An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro: Book review

This might be his slightest novel, weighing it at only 205 pages, but it’s his densest.

Another unreliable narrator – an old Japanese painter and teacher – Masuji Ono tells part of his life story, often repetitively (maybe he has dementia) and full of false modesty. He’s actually an arrogant old fuck.

It’s set in an unnamed Japanese city between 1948 and 1950 as the Empire is setting about post WWII rebuilding and the country is on its knees.

Ono-San was a celebrated pre-war artist, seemingly of a propagandist bent (and maybe in the pocket of the Emperor) but his star has faded and it’s causing some trouble in selling off his youngest daughter into arranged matrimony.

The book dwells fastidiously on the customs and mannerisms of a horrifically mannered and often obsequious Japanese cultural set of mores.

For a western reader (even though Ishiguro has long been a naturalised UK citizen), this makes for tough reading. There are many Japanese place names to contend with and his cast of characters is vast for such a small tome. What’s more, given the episodic, and sometimes rambling nature of the prose they pop up sporadically but with important things to say. It’s a laborious follow.

Like anything Ishiguro turns his hand too it’s quite brilliant in the quality of the writing and the slow release of information that just keeps one on track plot-wise, but it has none of the empathy of his other novels and certainly no playfulness at all. So it makes for a n endurance test, albeit a shortish one.

It was the least enjoyable of his books for me. But a weak(ish) Ishiguro beats 9/10 writers into a cocked hat and for that I recommend it. Just don’t make it your Kazuo debut.

The Bear Season 1: Just watched

We were late to this as we didn’t have Disney +, except we had, thanks Natasha. Anyway, I’d read all the hype and last night we set out to watch it, and this afternoon we finished it.

I had to go back and rewatch Episode 1 because on first viewing I was a bit trailing in its wake because the loud music bed, deep Chicagoan patois and rapid fire (some sotto voce) dialogue meant I wasn’t really picking up on its nuance. If I’m honest it was probably not till Episode 5 that I was fully invested but then, 7 and 8. Fuck me.

Christopher Storrer has written and directed a big bad beast. I love the way its title “The Bear” encompasses mental illness, Chicago ( key component of its magic) and the main character’s name (Carmy Berzatto).

I love its love affair with food and that battle between good and evil (pretentious or wholesome can both be great, and this series manages to marry the two effortlessly). It’s kind of like Pygmalion in reverse, or maybe The Great Gatsby, also reversed, where knowledge and superiority, and wealth, are levelled by the reality of Carmy’s situation – a dead brother and an inherited Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares restaurant.

Jeremy Allen White, him of the great Calvin Klein blow up, is majestic in the lead role but he’d be nothing were it not for his fellow restaurant employees. An ensemble cast that’s magnificent from the get go, none more so than his fangirl Sydney played with conviction by Ayo Edibiri. There’s a really touching moment in Episode 8 where she entertains Marcus in her home that really hit the spot for me, and her relationship with the feisty Tina is a thing of wonder – a thing that could have been truly hamfisted in the wrong hands.

The music score is beast and the comedy (while only evident in short bursts) is laugh out loud funny.

All in all, a complex bundle of fun and pathos in equal measure. From an uncertain start (for me) it rapidly transmogrified into a production that does indeed merit the plaudits that have showered it. Very much looking forward to Season 2.

Recent Reading: Maggie O’Farrell – This Must Be The Place and Instructions For A heatwave

I keep hearing good things about Maggie O’Farrell, the Irishwoman living in my native Edinburgh, and so I’d picked both of the above up in a charity shop some time ago, but left them languishing in my ‘to do’ pile. A conversation with my friend Victoria prompted me to start reading, and I’m glad that I did.

Both books share a strong sense of style. O’Farrell densely plots her novels so that there’s quite a long bedding in period in the story to establish exactly what’s going on. In that respect she writes like a crime/thriller novelist. But that effort is rewarded with depth of character and intriguing and clever stories.

In Heatwave we follow a family’s journey to uncover why their elderly father has simply upped and went one morning, right in the middle of the notorious 1976 UK-wide heatwave. O’Farrell captures the sweltering oppression of that one-off summer vividly and the story unfolds in very thin layers as we discover what both bonds and splinters this intense family. It’s a great read, although at times I felt she outstayed her welcome.

In the superior This Must be The Place another disappearance sets the story off, and another family saga. Again much of the action takes place in Ireland. But don’t think that makes her novels formulaic, they are anything but.

This time a stunningly beautiful and famous film actress with great artistic integrity (think Jennifer Lawrence) simply disappears overnight with the speech-impeded son of her and her auteur film-director partner. She flees to remote Ireland where she reestablishes her life before being stumbled upon by an American linguist with a troubling romantic life and a drink and drugs problem.

The attraction is instant but not eternal.

What follows is another heavily interweaving story covering the couples lives (including their past) and that of their own and shared children.

Each character is brilliantly drawn and the book’s multiple time lines gradually fall into place so that we are eventually left wondering if this is a romance with any real chance of making it through.

It’s a lovely story with real depth and quality of writing.

Clearly O’Farrell has an acute eye and ear for family life in all its complications. Both novels deconstruct the complexity of familial rivalry, sibling love (and the lack of) and the hierarchy of decision making in that unit.

It seems to me her writing is maturing with experience and that she continues to increase her personal writing ambition, with her latest, Hamlet, picking up many plaudits and book of the year nods. I look forward to reading that but, for now, she’s made a solid impression on me and I can recommend both books quite strongly, especially This Must Be The Place.

It’s yet another morsel of evidence that Irish writing is on fire just now – many of my favourite recent reads have come from that Isle (including Anna Burns, Colin Walsh and Paul Lynch.)