In post-Arthurian Britain, the wars that once raged between the Saxons and the Britons have finally ceased. Axl and Beatrice, an elderly British couple, set off to visit their son, whom they haven't seen in years. And, because a strange mist has caused mass amnesia throughout the land, they can scarcely remember anything about him. As they are joined on their journey by a Saxon warrior, his orphan charge, and an illustrious knight, Axl and Beatrice slowly begin to remember the dark and troubled past they all share. By turns savage, suspenseful, and intensely moving, The Buried Giant is a luminous meditation on the act of forgetting and the power of memory.
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You would have searched a long time for the sort of winding lane or tranquil meadow for which England later became celebrated. There were instead miles of desolate, uncultivated land; here and there rough-hewn paths over craggy hills or bleak moorland. Most of the roads left by the Romans would by then have become broken or overgrown, often fading into wilderness. Icy fogs hung over rivers and marshes, serving all too well the ogres that were then still native to this land. The people who lived nearby—one wonders what desperation led them to settle in such gloomy spots—might well have feared these creatures, whose panting breaths could be heard long before their deformed figures emerged from the mist. But such monsters were not cause for astonishment. People then would have regarded them as everyday hazards, and in those days there was so much else to worry about. How to get food out of the hard ground; how not to run out of firewood; how to stop the sickness that could kill a dozen pigs in a single day and produce green rashes on the cheeks of children.
In any case, ogres were not so bad provided one did not provoke them. One had to accept that every so often, perhaps following some obscure dispute in their ranks, a creature would come blundering into a village in a terrible rage, and despite shouts and brandishings of weapons, rampage about injuring anyone slow to move out of its path. Or that every so often, an ogre might carry off a child into the mist. The people of the day had to be philosophical about such outrages.
In one such area on the edge of a vast bog, in the shadow of some jagged hills, lived an elderly couple, Axl and Beatrice. Perhaps these were not their exact or full names, but for ease, this is how we will refer to them. I would say this couple lived an isolated life, but in those days few were “isolated” in any sense we would understand. For warmth and protection, the villagers lived in shelters, many of them dug deep into the hillside, connecting one to the other by underground passages and covered corridors. Our elderly couple lived within one such sprawling warren—“building” would be too grand a word—with roughly sixty other villagers. If you came out of their warren and walked for twenty minutes around the hill, you would have reached the next settlement, and to your eyes, this one would have seemed identical to the first. But to the inhabitants themselves, there would have been many distinguishing details of which they would have been proud or ashamed.
I have no wish to give the impression that this was all there was to the Britain of those days; that at a time when magnificent civilisations flourished elsewhere in the world, we were here not much beyond the Iron Age. Had you been able to roam the countryside at will, you might well have discovered castles containing music, fine food, athletic excellence; or monasteries with inhabitants steeped in learning. But there is no getting around it. Even on a strong horse, in good weather, you could have ridden for days without spotting any castle or monastery looming out of the greenery. Mostly you would have found communities like the one I have just described, and unless you had with you gifts of food or clothing, or were ferociously armed, you would not have been sure of a welcome. I am sorry to paint such a picture of our country at that time, but there you are.
To return to Axl and Beatrice. As I said, this elderly couple lived on the outer fringes of the warren, where their shelter was less protected from the elements and hardly benefited from the fire in the Great Chamber where everyone congregated at night. Perhaps there had been a time when they had lived closer to the fire; a time when they had lived with their children. In fact, it was just such an idea that would drift into Axl’s mind as he lay in his bed during the empty hours before dawn, his wife soundly asleep beside him, and then a sense of some unnamed loss would gnaw at his heart, preventing him from returning to sleep.
Perhaps that was why, on this particular morning, Axl had abandoned his bed altogether and slipped quietly outside to sit on the old warped bench beside the entrance to the warren in wait for the first signs of daylight. It was spring, but the air still felt bitter, even with Beatrice’s cloak, which he had taken on his way out and wrapped around himself. Yet he had become so absorbed in his thoughts that by the time he realised how cold he was, the stars had all but gone, a glow was spreading on the horizon, and the first notes of birdsong were emerging from the dimness.
He rose slowly to his feet, regretting having stayed out so long. He was in good health, but it had taken a while to shake off his last fever and he did not wish it to return. Now he could feel the damp in his legs, but as he turned to go back inside, he was well satisfied: for he had this morning succeeded in remembering a number of things that had eluded him for some time. Moreover, he now sensed he was about to come to some momentous decision—one that had been put off far too long—and felt an excitement within him which he was eager to share with his wife.
Inside, the passageways of the warren were still in complete darkness, and he was obliged to feel his way the short distance back to the door of his chamber. Many of the “doorways” within the warren were simple archways to mark the threshold to a chamber. The open nature of this arrangement would not have struck the villagers as compromising their privacy, but allowed rooms to benefit from any warmth coming down the corridors from the great fire or the smaller fires permitted within the warren. Axl and Beatrice’s room, however, being too far from any fire had something we might recognise as an actual door; a large wooden frame criss-crossed with small branches, vines and thistles which someone going in and out would each time have to lift to one side, but which shut out the chilly draughts. Axl would happily have done without this door, but it had over time become an object of considerable pride to Beatrice. He had often returned to find his wife pulling off withered pieces from the construct and replacing them with fresh cuttings she had gathered during the day.
This morning, Axl moved the barrier just enough to let himself in, taking care to make as little noise as possible. Here, the early dawn light was leaking into the room through the small chinks of their outer wall. He could see his hand dimly before him, and on the turf bed, Beatrice’s form still sound asleep under the thick blankets.
He was tempted to wake his wife. For a part of him felt sure that if, at this moment, she were awake and talking to him, whatever last barriers remained between him and his decision would finally crumble. But it was some time yet until the community roused itself and the day’s work began, so he settled himself on the low stool in the corner of the chamber, his wife’s cloak still tight around him.
He wondered how thick the mist would be that morning, and if, as the dark faded, he would see it had seeped through the cracks right into their chamber. But then his thoughts drifted away from such matters, back to what had been preoccupying him. Had they always lived like this, just the two of them, at the periphery of the community? Or had things once been quite different? Earlier, outside, some fragments of a remembrance had come back to him: a small moment when he was walking down the long central corridor of the warren, his arm around one of his own children, his gait a little crouched not on account of age as it might be now, but simply because he wished to avoid hitting his head on the beams in the murky light. Possibly the child had just been speaking to him, saying something amusing, and they were both of them laughing. But now, as earlier outside, nothing would quite settle in his mind, and the more he concentrated, the fainter the fragments seemed to grow. Perhaps these were just an elderly fool’s imaginings. Perhaps it was that God had never given them children.
You may wonder why Axl did not turn to his fellow villagers for assistance in recalling the past, but this was not as easy as you might suppose. For in this community the past was rarely discussed. I do not mean that it was taboo. I mean that it had somehow faded into a mist as dense as that which hung over the marshes. It simply did not occur to these villagers to think about the past—even the recent one.
To take an instance, one that had bothered Axl for some time: He was sure that not so long ago, there had been in their midst a woman with long red hair—a woman regarded as crucial to their village. Whenever anyone injured themselves or fell sick, it had been this red-haired woman, so skilled at healing, who was immediately sent for. Yet now this same woman was no longer to be found anywhere, and no one seemed to wonder what had occurred, or even to express regret at her absence. When one morning Axl had mentioned the matter to three neighbours while working with them to break up the frosted field, their response told him that they genuinely had no idea what he was talking about. One of them had even paused in his work in an effort to remember, but had ended by shaking his head. “Must have been a long time ago,” he had said.
Excerpted from THE BURIED GIANT by Kazuo Ishiguro. Copyright © 2015 by Kazuo Ishiguro. Excerpted by permission of Knopf, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Reading Group Guide
The questions, discussion topics, and reading list that follow are intended to enhance your reading group’s discussion of The Buried Giant, the remarkable new novel from internationally acclaimed novelist Kazuo Ishiguro.
1. Discuss the idea of the hero’s quest as perpetuated in pop culture. How does Ishiguro’s story conform to the standards of this literary trope? How does it defy it?
2. The mist that permeates Axl and Beatrice’s world creates societies wherein historical and personal memory is limited. Discuss the significance of the mist throughout the novel. How does it invite fear? When is it comforting? What allegories can you draw from it?
3. In Chapter Two, Axl and Beatrice have an uncomfortable encounter with a boatman and an old woman. Discuss the significance of this interaction. How did you interpret the woman’s odd—and brutal—behavior? How does this meeting with the boatman echo throughout the novel?
4. When Beatrice and Axl visit the Saxon village, Ivor apologizes for the fact that his community set on them like “crazed wolves” (59). At what other points in the novel is human behavior described as animalistic?
5. How does Edwin’s memory of his mother change throughout the novel? Discuss the incident in which he is stuck in the barn in Chapter Four. How does his mother’s voice act as a protective force? How much of his recollection of his mother do you think is accurate, and how much is fabricated?
6. Discuss the themes of trust and deception throughout The Buried Giant. How does the mist cause distrust between people? At what points do we see doubt creep into Axl and Beatrice’s relationship? Their relationships with other characters?
7. Discuss Edwin’s relationship with Wistan. Why do you think Wistan took Edwin under his wing?
8. Several characters are described as “warriors” in The Buried Giant. What values or traits are intrinsic to this label? How does honor factor into a warrior’s conduct?
9. In Chapter Seven, Gawain leads Beatrice, Axl, and Edwin through an underground tunnel from the monastery that they had believed to be a place of refuge. Why do you think each character see different things—bats, dead infants—during their trek? Do you think the brutality described in this scene is imagined?
10. On page 86, Edwin is described as a “mule.” Discuss the significance of this characterization, and how it echoes throughout the novel.
11. In Chapter Eleven, Beatrice and Axl have a horrifying experience while trying to ford a river. Discuss this scene, and the grotesque descriptions within it. What is the significance of Axl’s interaction with the woman on the boat? Why do you think Beatrice’s memory is so greatly affected during this scene? What does this part of their journey reveal about their relationship?
12. Part III of the novel opens with Gawain’s First Reverie. Describe the contents of this section. Why do you think Ishiguro chose to write this section in such an intimate perspective?
13. Discuss the duel between Wistan and Gawain in Chapter Fifteen. Do you believe they respect each other, despite their opposing loyalties? How did you interpret Wistan’s emotional state after slaying both Gawain and Querig?
14. Axl and Beatrice’s relationship is marked by tenderness and mutual affection throughout the novel. Were you surprised, then, by the revelation of Beatrice’s unfaithfulness? How did you interpret their final interactions in the last chapter of the novel?
15. Why do you think Ishiguro chose to have the final chapter of the book come from the perspective of the boatman?
Barnes & Noble Review Interview with Kazuo Ishiguro
Some novels are magic. They seep into your consciousness and seem to change not only the way you view the world around you, but the incidents that happen within that world. Kazuo Ishiguro's new book, The Buried Giant, is such a novel. Reading my advance copy, I found strange things happening. While reading a book about reconnecting with the past I found fragments of my own past all about me.
Reading the book in a coffee shop, I met my old English professor, someone I had not seen for many years but remembered fondly. Later, as I read the novel on the Megabus to London, the coach veered off its usual course along the East Coast, and I looked up to find myself being driven past Kirkby Lonsdale, the small Lancashire town where I had grown up.
The Buried Giant, set in what Ishiguro calls a never-never land resembling an ancient Britain of knights and dragons, is about things we forget, a past we have left behind which is about to reawaken. Remembering the forgotten thing will profoundly alter the world but remembering is also personal, and the book, like so much of Ishiguro's work, is imbued with a tantalizing, unsettling sense of something missing.
Kazuo Ishiguro opened the door to his London home and welcomed me in from the dreary January afternoon, expressing concern over whether I had been rained on.
I was led through to a living room, where the shelves were stacked with DVDs including a shelf of postwar French movies, which Ishiguro and his wife, Lorna, are interested in, he told me, not only because they're enjoyable just as films but also for what they reveal about France after the war.
The chairs were the color of orange juice, and he invited me to take one, asking if I was OK with a chair with a hard back. Lorna offered me cushions, which I declined, before telling me to "have as many biscuits as you like, because otherwise he'll eat them all."
Then she left the room, and Ishiguro and I were facing one another. The following is an edited transcript of our conversation. Hope Whitmore
The Barnes & Noble Review: The Buried Giant is very much about an old England, an England in the distant past, with knights and ogres and slaying a dragon. Why this setting?
Kazuo Ishiguro: I find that my themes remain very similar, but I like to change the periods in which they are set, and the genre, and I think that's because I like to start out with the sort of issues or questions that my novel is going to address it's almost like location hunting for filmmakers.
I wanted this story to be about a world where people had lost their memories in patches, how whole societies remember or forget and how individuals suppress memory and struggle with remembering or forgetting, but every time I thought about somewhere I wanted the novel to be set I started thinking about Yugoslavia as it broke up and descended into civil war in the 1990s, or France immediately after the Second World War. They (the French) spent most of the war collaborating with the Nazis and being occupied, and in every small village someone did betray someone, and afterward they had to forget and pretend they were all brave resistance fighters. There was a kind of unspoken agreement. "Let's not go there. Let's suppress our memory so we don't fall apart and fall into fighting and disintegration or communism."
But I wanted it to be more like a historical never-never land, so that it could be applied to all kinds of settings.
BNR: Why medieval England in particular?
KI: Well, what it was, there's a poem. You know that poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it's an anonymous poem?
BNR: Where the Green Knight cuts his head off?
KI: That's right. There's a bit in Camelot at the beginning where a strange Green Knight turns up in the middle of the Christmas festivities and sets a challenge to Gawain, "We'll take turns to take a swing with swords at one another's heads and you can have the first swing, and you can try and chop my head off and if you chop my head off you've won, but if for some reason you fail then I get to chop your head off."
Gawain has first go, and he manages to cut the Green Knight's head off, so he thinks he's won, but unfortunately the Green Knight is supernatural, so the head starts to talk and says, "OK, now it's my turn, I get to take a swing at your head, but as you're having a Christmas festival right now. I'll give you a special concession, you come and find me in a year's time at my castle and I can take a swing at you."
But what inspired me was just a tiny passage about what England was like at that time. Most of the story takes place in these castles; luxurious, palatial castles, but there's a tiny bit about well, I shouldn't say England, I should say Britain, because it wasn't England yet there was a bit about what Britain was like at that point, and its just eight lines or thereabouts, but it says he had a terrible time because there were no inns in those days, because obviously the poet is projecting back centuries as well, he says there were no inns or anything and he had to sleep on rocks in the storm, and sometimes he'd try to get food at a village and he'd be chased away by ogres, and you know, he'll be woken up by wolves attacking him when he was sleeping on a snowy bit of ground, and it was awful; then he finds this castle and the journey continues.
What struck me was this little description, and I thought actually that might be a really good setting, that might be what I've been looking for. I really liked the matter-of-fact way that ogres were mentioned, it was like farm bulls or something like that, or street dogs might bite you, it's at that kind of level.
BNR: It's a superstitious world as well.
KI: In this world [the world of the book] people naturally believe in God, they're not quite sure what kind of God it is, but they don't doubt there's a God and that's second nature. Some of that we still have. So we don't call that superstition. You know, if it was what people believed I respected it and allowed it to be real in the world.
I thought, if a person of that time believed in something, in my fictional world I'd let it exist for real. Now that was my kind of rule, but I wouldn't create something weird that people wouldn't normally believe in. So a flying saucer wouldn't land in that world, because that's not in the imaginary limits of the people. But a belief in spirits - - or ogres or dragons or pixies out there in the wild most people would have half believed or really believed things like that, so I thought in my fictional world I'd let it literally exist. So it is sort of a fantastical world, but it's not a free-for-all. It's not a world where anything could exist. It's superstitious if you like but it's the superstitions that you know, have existed, that's how I did it.
I was saying, it should be called Britain rather than England because in the book, the Anglo-Saxons, who've been landing in and settling in this country, will become the English, but it's not England yet. England hasn't really been invented. So, it's right at the point where what used to be Roman Britain is falling to pieces after the Romans have left, the point where it turns "English." Anglo-Saxon invaders are about to sweep across the country, probably wiping out the Britons, and you know, their language is the language we're speaking now.
It's a big blank in history, but there's been a sort of consensus long held that there probably was some kind of genocide at that point, because it's called the Anglo-Saxon settlement, and that's when the foundations of England are laid, at the end of the fifth century.
BNR: And this slaughter is unleashed by the memories released when the mist that causes forgetfulness disappears. So the idea of genocide is really important to the book?
KI: I was very disturbed by what happened in the '90s in the old Yugoslavia. We'd grown up in the Cold War, always afraid of a nuclear shootout with the Soviet Union, and there was a real sense of relief when the Cold War ended and the Berlin Wall came down, and it felt we're going to enter this really nice period and there was a really optimistic feeling for a while, and the Yugoslavia thing was horrible, because just within a few years of the end of the Cold War we had concentration camps, we had a massacre, right in the middle of Europe, in a country where some of us had been on holiday, or hitchhiking or backpacking holidays. We had the Srebrenica massacre, the worst massacre since the Second World War, and it was all to do with one ethnic community wanting to wipe out another, so it was a very disturbing thing to see happening in the heart of Europe. Then that was very closely followed by the Rwanda massacres.
These episodes had quite an impact on me, and ever since, I've wondered how can a country suddenly explode like that? How can it turn into such a bloodbath? And it was particularly disturbing because it was these people who had been living in these villages and towns together, people who'd been babysitting one another's children went next door and burned their neighbors' house and hanged the inhabitants.
And one of the things that stood out is the role that suppressed memory has in all this. People have agreed to just forget things that happened in the past, but when somebody deliberately stirs these memories in order to stir awake war or stir awake hatred, people suddenly think "Oh, those people across the road, I thought they were OK, but way back when their lot did horrible things to my lot, and unless we do something now they're going to do it again."
Northern Ireland was like that as well. Protestants and Catholics both dragged out these ritualistic things, the marching season, ancient battles, ancient atrocities, in order to fuel the modern-day hatred.
So, that's partly why I've created this old-fashioned mythical story about memories being suppressed by something magical. Today, memories are controlled by media propaganda. In a country like ours, how do we actually go about looking at the past? And its something to do with popular entertainment, books, museums, the royal days we have, and all these things have a huge impact on what one age group of people thinks happened in the past.
BNR: But can't remembering awful things make them less likely to happen again? Yesterday was Holocaust Memorial Day I read an article about how a writer's grandparents were killed in the Holocaust., and I thought at the time how important it was not to forget these things.
KI: I don't come down on one side or the other about remembering or forgetting. It's kind of a parallel to an argument about mental illness. Is it best to go to a therapist and stir awake memories about trauma and childhood, or is it better to leave it alone and move on and all that?
Take somewhere like America. One of their forgotten things, or things they don't like to think about, is the way they've treated African Americans. Just in the past year there were so much protest around a white policeman shooting a black man. Obviously America isn't at ease as a society over this someone might say it's because America never really owned up to how badly it treated African Americans. Until it goes back into its past and really looks at it and tries to address all these grievances it will never be at peace with itself. There will always be these eruptions of violence.
On the other hand someone else might say, you go back through all that, you're just going to make it worse. You're just going to make all these people angry that this stuff was done to their ancestors, so we should pretend we all got on, we all got on really well.
I think this country Britain has chosen to remember the whole history of the Empire in a very sanitized way. And Japan has decided to forget that the Japanese army invaded China and most of South Asia and committed atrocities. They've completely blocked it out, literally out of their school textbooks, which causes tremendous friction with China now.
I think France is a really interesting case of a country that's had to work very, very hard to forget something. Like the mist in the story, you know. France is still under some kind of strange mist.
I wouldn't want to imply that there was something peculiarly wrong with the French, that the French have something wrong with them and the rest of us are far more civilized that the French. I have a problem with that, because I think that's what all people are like. Whether its about America and Native Americans or America and the African Americans it's the human condition, and it will continue.
I think that almost everybody's got something like this, and its an interesting subject, but I don't think that there's an easy answer to when is it best to make something like this up, when's it better to just forget it, when should you really confront the past? Because sometimes confronting the past can lead to mayhem.
Like South Africa after apartheid, I think it's a really, really delicate balance. So many people were so furious about all those years when they were treated badly by minority whites, but I think Mandela and Co., when they came to power, were determined to avoid civil war or violence of any sort they were really careful. They set up the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, so people were allowed to come up and express their bitterness and anger, and they got some sense of justice being done in some sort of way. But they tried to not go too far down the road of arresting many people doing a purge. Too much remembering about what had happened would just lead to civil war and violence, and the country just couldn't cope.
It's much the same with a marriage. For Axl and Beatrice [the couple at the center of The Buried Giant], is it better to remember the bad parts of their marriage or is it better to just forget it? Could it destroy their love if they remember too much? I had no answers to this the story isn't trying to come don on one side or another, it's just saying, this is how we lived. We live with these dilemmas.
BNR: So would you consider setting a story like this in a real place, like France or Yugoslavia, say?
KI: I guess the answer is probably not. For a start I think I would have to really become quite expert on that situation. I don't think it would be fair if I just skirted over those details I'd have to really know my stuff to talk about one place, what had happened historically. And I'm not sure why would I want to single out one particular place, you know, there's a kind of like an unfairness to that, I don't want to make that an example. I don't want to suggest that that any one kind of place is, you know, different, and this is why I think I often find myself creating worlds which are unrealistic, like in Never Let Me Go or in this book. I'm a novelist as opposed to a journalist, or a reporter or an essayist, I feel my territory is to talk about universal human experiences, its not to report on what happened at a particular place at a particular time.
I think if that was what I was doing I would have to do it in a disciplined way. I should research it, I should claim my sources, I should plan my research like reportage, you know? When you're making things up in fiction it's a different kind of thing. You're appealing to people's experiences as human beings, and you're saying, is this something that strikes you as true about human behavior?
BNR: You were born in Nagasaki nine years after it was bombed, and I wondered, did this cast a shadow over your writing in any way?
KI: Well, actually, the odd thing was, I didn't really understand that Nagasaki was so distinct in having been atom- bombed. It took me some time to realize that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the only places in history to have suffered nuclear attacks.
When I was growing up there people didn't tend to tell us, a four-year- old, a five-year old, "Did you know what happened?"
But I remember people mentioning it and there was no secret about it.
So I never associated Nagasaki with the atomic bomb. For me Nagasaki is all kinds of other things. I have all these colorful memories of our house, my toys, my kindergarten. I remember all this stuff, but I still don't think of it emotionally as connected with the atomic bomb.
BNR: I wonder what it will be that overshadows our generation.
KI: Sometimes you don't see that until you look back. I don't know. The world is still very volatile.
BNR: Yes the Twin Towers happened when our generation were children and triggered the Iraq war.
KI: I'm not sure how to say it, but I want to point out that when you say it "triggered the Iraq war" the war wasn't inevitable by any means. Saddam Hussein had nothing at all to do with 9/11. There was no link between the two. It was something that a handful of world leaders made happen in the general hysteria and mental chaos after 9/11. They just took the opportunity to attack Iraq. And instead of addressing who had committed this atrocity it was a step backwards, almost certainly because of the amount of effort that went into fighting in Iraq. They weren't able to pursue Al Qaeda properly in Afghanistan or wherever else they were. I think we'll look back on that episode in history and it will seem baffling why those people were allowed to take a huge hunk of the west into a war in Iraq.
And that's coming close to what we were talking about before. This is an example of very recent history and perhaps people aren't willing to go back there, perhaps because to put it coldly it's an absolute disaster what the British and Americans did, and we don't even know the extent of the disaster yet.
BNR: And now it's horrendous.
KI: Yes and now, they say, "OK, we did a good job, we're going to pull out." And within a few days we have ISIS or IS those guys emerged within about three minutes of the allies pulling out, just committing atrocities on fellow Muslims, you know, all the way across Syria and Iraq. I mean the whole place is destabilized with groups that even Al Qaeda describe as too extreme, I mean, what a result, hey?
BNR: You did creative writing at the University of East Anglia. Creative writing courses have been criticized lately, by Hanif Kureishi among others.
KI: Ah, that's Hanif, yes. He said something like, if I was one of those students, I'd be better off finding a mentor. Well, that's just typical Hanif, he often says things that other people are too polite to say, but I think there's some element of truth in it. My feeling is that the creative writing industry, which is what it's become, has to get regulated better. There has to be something equivalent to AA ratings for hotels, or stars or something.
The creative writing thing is a Wild West at the moment, and I think there are people actually saving up money and spending it on fees to be taught by someone who's never published a novel, or published poetry. I know a very reputable one at one of the main universities in London right now where there's a guy teaching fiction. He's never published a novel, for all I know he's never even written a novel.
You certainly can't teach writing because you've read a lot or you're a distinguished scholar in English literature, any more than a music critic can teach someone to play piano, or someone who can't swim being a coach for the Olympic swimming team, you know? It's just absurd.
I have a feeling creative writing schools are more mature in America, and some of the best names in contemporary literature teach at U.S. universities. People like Toni Morrison until she retired was teaching at Princeton, and there's always been a different attitude in America about teaching writing a lot of writers feel that if they do it even a little bit, they should do it, sort of like classical musicians, they'll take on a few pupils, you know? So it is sort of a different scene and its much more mature.
After the interview, Ishiguro went in search of Lorna. They called me a Halo, a kind of taxi they have prepaid credit for, to take me to the Tube.
I chatted with my taxi driver on the way to the station. He wants to be a writer, but he never shows his work to anyone. It felt like another piece of residual magic, seeping into life from The Buried Giant, now tatty and dog-eared but nevertheless signed by Kazuo Ishiguro, resting in my bag.
March 3, 2015
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
Be patient with this book. It is one of Ishiguro's finest. The more I read the more I really fell in love with this book and its characters. It's very different from his other books, but aren't they all. This emotional tale is extremely well written. Hope you like it too.
“…for if we’re mortal let us at least shine handsomely in God’s eyes while we walk this earth!” The Buried Giant is the seventh novel by award-winning Japanese-born author, Kazuo Ishiguro. Set in post-Arthurian Britain, it follows the journey of a Briton couple, Axl and Beatrice, as they travel some distance to a village where their son, whom they have not seen for quite some years, now waits for them. Along the way, they are drawn into dramas and conflicts involving the people they encounter. The couple are convinced the land is plagued by a mist of forgetfulness, and determined to learn the cause, trusting their love will withstand any memories that are revealed. Having already met a ferryman and a resentful widow, they are eventually accompanied by a Saxon warrior, a boy with a strange wound and an Arthurian knight with his faithful steed. At a monastery they seek and find wisdom and healing, but are also met with betrayal, monsters, and soldiers. And while one monk asserts “…we must uncover what’s hidden and face the past”, they have difficulty discerning truths from the half-truths and lies they are told. And if they achieve their goal and clear the mist? “Who knows what will come when quick-tongued men make ancient grievances rhyme with fresh desire for land and conquest?” Ishiguro fills his tale with creatures, characters, objects and happenings from myth and legend: a she-dragon, pixies, a ferry crossing, ogres, instruments of torture, secret tunnels and sword battles. He touches on hate and tolerance, enmity and allegiance, honour and duty, love, loyalty and revenge, war and peace. An Arthurian form of censorship also features. Ishiguro treats the reader to some beautiful prose, but readers of his earlier work will remark on how different this one is. Quite unexpected. With thanks to The Reading Room and Allen and Unwin for this copy to read and review.
A very harmonious book on life and the power, or need, of forgetting. Sometimes things must be forgotten, at others, things must be remembered. The cycle-of-violence is poignant: somewhat satirical, the novel is, perhaps, a critique on society's flaws. Axl and Beatrice go on a journey to find their son. On the way they run into a deluded knight, a warrior-Saxon, a strange boy, and meddling monks. The journey is not just an adventure, it is a trial of wills and a testament to love. The bonds that hold people are sometimes stronger than the lies that have been revealed. A stunning novel about the horrors of war, the persistence and tenacity of humanity and the delusions of leaders who though they were only doing what was right. Ishiguro has finally made a novel that includes all the aspects and points of his other works combined. Although the narration slips between recent-past and present, it is done with ease and almost without notice. Just a fun and involving read, practically perfect!
Absolutely beautifully written. The novel is set in a mythical Britain, but its themes are universal. It asks questions we still ask, questions about war and about forgetfulness, and ultimately about love. What is love without memory? Honestly, one of the most moving, gorgeous books I've read in a very long time.
Set in Saxon times the author of this book has an amazing talent to transport a reader back hundreds of year and make then reader feel part of the story. I shall be reading more books from this author.
First I have to say that I was disappointed with Barnes & Noble. I ordered this book online, being promised a signed copy, but the copy I received was unsigned. Luckily, I managed to get it signed when Ishiguro visited Houston on 25th March, so all is well, but I did feel slightly cheated. That aside, this is another brilliant book from Ishiguro, completely different from his others and yet with that same feeling of strangeness and frustration that he manages to engender with his exquisitely precise writing. Enjoy!
The book started very well, no lag into getting into the story. Your reading flows and you are eager for the next chapter. It combine a great flow of the story to the people in it. With a touch of King Arthur and a couples love. Worth the time,
In the days when Britons were menaced by ogres, dragons, pixies and Saxons, a mysterious malady descends across the land robbing all of their memories. An elderly couple, Axl and Beatrice, cudgel their besotted brains to remember things that happened only a short time ago. On a morning when Beatrice slumbered late, Axl forces the memory of their estranged son to the forefront of his mind. He recalls that they intended to make a journey to visit him in the village where he took refuge after some familial conflict. Along the way, they acquire the company of an ogre slaying Saxon warrior, a geriatric dragon slaying knight of King Arthur’s court and a Saxon boy with a dragon’s bite on his belly. Beatrice has a mysterious pain and is advised to seek the counsel of a wise monk. En route to the mountaintop monastery, they encounter a bereaved woman who is sworn to torment a duplicitous boatman for separating her from her beloved husband. The couple should be advised to be wary of taking boat rides from strangers. In the end, no one will be found to be as they seem, and no one lives happily ever after. The reader should be advised that this is a very dense book. Why then did I read it? Well, it was required reading for the La Verne Writers’ Group. My problem is primarily the pace, which is glacial, and is made so mainly by the dialogue. No character can open his mouth without embarking on a Hamlet-like soliloquy. On they drone, and repeat themselves to infinity. My other problem is the multitudinous viewpoints and tenses. We are treated to storytelling by a first person narrator, third person viewpoints from various characters’ heads and first person ‘reveries’ by characters, particularly the knight who rambles garrulously for way too many pages, and he spends a great deal of time talking to his horse. I’ve told all this in the foul light of my opinion. If you like that kind of thing, Buried Giant is for you. Apparently, somebody likes it, because Kazuo Ishiguro is a bestselling author. As I age, I am forced to say more frequently, “I just don’t get it.”
Really enjoy this authors use of language and I found the story compelling.
The journey of Axl and Beatrice has given me much to think about. At times I grew weary of this book but stayed with it. It was well worth the effort!
I went into this with high hopes and finished it last night. The characters were fine and the story had promise. The writing itself was lovely, but the dialogue between the characters was a nightmare. Repetition that would go on for PAGES. The end is supposed to be thought-provoking, but the only thing I thought was that I'm so glad it's over! How did this win the Nobel Prize for Literature? This is the third stinker I've read this month. Remember when it used to be difficult to be published? Has reading a book, whether digital or in print, become such a novelty that they will simply publish anything now?
Memory lost and gained. Love lost and rediscovered in an allegorical piece of literature that compels multiple readings to provoke inner reflections of the reader's personal circumstances. A true epic in every sense of the word.
This was a hard one to get through.
This book is terrible. It reads like some junk they make you read in 5th grade. Baby talking adults and molasses like pace. I gave after 100 pages. It ain't Remains and more like My Weekly Reader!
Alzheimers takes the memories of many loved ones today. But Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel, The Buried Giant, is set in a mythically historical England, in the time just after King Arthur; and memories, while lost, might not have to be gone forever. The novel’s told in a dreamlike blend of mythic, epic, and quietly personal prose. Familiar characters and situations from legend combine with an intriguing historicity to lend a sense of urgency. And mysteries, lost with memory, gradually reshape and reawaken a quietly fantastical reality. The giant, buried on the plain, must not be woken up. But what of giants buried in the past? What of memories that surge from the featureless mist? What of the history between two people who remember only that they should be in love? The buried giant hides cool surprises in its pages—some appear with the delight of recognition from ancient tales; others with a sting for the present day. Should wrongs go forgotten and unpunished? Are betrayals better not remembered? Does love hold or let go? The Buried Giant is a strange novel, deeply absorbing and oddly reflective, bound together by a jigsaw puzzle of ideas and images, and haunted by memory. Disclosure: I bought it because I loved the cover. I love the book too.
Several times, while reading this story of an elderly couple on a mythical journey to seek their son, it occurred to me that an examined life is a costly one, and that some are incapable of paying the price self-knowledge exacts. Some of us reject our pasts and simply stumble along for the remainder of our lives. Others pay attention to where we've been and assume ownership. Well written and thought provoking, this novel consistently avoids full disclosure - perhaps representative of our own internal defense systems that protect rather than inform? Eleanor Cowan, author of : A History of a Pedophile's Wife
The Buried Giant - Great theme, diminished by poor presentation George Santayana said, "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." Kazuo Ishiguro explores that notion in his novel The Buried Giant, set medieval Britain. Axl and Beatrice are an elderly couple who decide, quite inexplicably, to visit their son who lives in a village a short, but dangerous journey away - they think. The problem is everyone, the entire population, is suffering from loss of memory. They can hardly remember what transpired even a few weeks ago. Axl and Beatrice don't remember why their son left, exactly where the village he lives in is, or if they'll be welcomed when they arrive? On their way they take up with a wandering Saxon warrior, Wistan, and also come across Sir Gawain, an aging knight who served King Arthur. Glimpses of the past intrigue and befuddle all the characters. Have their paths crossed before? Were they friend or foe? And what has caused this loss of memory? The story is sprinkled with myth and legend and a good thing because this reader had to apply magic to make sense of Ishiguro's plot. At some point Beatrice becomes convinced that the pervasive memory loss is caused by the breath of the legendary dragon, Querig, who lives high in the mountains. And wouldn't you know it, Wistan is on a mission to kill that very same dragon. Beatrice now decides her goal is to help dispatch the dragon first. Just how an aged woman in failing health can help is never explained. Once everyone's memory is restored she and Axl will then proceed to visit their son. Sir Gawain also joins in the quest to kill the dragon or so the reader is led to believe. Ironically, most of the partial memories that continue to be evoked are far from pleasant - turmoil in relationships and war and slaughter of innocent women and children. Axl's worries what the future will hold if memories are restored. Though the theme of the story is compelling this reader had to wonder why Ishiguro chose such a odd narrative vehicle to present it. The significance of whether knowing history, personal or societal, helps us avoid the same mistakes or encourages us to double-down on them was lost because the story was set in the distant past, muddled in myth and supernatural creatures, and burdened by the archaic dialogue style the author created.
I liked this book quite a lot. I thought the dreamlike quality of the storytelling was suitable to this P.S. to the Arthurian legend. As usual with Ishiguro, it's about sadness and separation and circumstances beyond our control, but so compellingly told I was sorry when it ended. As sympathetic, in one way or another, as most of the human characters in the book were, it's the dragon and her fate that's really stuck with me. I've rarely seen horrible pain and cruelty dealt with so delicately.
This is one of those books for me that requires, at least, a second reading because there are so many layers of meaning happening throughout that you can't make sense of until the end. There was a lot of echoing of themes, events, motifs, etc., but we heard the echoes first many times, so it wasn't until towards the last third of the book that you actually see the sources for the echoes. But by then the pace had become a little tedious and it was hard to associate the two. A second reading would likely do this justice, but I don't think I'm going to re-visit this one anytime soon. If you're reading this for the first time, pay close attention throughout as it comes together in the end. It helps if you're familiar with King Arthur and the legends, but it doesn't hinder the reading if you're not. For me, the most intriguing part of the plot/concept was the idea of forgetfulness offering some kind of peace. It raises thought-provoking questions such as 1) do the characters live authentic lives if they cannot remember their pasts, 2) must we carry our pasts with us in order to be happy, 3) is forgetting a way to make peace? War also looms in the background waiting to occur when memory is restored. In the context of our modern-day wars, it definitely made me think about whether I would forego memory in order to have some peace. Overall a good book and worth a read.
sometimes you must dig out the symbolism of the characters
If I had to take one book to a desert island this may well be it. If you like Medieval Tales, Grimm's, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Tolkien this ones for you. All with current day political and personal resonance.