I finished reading A Pale View of Hills by Ishiguro a few days ago and I can't put it out of my mind.
I love the way Ishiguro plays with memories. On several occasions, I have argued that B was inevitable because of A only to be told by my wife that A happened after B! My mind seems to adjust and reorder memories to make sense of the world. So, the topic fascinates me and I love the writings of Ishiguro.
But why am I troubled by this book? I found the book vaguely dis-satisfying as I wanted to know more about the protagonist. What made her want to leave her husband and move to England? What were her sufferings alluded to by her daughter? Unable to rationalise her actions, all I am left with is the despairing thought that our actions and decisions have an impact, at times painfully drammatic, on those around us whom we love and for whom we want to do the best.
I love the way Ishiguro plays with memories. On several occasions, I have argued that B was inevitable because of A only to be told by my wife that A happened after B! My mind seems to adjust and reorder memories to make sense of the world. So, the topic fascinates me and I love the writings of Ishiguro.
But why am I troubled by this book? I found the book vaguely dis-satisfying as I wanted to know more about the protagonist. What made her want to leave her husband and move to England? What were her sufferings alluded to by her daughter? Unable to rationalise her actions, all I am left with is the despairing thought that our actions and decisions have an impact, at times painfully drammatic, on those around us whom we love and for whom we want to do the best.
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