet Bildungsroman, so aching and full of wonder and regret.
I was somewhat aware of this when I read Ishiguro’s Remains of the Day, but it really hit home for me while reading this that Ishiguro is a MASTER of literary negative space. I was floored by how skillfully he tells a story through what is *not* said—he gives you the mundane details and conversations of what almost seems a totally different, irrelevant story, and through omission lets you figure out what is really happening. This was both funny and pitiful in Remains, and is full on tragic here.
The coming-of-age vibes are next-level here, absolutely nailing the specific feelings of figuring things out and the discovery of the self, as well as the monumental non-events that come with fumbling through adolescence; I was also impressed by how accurately Ishiguro captures the imperfect and non-linear way we trace our memories.
Similar Reads
Obviously lots of similar themes as Remains of the Day.
I also thought the combo of sci-fi + humanity + heartbreak was similar to several of Ken Liu’s short stories, particularly The Paper Menagerie.