"'m reading kazuo ishiguro's never let me go, but i think the freezing climate affected my reading speed cos i only got to page 51. it is quite all right - wait no, let's be honest - i don't think much of it at all. granted, i've only read the first few chapters but well, from what i have read, i haven't encountered any impressing poignancy, or strikingly beautifully crafted sentences. its all very ordinary."

well that's what i said a few days ago. i've read the whole thing now, so for the heck of it and indulging in the rare moments where it seems that i actually have nothing to do, let's have a brief review:

i won't be giving away any spoilers for those who intend to read the book save for the fact that this book, in terms of stylistics is very subtle, and this would include the plotline itself such that it would seem that the story goes nowhere, which is not very true at all.

the difference in tones, atmosphere and even the conveying of themes is done through shifting nuances, so if you're reading through this in a rush, it would seem like a whole 263 pages of a hazy dream that just leads the reader in circles, back and forth without anything concrete to say. i suppose it takes some getting used to, especially since for lit, i've been reading stuff like huxley where the plot complexity (wait - what plot?) is just so obvious its like whamming your head against the wall.

but after awhile, especially reading it in comfortably cold rainy days in bed like i did, you come to appreciate this haziness - that the plot and revelations unfold gently, such that you are not wholly aware of the acknowledgement of a development, but it kind of subtly builds its layers so that with every suggested truth, you go "oh yes, that."

so that, is the merit of ishiguro's writing - very clean and subtle. i wasn't bored though, which is something, even though it should be taken into consideration that a substantial part of my reading was simply because i wanted to know what was the big deal about this writer. the only time that i dazed off in the middle of this book was when i caught myself daydreaming (i was in bed under a soft blanket at this point hurrah), and not being able to remember when exactly i had started to drift off, or whether or not i had closed my eyes at all.

at the same time though, i don't think it was a brilliant, life-changing book but i suppose that's quite a lot to live up to. no moments of poignancy or beautifully crafted prose that jumped up at me (save for an achingly touching anecdote about Norfolk - look out for that), but i suppose it's congruent to the writing style. it is very nice in every sense of the word, and a good book to pick up when you have the time and are in the drifty mood.




oh and by the way, this is post number THREE HUNDRED AND THIRTY. cheers and fireworks everyone; if you can spare the time, actually do have something to say, and don't mind bolstering my esteem, then leave a tag about how this blog, (cue: dramatically cheesy voice) has changed your life.

though i highly doubt it, but eh, why not give it a shot.