The Buried Giant

I felt like I was entering another world when reading this.  Made me think of Britain's colonial crimes and how the ongoing effects are often swept under the rug and overlooked.

I was wondering what I'd get when I noticed what appeared to be fantasy from [a:Kazuo Ishiguro 4280 Kazuo Ishiguro https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1424906625p2/4280.jpg] on the library shelf. [b:The Buried Giant 22522805 The Buried Giant Kazuo Ishiguro https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1451444392s/22522805.jpg 41115424] proves to be remarkably Kazuo. In this fictional Albion with ongoing Anglo-Saxon conflict, he threads an underlying question of what it means to be British, that to me feels like the kind of interrogation you can only really have when you grow up a non-native Brit. It's startling, at least to me, to see the landscapes of England shifted to fantasy and yet described so accurately (or what I imagine to be accurately). He gets the spirit of the place.Setting aside, the novel is an odd, timeskipping piece. We're kept in the dark about most of the plot, since the characters don't really know what's going on half the time anyway. It's interesting to meet characters who don't remember their own lives, but I wouldn't say the experience is particularly fun. The jumps in perspective and time, even mid paragraph, are disorienting. Again, that's sort of the point, I suppose, but it's not easy to read. Ishiguro gets an amazing sense of tone and atmosphere here; it's certainly “literary” or at least feels that way. Yet impressive prose doesn't make it entirely enjoyable, so come into this with appropriate expectations...

See my full review at The Emerald City Book Review. I have to admit that I had a difficult time puzzling out what was metaphor, what was delusion, and what was reality, and that this made me uncomfortable. There were some indications that what certain characters described as otherworldly creatures or phenomena (e.g. ogres) had a more mundane explanation, and that the pre-conceptions of the characters determined the world they perceived. This is an interesting philosophical point, but disorienting when applied to a story, in which generally the author is performing the magic trick of making us believe in something that doesn't exist. It matters not whether that something is a dragon or a duchess or a dachshund; within the world of a story it must gain being and presence, or why bother with it?

This dis-orientation was inconsistent. There were times when it was very hard to imagine an alternative explanation for what the characters were describing, other than that they were all completely insane. And yet, if that were the case, what could be gained from entering into their fractured minds? Are we meant to reflect on our own self-delusional versions of an impenetrable reality? That's a stage on everyone's quest, but to me it cannot be the end. I believe in meaning and wholeness, and if that betrays my lack of sophistication as a reader and human being, but so be it. I'm not interested in subversion for its own sake, only when it helps to break us through to a higher level of understanding.

Though I enjoyed parts of the journey, and grew to care for some of the characters, in the end I was left frustrated and dissatisfied. Perhaps a reread will enlighten me further as to what Ishiguro might have been trying to say, but right now I'm not at all sure.