The emotional dominant of the prose of Kazuo Ishiguro, a British by culture and language and a Japanese by blood, is a vague, poignant sadness, barely perceptible, almost causeless and at the same time full of deep content. In his youth, the future famous writer dreamed of becoming a musician, and later transferred his love for music to the sphere of literature: all his books literally breathe symphonic harmony.
The emotional dominant of the prose of Kazuo Ishiguro, a British by culture and language and a Japanese by blood, is a vague, poignant sadness, barely perceptible, almost causeless and at the same time full of deep content. In his youth, the future famous writer dreamed of becoming a musician, and later transferred his love for music to the sphere of literature: all his books literally breathe symphonic harmony. “Where the hills are in the haze” is the first novel by Ishiguro, which today has become a classic. His heroine, Japanese Etsuko, who married an Englishman and moved to England with her daughter from her first marriage, recalls the years of her youth spent in war-ravaged Nagasaki. A chance meeting with a strange young woman named Sachiko and her daughter — not loved by her mother, an abandoned and lonely animal — becomes for Etsuko the mirror in which she tries to discern her — at first glance, such an idyllic — relationship with her own daughters. The lyrical and piercing novel by Ishiguro seems to be completely devoid of action, however, the hidden suffering of the heroine, pulsing in every line, galvanizes the reader’s nerves, forcing her to empathize with her with incredible, almost painful strength.
Eksmo, 224 p.