The Remains of the Day

If you recall, I was not impressed by Ishiguro's When We Were Orphans.  I decided to give him another try and recently read The Remains of the Day.  It's a character study of Stevens, an English butler in the mid-1950s.  His previous employer dead, he now works for an American who bought Darlington Hall, the house Stevens ran for many years. 

Stevens takes an opportunity to visit former co-worker Mrs. Benn née Miss Kenton.  With permission, he borrows Mr. Farraday's car and goes on a road trip through Devon and Cornwall.  As happens in all good road trips, Stevens encounters some interesting people and beautiful scenery, stumbles into some comic misadventures, and has plenty of time to reflect on his life.

Through the stories of the past woven into the experiences of the present, we learn that Miss Kenton served as a foil to Stevens over the years they served Lord Darlington.  Stevens, preoccupied with propriety and duty, accepted his employer's word as law; in doing so, he gave up some of his humanity and supported some questionable decisions.  Miss Kenton was more compassionate beneath her similarly high professional standards.  Because of their differences, there are many misunderstandings between Miss Kenton and Stevens, and she ultimately leaves Lord Darlington's employ to marry.  Stevens' road trip is, in part, a trip to see if Mrs. Benn would like to return as housekeeper to Darlington Hall due to the unhappiness with her marriage she expressed to Stevens in a letter.

It's hard not to include spoilers in these posts.  I will say that I found the ending of the book very poignant and definitely recommend The Remains of the Day.  Stevens isn't always a sympathetic character, but by the end Ishiguro leads the reader to an understanding of Stevens' motivations and Stevens to an understanding of his own mistakes.  The ending is surprisingly hopeful, even if there is an undercurrent of melancholy.  In some ways, it reminds me of the ending to The Sun Also Rises.  While Hemingway's book ends with regret, Ishiguro's takes half a step back from the "Isn't it pretty to think so?" lament and substitutes the truth that the past doesn't have to determine the future.