2014 read #61: A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro.

A Pale View of Hills by Kazuo Ishiguro
183 pages
Published 1982
Read June 30
Rating: ★★★★ out of 5

I could never make a living reviewing books. Too many books leave me adrift, at a loss for anything definite to say, as if I were trying to drive nails to hold down melting snow. The more literary a book is, the lighter an author's touch, the more left unsaid, the harder it is for me to convert my subjective experience of the book into my own words. Part of this (most of this) is laziness on my part. I've gotten into the habit of noting out a quick paragraph before hitting "Publish" and going into the other room to eat ice cream or whatever. That hasn't helped my critical faculties.

Anyway. Massive spoilers ahead, though as it's a literary book, it's an open question whether my interpretation of what happened, "happened."

So, Etsuko seemingly killed the little girl Mariko -- in my estimation, out of a sort of somber compassion for her, but a case could be made that she did out of a more twisted sort of compassion for Sachiko, the girl's mother, a case built from several of the book's through-lines (Niki's repeated avowals that no one, not even parents, should suffer a boring, unfulfilled, meaningless life; every character comments on how unhappy Etsuko is during her pregnancy; the brief mention, never repeated, that this is Etsuko's fourth pregnancy). It's less likely that Etsuko committed the prior child-murders in her neighborhood. It would seem Etsuko merely took some kind of cue from them. But anyway. I didn't care for this Etsuko-kills-Mariko ending (if that's even what was implied). The child-murders were the least interesting through-line for me, and when I got to the end of the penultimate chapter, when Etsuko (in a doubled memory) approaches Mariko with (presumably) a rope, my reaction was "Oh. It's one of these endings." Perhaps if I hadn't read The Trial of Elizabeth Cree just a few months ago, I'd be more floored. As it is, it just feels like one of those fashionable tricks literary authors like to toy with.

Aside from the ending, I thoroughly loved this book. I love how Ishiguro's characteristic style once again molds itself into the confused, hesitant reminiscences of someone with perhaps something she's hiding from herself. It's remarkable, really, how unchanging Ishiguro's style is, in these three books of his I've read, yet it always gives life to such distinct narrators. His environments and supporting characters are wonderfully vivid. And the emotions he breathes into being, as I said at the start, are exquisitely difficult to nail down in words of my own.

Edit: A friend points out my interpretation of the ending was, ah, hilariously off-base. I'm not so good at lateral thinking (I suck at logic puzzles too). Just thought I'd note this for posterity.