The tone of the novel is somber, simple, minimalist and sad, properly inheriting from the long traditional of Japanese literature of 20th century. The rhythm is Japanese as well - slow reflections on little details thrown together into the canvas of simple everyday life. There is however, an almost unnoticeable bridge to Ishiguro personal experience as an expatriate, and link to his future novels, like "Remains of the Day". Character of Etsuko is a character in transition and the end is left open and haunting. Great novel!!!
A Pale View of Hills is about a Japanese woman, Etsuko, now living in England dwelling on the recent suicide of her daughter. As she recounts her life, a reader may note striking parallels with her memories and her present suffering; is it possible reality and imagination have faded? An interesting aspect of the novel is its theme of intergenerational conflict. Set partly in post-WW2 Japan, conflict develops between the old generation, whose regressive ideals are now socially unacceptable, and the new generation, who look toward a future of Americanization.
(For all you English buffs out there, Ishiguro is not a bad choice for a research paper, provided you have access to critical analysis. My local library was able to get books on Ishiguro's writing--which are rare--from university libraries in the state. The internet was also useful.)
For the casual reader, while A Pale View isn't a bad book by any means (it is very readable), perhaps Remains of the Day would be more engaging.
Etsuko is a mother who left Nagasaki not long after the war, and settled in England. Of her two daughters, one, Niki, is only half Japanese, and now, years later, goes to school in London. A very modern and thoroughly Westernized woman, she is not interested in having children, or even a husband, and has still less interest in the Japanese traditions that her mother grew up with. The other daughter, Keiko, a full-bred Japanese, has committed suicide some years earlier. In a way that is at once very confusing and very revealing, the book switches back and forth between the present, when Niki comes home for a visit, and Etsuko's memories of another mother, Mariko, and her damaged daughter, whom she briefly knew in Nagasaki.
Even more so than in the excellent Remains of the Day, the story and characters in this book work better as allegory than they do as portraits of reality. Ogata, Etsuko's father-in-law, represents the old guard whose belief in Japanese tradition is so strong that even the cataclysm of WWII has not shaken it. Niki is the younger generation - the new Japan - only half Japanese actually, who has repudiated her Japanese roots altogether. Meanwhile Keiko, the future of the Old Japan, has destroyed herself. In between we have the two mothers, Etsuko and Mariko. Mariko repeatedly expresses her unbounded confidence in others: in her uncle, in her American "friend", and in her daughter's mental state. Nothing is a problem to her; all setbacks are only temporary, she'll be fine, thank you very much anyway.
Many of the characters repeat the same phrases over and over as though the magnitude of the disaster has left them unable to move forward. For example, Etsuko's father-in-law, a retired school teacher very attached to the old ways, has been publicly insulted and keeps asking his son to do something about it. His son keeps complaining how busy and tired he is. The mother Mariko and her daughter are two more broken records. With all this repetition, there's no real character development, and blessed little plot. Instead, the book is like a certain style of Japanese painting, with one or two broad, bold dark strokes surrounded by a handful of delicate details. As one continues to stare at the painting, one appreciates its harmony, its simplicity, its unity. Another good metaphor for this novel is the onion; although we never get past the first couple of layers, we can see that there's a lot inside. And of course you can't peel those layers without a few tears.
This is a beautifully written story with a quiet intensity about it that defies easy analysis. The reader keeps waiting for something "big" to happen, but of course the calamity that struck before the book's opening overpowers everything else in it. The sadness that pervades the whole novel is so overwhelming that it leaves this reviewer disinclined to recommend the book despite its many wonderful qualities. It seems likely that Ishiguro wrote this book as a sort of therapy; the pain and anguish and horror and sense of loss and hopelessness must have stayed with the survivors of Nagasaki for the rest of their lives (as it does for the families of suicides), yet somehow they found the strength to go on anyway. If there's any real upside to this novel, it's that time heals all wounds, and life goes on no matter how bad things might get, but that optimistic message is limited to the last couple of pages. Fine as this book is, it's recommended only for literary scholars, and for those readers who don't already have enough sadness in their lives.
