Ishiguro has a calmness to his style that belies the complex range of emotions beneath. It suits this story of stiff upper lips and repressed feeling. The novel as a whole is a criticism of this aspect of the English character. Stevens expresses his semi-patriotic admiration for it, but in reality it is quietly destructive. It prevents Stevens from pursuing a romance with Miss Kenton, and leads to him regretting a wasted life.
The book also explores the pitfalls of nostalgia. Though Stevens looks back with fondness on the old days of Darlington Hall, it’s clear to the reader that he’s in denial of the more sordid parts of those times. Soon we learn that for a period of time before the Second World War, Lord Darlington supported the Nazis, to the extent of firing two maids because they were Jewish. While Stevens recognises the act as wrong, he still defends his old master, and evidently has more regrets than he lets on. The dominant narrative about WWII in this country is the plucky Brits going up against nasty old Hitler, but in reality there were those like Lord Darlington who supported the Nazis pre-war. Ishiguro here is reminding us that romanticising the past can be a dangerous thing.
The skill with which all of this is woven together is worthy of respect. Ishiguro’s command of voice is such that we are never less than convinced that this story is being told by an English gentleman. His descriptions of Darlington Hall and the minutiae of life in a stately home are immersive and detailed, revealing a world lost to time.
The Remains of the Day won the Booker Prize in 1989, and was adapted into a 1993 film directed by James Ivory. As a book about historical blindness and the fragility of English national identity, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why it’s more relevant today than ever. Tragic, haunting, and at times surprisingly funny, it’s unquestionably a masterpiece.
Review by Charlie Alcock