** spoiler alert ** 4+ / 5- My dude really did just write the same novel three times Honestly the most shocking thing about this, having read it third of RotD, PVoH, is that the narrator actually acknowledges (even insincerely and obliquely) the mistakes he made in the past. Never would’ve expected that. This and Pale View of Hills (and RotD) are so similar that I’m actually curious whether I appreciated this more because it’s better, or because the expectations are set in such a way that I would’ve appreciated Pale View more reading it last as well

supposedly ishiguro’s “best book” but i couldn’t truly get into it until it ended. maybe in a different headspace & time i could have appreciated it more

didn't expect to enjoy this as much as i did (took me a year to actually read it on threat of "return my book Now" oops). it's very subtle - almost "crept up" to me - and packs a lot within such a short book. even after i finished the book, it circles in my mind, bearing something elusive i can't quite grasp. ostensibly about the life and reminisces of a retired artist in post-ww2 japan, this book stands out to me in particular as an excellent instance of navigating the private/political. ono, the protagonist, is a brilliant instance of the unreliable narrator (pomo time lol) - i'm left guessing as to the full picture, as his reminisces circle around in a non-chronological order, slowly hinting at more and more throughout the book, while retaining the sense of something not quite said. (especially contrasted with the actions he illustrates, his interactions with his daughters.) even as he interprets his past and his present in light of his past, the reader is interpreting his words, trying to draw out "the truth", or whatever can be constituted as most like "the truth". while he claims to be boldly apologetic for his actions, it seems as though he is trying to paint a forgiving picture of himself, trying to impose and defend his own ideas. "for his failure was quite unlike the undignified failures of most ordinary lives [...] if one has failed only where others have not had the courage or will to try, there is a consolation - indeed, a deep satisfaction - to be gained from this observation when looking back at one's life." the writing is very sparse, and yet captures a lot - in terms of nuance, cultural practices, ideas. a very "light touch" way of writing, and the briefness of the book contradictorily belies its complexity. some fascinating reflections on the role of art and politics, insight and unique perspective into post-war japan and changing ideologies (particularly as a member of the older generation looking at the younger generation), the responsibilities of the individual and the nation. the "artist of the floating world" doesn't even refer to ono, but his master - and the curious choice of name prompts further thought. is it an allusion to the circling back to the past? perhaps an emphasis on the contrast between ono's own artistic political work and the art produced for this other, separate from militant japan world? or should the words be taken by themselves, illustrating the unmoored, changing, elusive, "floating" world the narrator now inhabits (or the worlds he lives between - "like many things now, it is perhaps as well that that little world has passed away and will not be returning")?

A first person memoir of a man previously involved in creating imperialist japan propaganda and coming to terms with repenting for it and Accepting Responsibility. Strange to see him say that even if he regrets it he still finds things to be proud about. Something something acting on what you believe to be best for yourself and your fellow man but being too short sighted to not desire a return to imperialist Japan. Writing also felt stilted and over formal which may just be how an old japanese man in the 40s post war would feel and think. Another definite "we aren't getting all the information here" story I wish we could see setsukos or norikos pov

The concept is really interesting in this, but I didn’t find the voice very compelling, nor the lack of a plot, really. I’m not sure the themes best fit into the form of a novel, really. It could be an interesting article. The complicity of the narrator with propaganda in-line with the patriotism of the day seems a foregone conclusion. The only interesting aspects were the reactions of various people with the narrator, who has coloured their memory heavily, if other characters are to be believed. And the ultimate accountability of people complicit in propaganda and patriotism, etc. when focused on that, was the only time I found this engaging. All the interesting questions this prompts, again, I think, could benefit heavily from a shorter form format.

3.5 it's a lovely book, solid writing, just quite underwhelming (especially compared to ishiguro's other books). still pretty great but i set my standards high for authors i like so :p

Required reading, fantastic.

It's astonishing how intricate a picture Kazuo Ishiguro can paint in so few words. In just 208 pages, he renders an achingly vivid image of Japan after WWII. It's difficult to overstate just how much devastation there was in Japan in 1945. Most major cities had been bombed to rubble, there was widespread poverty and severe food shortages everywhere, and the economy essentially grinded to a halt. But even if you're not familiar with this history, you can get a sense of the pervasive mood of the time through an older generation that struggles to reconcile with its part in the war and a younger generation eager to rebuild and put behind them the ways of the past. Told from the perspective of Masuji Ono, a painter who was once renowned for his pro-Imperialist art, the story is set between the years of 1948 and 1950, when Japan was occupied by US military forces. Like Ishiguro's first book, A Pale View of Hills, this one also deals with the transient and unreliable nature of memory, especially when there are things from one's past that might be better forgotten. Ono frequently recalls events that happened long ago only to second guess himself and say, no, actually, maybe it happened like this instead. He often struggles to make sense of interactions that seem to carry more weight in hindsight. He recalls the "floating world" of the pleasure district of his youth, a more decadent time before the horrors of war utterly transformed the culture and values of the world he used to know. These scenes are juxtaposed with the strange new reality he finds himself in, where former colleagues of his have committed suicide over their guilt and complicity in the war, his daughters begin to assert their own voices, and his grandson becomes entranced with symbols of Western culture like the Lone Ranger and Popeye. Like many Ishiguro novels, there's not much action within these pages. Instead, there is a lot of quiet contemplation about the way things are now and the way they used to be. It's worth reading if you're a fan of his work, but it does tread some familiar ground.