The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro

Sometimes, when I have a difficult time figuring out what’s going on in a piece of celebrated fiction, I find myself stepping out of my role as a reader and I mentally put myself in the role of the author. No longer concerned with enjoying the pleasure of well-formed characters and plot, I find myself open to the difficult and painful experience of writing, of creating something of meaningful value on our difficult and distracted world.

It was in this frame of mind that I came across the following paragraph in Ishiguro’s celebrated and frustratingly opaque The Unconsoled.

‘This is quite ridiculous!’ I had lost all patience. ‘I’ll find my own way. You’re obviously quite unable to appreciate that a person might be very busy, working on a tight schedule, and simply can’t afford to dawdle about the town for hours. In fact, if I may say so, this wall is quite typical of this town. Utterly preposterous obstacles everywhere. And what do you do? Do you all get annoyed? Do you demand it’s pulled down immediately so that people can go about their business? No, you put up with it for the best part of a century. You make postcards of it and believe it’s charming. This brick wall charming? What a monstrosity! I may well use this wall as a symbol, I’ve a good mind to, in my speech tonight! It’s just as well for you I’ve already composed much of what I’m going to say in my head and so am naturally reluctant to change things too much at this late stage. Good evening!’

In the context of the story, this is our narrator and protagonist, Mr. Ryder, complaining about yet another obstacle to his plans and desires: in this case a wall bisecting the city, impenetrable, and separating him from the concert hall where he is set to perform.

But in the larger context I believe that Ishiguro is here almost blatantly talking about the novel he is in the process of writing.

It is ‘ridiculous.’ It doesn’t ‘appreciate that a person (i.e., reader) might be very busy, working on a tight schedule, and simply can’t afford to dawdle about the town (i.e., the novel) for hours.’ It is full of ‘utterly preposterous obstacles.’ And what does the author do? Does he get ‘annoyed’? Does he ‘demand that it’s pulled down immediately so that people can go about their business (i.e., understand his novel and move on)’? No. The author ‘makes postcards of it and believes it’s charming.’ And he uses the wall as his symbol.

This, more than anything else, I think, explains what’s going on in this novel. Much of the Internet calls it Kafkaesque, and it is in the sense that it reads very much like that common dream we’ve all had in which we want to accomplish something but are thwarted at every turn. And that leads me to only one conclusion.

The Unconsoled of the novel’s title is actually none of its characters. It is, and can only be, the reader him or herself.

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This post first appeared on Eric Lanke's blog, an association executive and author. You can follow him on Twitter @ericlanke or contact him at eric.lanke@gmail.com.