1Ishiguro’s ageing second novel has an ageing artist Masuji Ono look back on the events of his life in what seems to be an attempt to locate some form of truth about himself. Although the macrostructure of the novel creates an impression of rigorous chronology and progression because of the four dates displayed as ‘intertitles’ (from ‘October 1948’ to ‘June 1950’), at the microstructure level, the many digressions of the narrative are organized so as to create a totally different effect: Ono’s story unfolds through recollections and goes far beyond the announced 18-month period which fonctions as four entries of a diary. It spans to a thirty-year period of time as the labyrinthine to-and-fro ramblings of an old man amount to an incomplete account of his life. There are many gaps in the narrative, many spatio-temporal leaps between a hypothetical future (Ono’s daughter’s marriage negotiations), reportage on the immediate present (his relationship with his daughters, son-in-law, grandson, former student and friends), recollections of the recent past (marriage arrangements falling through) and the distant past (his training and career as an artist).
2I will analyse the different digression techniques (recalled situations and conversations, embedded staries) favoured by Ishiguro in Artist of the Floating World. From the various narratives within the narrative, the reader can reconstruct not only a story but several, not to mention the different contexts of these stories which include important historical events. However, the separate narrative strands can also be brought together as the reader tries to form a complete picture from fragmented pieces. The different strands of the story are established through a constant interplay of opposites rather than similarities. Ono’s focalization reinforces the contrast between the past and the present: Ono finds himself ‘floating’ between two worlds—the two periods in question being a pre-WWII period where Japan is unknowingly heading towards a tragic destiny and a post-WWII period where Japan, as a defeated nation, develops a different relationship with the US (indirectly portrayed through cultural indicators such as the success of American films in Japan). Although the oppositions between the two worlds are striking, they become Jess so as the narrative progresses.
3Digression techniques serve the purpose of contrasting but also of superimposing; as the reader deciphers juxtaposed and superimposed images in the novel, a palimpsestic interpretation of Ono’s floating world wins out (versus the opposition between the traditional and modern world). The reader is stimulated to construct major oppositions between past and present worlds and then move beyond the oppositions in order to grasp the complexity of the palimpsestic vision.
- 1 See Gregory Mason, ‘An Interview with Kazuo Ishiguro’, Contemporary Literature, 30/3 (1989), p. 337
4The various digressions of the text create an impression of spontaneous resurfacing of memories. The narrative strategy aims at staging Ono’s desire for sincerity but also his inability to fully come to terms with the past. If the reader often doubts Ono’s discourse and raises the question of the reliability of the narration, the very ‘murkiness’1 of Ono’s memories also point to a number of other issues which equally need to be addressed. As the novel progresses, themes related to the value of nostalgia become apparent. The final scene is particularly significant in that respect: Ono’s outlook on life broadens and the character’s hope for a better world becomes apparent as he contemplates the future generation.
5The narrator of Artist of the Floating World embarks on his first digression in the very third paragraph of the opening page: ‘The truth is, I bought the house for a nominal sum—a figure probably not even half the property’s true value at the time’ (7). The digression stems from the superposition of the image of his house in the present time and the memory of that property when Ono bought it. From that passage onwards, digression in Artist of the Floating World fonctions mainly through the juxtaposition and superposition of images. The most common method of aligning two episodes is the flashback which operates via the connection of images.
- 2 Gregory Mason, ‘Inspiring Images: The Influence of the Japanese Cinema on the Writings of Kazuo Ish (...)
- 3 Gregory Mason, ‘An Interview with Kazuo Ishiguro,’ Contemporary Literature, 30/3 (1989), p. 339.
6Because the narrative stages the faltering memory of an ageing character, the extensive use of digression is fully justified. The narrator moves from one memory to another; he includes comments related to past and present events and then he readily admits that he has been digressing (‘But I am digressing’, 28; ‘But again I have drifted’, 151 etc.). The effect on the reader is one of eavesdropping and getting a glimpse of the ‘mental landscape’ of a character as he is struggling to stay focused and also trying to reconcile himself with his own past. The digressions also give the reader time to reflect on the protagonist as they slow down the narrative ‘retard[ing] and dispers[ing] the impetus of . . . narratives in order to reveal subtler and surprising aspects of character’.2 Because of Ono’s daughter’s comments and because of the narrator’s various reflections, the reader is soon given to understand that Ono’s past contains certain elements which are difficult for the narrator to face. According to Ishiguro’s own comment, ‘[The novel] is an exploration of somebody trying to come to terms with the fact that he has somehow misused his talents unknowingly, simply because he didn’t have any extraordinary power of insight into the world he lived in’.3 This statement about not being an ‘extraordinary’ man corresponds to Matsuda’s comment about being ‘ordinary’: ‘ . . . there is no need to blame ourselves unduly . . . It’s just that in the end we turned out to be ordinary men. Ordinary men with no special gifts of insight. It was simply our misfortune to have been ordinary men during such times.’ (199–200). Unlike Matsuda, Ono does not believe himself to have been an ‘ordinary man’ and he wonders at Matsuda’s observations. He silently accuses his friend of ‘prevaricat[ing]’ (202) in failing to point out the aspects of his life ‘that he could feel proud of’ (201). Although he recognizes that they both have taken ‘bold steps’ and often done things ‘with much single mindedness’ (202), Ono clings on to his sense of pride: ‘ . . . this is surely preferable to never putting one’s conviction to the test, for Jack of courage’ (202). Ono’s reflections remind the reader of his self-deception earlier on when considering the example of Shintaro: ‘there is surely no great shame in mistakes made in the best of faith’ (125). Nevertheless, Ono’s pride and persistent efforts to construct a flattering image of himself lead to an ultimate (although maybe only provisional) humble conclusion as he claims that in reassessing one’s achievement the most one can hope for is perhaps ‘a moment or two of real satisfaction’ (204). The type of satisfaction that Ono is referring to is difficult to pinpoint: it may mean satisfaction concerning one’s faith and one’s ability to rise above mediocrity even if one’s commitments lead to mistakes (Ono’s memories of past achievements may actually be a way of deluding himself regarding his artistic talent); or it may refer to moments of truth and moments of insight. Such moments are indeed fleeting and random but it is significant that the novel should end on a scene staging such a moment of truth. Acknowledgement is staged both as a painful experience (for example, when Ono converses with Matsuda, the smell of burning in the garden makes him uneasy and reminds him of death, 200) or an elating experience (in the last scene of the novel, Ono’s owning up to past mistakes is infused with nostalgia which throws a different light on the experience of acknowledgement).
- 4 In The Robber Bride, Zenia manipulates Roz into becoming her friend by making up a confession. Her (...)
7The fragmented structure of Ono’s confession and the nature of his comments convey the impression of an ambivalent discourse which takes into account other characters’ perception of the narrator’s failings. The reader holds back from passing judgement on the protagonist and endeavours to understand the complexity of Ono’s life. The reader feels a certain respect for Ono’s attempt to ‘own up’ to his past and to report other characters’ critical judgements concerning both his past and present. The process of owning up surely shows an ‘admirable quality’, as described in Atwood’s fiction.4 But the reader wonders whether Ono is truly capable of facing the past, as his investigation of past events remains partial and superficial and as he sometimes seems hardly conscious of the terrible deeds for which he was responsible: for example, when he relates Sasaki’s begging comfort from him (143), Ono consigns facts as if he could not quite read into them. He makes no comment on his rejection of his friend—the reader may interpret his silence as an expression of unspeakable regret, or on the contrary as a form of blindness and unconsciousness. After this episode about Sasaki, the narrator moves on to another series of memories concerning Mori-san and defends his master’s influence over the group of students. Rather than admitting his lack of resistance to indoctrination, he chooses to praise Mori-san’s charisma and refuses to be critical of the beliefs and values imposed by such a master: ‘You may gather from such recollections that our devotion to our teacher and to his principles was fierce and total. And it is easy with hindsight—once the shortcomings of an influence have become obvious—to be critical of a teacher who fosters such a climate. But then again, anyone who has held ambitions on a grand scale . . . will have some sympathy for the way Mori-san conducted things’ (144). The reader draws a parallel between Ono’s defence of Mori-san and Shintaro’s disavowal of his master. The narrator criticizes Shintaro’s behaviour claiming he would ‘be a happier man if he had the courage and the honesty to accept what he did in the past’ (125). However, Ono’s acceptance of his pastis somewhat ambivalent and haphazard. For example, Ono both identifies with his master and claims being independent from him. As he relates his master’s goals, the reader is given to understand that, to some extent, Ono shares Mori-san’s outlook on life. Although Japan’s strident nationalism and Mori-san’s values have been invalidated, the master’s devotion to capturing the ‘floating world’ is legitimized by Ono’s reporting of the Sensei’s teachings: ‘The best things . . . are put together of a night and vanish with the morning. What people call the floating world, . . . The finest, the most fragile beauty an artist can hope to capture drifts within those pleasure houses after dark . . . When I am an old man, when I look back over my life and see I have devoted it to the task of capturing the unique beauty of that world, I believe I will be satisfied’ (150–51). As Ono recalls Mori-san’s words, he claims they are probably his own words, as he was taught to think and speak like his master (151). Nevertheless, later in the narrative, Ono underlines the fact that he did try to break away from his master’s influence but that he was not allowed to do so. In relating this incident, Ono behaves in the same way as Shintaro, as he takes great pains to demonstrate that he once disagreed with his master: ‘My conscience, Sensei, tells me I cannot remain forever an artist of the floating world’ (180). As Ono expresses his desire not to remain under Sensei’s influence, his master scorns the ‘new avenues’ (177) that he has been exploring in his recent paintings. Because Ono remembers using the same expression as his master when addressing his own pupil Kuroda, two episodes are superimposed: Ono’s master’s rejection of his pupil and the narrator’s own rejection of Kuroda. As the narrator reflects on Mori-san’s arrogance and argues that ‘ . . . it is perhaps understandable, if not entirely excusable, that the teacher Jose for a moment his sense of proportion and react in ways he may later regret’ (181). In excusing his master, Ono endeavours to justify his own behaviour toward Kuroda and work through feelings of guilt which frequently resurface. Ono also underlines that he had not foreseen the consequences of his rejection of Kuroda, thus minimizing his responsibility for Kuroda’s arrest. But although the narrator’s responsibility is minimized, there is no doubt that Ono is the ‘man on whose information [the officers] have been brought to [Kuroda’s home]’ (182). The juxtaposition of the two episodes serves the purpose of showing that selfjustification and self-forgiveness for Ono implies abandoning his harsh judgement of his master. Indeed, Ono forgives Mori-San for his ‘[petty] manoeuvring over the possession of [his pupil’s] paintings’ (181), as it would be incoherent not to (Ono has done the same to his own pupils). The reader is manipulated into a greater understanding of Ono, as Ono himself demonstrates his capacity to understand others’ failures. Such an interpretation emerges as the reader pieces together the fragmented episodes within the narrative.
8Thus, the fragmented nature of the narration points to a key element of the narrative strategy where the reminiscence of one event leads to another, allowing many gaps to interrupt the narrative and creating space for the questioning to emerge.
9These gaps are read either as an evasion of facts or as a trick of memory revealing the narrator’s only partially successful attempt to allow things to come to the surface. Time is no longer presented as a linear progression. As the narrator of Margaret Atwood’s Cat’s Eye novel would put it: ‘Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space.’ Atwood’s character sees time as ‘having a shape, something you can [see], like a series of liquid transparencies, one laid on top of another. You don’t look back along time but down through it, like water. Sometimes this comes to the surface, sometimes that, sometimes nothing. Nothing goes away’ (3). The narrator of Artist of the Floating World, looking back on his life, like looking through water, gives the reader the impression that ‘this’ or ‘that’ randomly comes to the surface. But it is worth noticing that Ono’s faulty memory is also a powerful tool to manipulate the reader into empathizing with the character. It also reveals Ono’s need to construct a self-image which corresponds to his own fantasy. The narrator’s inability to confront a far-from-flattering version of his past leads to a blocking out of his past political responsibilities. The unreliability of Ono’s narrative is underlined by the narrative itself as it draws the reader’s attention to the impossibility of art as a mode of representation; one of his comments entails a revelation for the reader on the subject of portraits: ‘I cannot recall any colleague who could paint a self-portrait with absolute honesty; however accurately one may fill in the surface details of one’s mirror reflection, the personality represented rarely comes near the truth as others would see it’ (67). In other words, if this statement is applied to Ono’s own narrative, whichever self-portrait Ono constructs for the reader, it is bound to be a false one.
10Whether reliable or not, the narrative, like the paintings Ono describes, is to be considered as a work of art. At first, the reader concentrates on piecing together the different fragments of the narrative but on second reading, the recurrent use of digression displaces the emphasis away from the story and towards story-telling or mise-en-scène (not only for the benefit of the reader but also for the narrator’s own benefit, as Ono himself is deeply involved in the process of self-fictionalization).
- 5 Sarvan raises the question of deceit: ‘Is [Ono] deceiving only through self-deceit? Or is this self (...)
11In spite of the warning provided by Ono’s comment, the reader is tempted to take the character at face value and to give the narrator the credit for being sincere. But key signifiers such as ‘sincerity’ and ‘self-delusion’ are not necessarily incompatible. It is clear that, rather than making amends for his support of the nationalist regime, Ono prefers to place the emphasis of his narrative on impermanence namely on the ‘floating world’ which is emblematic of change and elusion. For example, Ono’s retrospective view juxtaposed with events concerning the present situation highlights the fact that the word ‘traitor’ is given a different meaning according to context (yesterday’s traitors have become today’s heroes). It is as though Ono engages in a pleading for past values because he is unable to carry out a painful investigation of the truth. Nevertheless, Ono’s discourse is not perceived as a deliberate manipulation of the reader (we are not led to agree with Ono on the subject of Mori-san’s superiority, nor on the one of Shintaro’s so-called hypocrisy), although, as far as the protagonist is concerned, self-persuasion, reassurance and delusion are clearly at work.5 The digressions are staged as spontaneous rather than strategic, and, to a certain degree, they command the reader’s sympathy and compassion.
12The impression of sincerity conveyed by the digressions is caused by narrative techniques which I would now like to point out and analyse: The fragmented narrative is given credibility because of the age of the character and the post-war context in which both outer and inner space seem to be fragmented. The character’s own apologies for the fragmented nature of his discourse reinforce the idea of spontaneity and of unconscious resurfacing. Finally, the digressions are brought about by techniques also used in the cinema which suggest close relationships between two scenes and thus stage the character’s trail ofthoughts.
13As the reader is encouraged to thread through the contrasted layers of the diegesis and make sense of what Ono reveals, images and metaphors of destruction and fragmentation are weaved into the narrative. Ono’s own environment is described as fragmented, only to be glimpsed through an interplay of lights and shades, and partially destroyed by the war (11). The war damage affects both the landscape and Ono’s home or inner space (11, 27, 28 etc.). Thus Ono’s mindscape itself is characterized by fragmentation and it is hardly surprising to the reader that his reflections on the past should be so fragmented. The narrator calls the reader’s attention to the fact that he is digressing (28) and that he is struggling to stay focused (40–50); his apologies to the reader convey the impression of an effluvia of memories flowing in beyond Ono’s control.
14Further techniques used by the author in order to create an impression of a spontaneous resurfacing of memories are similar to film techniques. Severa! Critics (among whom Gregory Masson, Barry Lewis, Fumio Yoshioka and Gilbert Bernard) have shown the links between Ishiguro’s fiction and the cinema. Bernard focuses mainly on the differences between the book and the film version of The Remains of the Day. Yoshioka demonstrates that the influence of Japanese cinema is generally observable in techniques of ‘cutback, flashback, dissolve, fadeout and overlap’. Lewis further illustrates this point and shows how Japanese cinema helped mould Ishiguro’s fiction.
- 6 ‘Shomin means “people like you and me”, so the genre is domestic and usually features conflict betw (...)
- 7 ‘These include Yasurojiro Shimazu (Maiden in a Storm, 1932); Heinosuke Gosho (Everything That Lives (...)
- 8 Barry Lewis quotes Ozu: ‘Pictures with obvious plots bore me now. Naturally a film must have some k (...)
15According to Barry Lewis, Ishiguro’s choice of plots and characters are coloured by directors from the Shomin-Geki6 film genre.7 Ishiguro’s novels and Japanese films have several things in common: ‘simple stories, unorthodox structures. They omit important events; keep significant characters offstage; and spend disproportionate amounts of time on seemingly irrelevant conversations’. As Lewis points out this is congruent with the film director Yasujiro Ozu’s dislike of plots.8
16Lewis speculates on how a film director could tum Ishiguro’s novel into a film and demonstrates the similarities in the author’s flashback techniques and a film technique called the dissolve, also mentioned by Yoshioka. The ‘dissolve’ technique is a special type of flashback where the disjunctive interruptions of the plot—transferring attention abruptly to a different locale and/or time-frame—is softened by a special type of transition: a close relationship between two scenes is suggested; thus, the ‘dissolve’ technique superimposes a fade-out over a fade-in momentarily fusing two images. Narrative sequences in the novel that could be made into dissolve scenes include scenes featuring very different characteristics. The opening scene of the novel could qualify as a ‘dissolve scene’ as Ono’s contemplation of his own house brings back the memory of how he purchased it 15 years ago. Severa! other scenes reach as far back as Ono’s childhood or youth; several later scenes in the novel simply refer to previous ones at the beginning of Ono’s narrative. The most memorable childhood scene is brought about when Ono wanders into the reception room and reflects on the ‘solemn atmosphere’ of the place which brings back the memories of his father’s reception room and the episode of the burning of his paintings (40–50).
17A more recent episode is alluded to when Ono discusses past acquaintances with his son-in-law Taro. This scene then recedes into Ono’s earlier talk with Setsuko in Kawabe Park (190).
18Such flashbacks not only offer contrasts between the present, distant or recent past but they also stage the process of remembering in the way Atwood describes it in Cat’s Eye. The protagonist sees through the present into the past: objects contemplated in the present lead to memories staged in similar settings or contexts in the past. The reader is stimulated to ‘figure things out’ and to understand how a series of ‘liquid transparencies’ are ‘laid on top of another’, the top layer dissolving into deeper layers below.
19From looking through this series of ‘liquid transparencies’, the reader reconstructs a dimension in which two worlds are both opposed and merged into one: fragments of the new world are visible in the old world and vice versa. The contrast is built mainly on the historical and cultural oppositions between two periods of time with two different cultures. The merge only becomes apparent as the narrative progresses and different events and situations are combined into superimposed images.
20Pre-WWII Japan stands for an authoritarian environment, one that Ono, as a child, is taught to respect in spite of his father’s harsh conduct. Images associated with the authoritarian mode! include images of destructive rigidity (the burning of Ono’s painting), and images of the dissolute life of heavy drinking and the pleasure quarters called the floating world (Mrs. Kawakami’s bar). The former world is also a world which displays the values of obedience and loyalty. Ono is proud of his own former reputation which won him the privilege of buying a beautiful house auctioned off in an ‘auction of prestige’ (this auction implied an investigation of the character and achievements of potential owners). Ono equally prides himself on the way his former pupils worshipped him: ‘my protégés would take to making speeches of a loyal nature tome’ (25).
21Ono’s memories are infused with nostalgia for the masculine culture by which he has lived and yet the narrative questions the validity of such a culture. Ono’s insistence on male authority and male pleasure (his regular visits to the pleasure district, his initiative to introduce his grandson to drinking sake, the authority he wishes to have over his own daughters whose judgement he sometimes disregards), does reveal his attachment to traditional values. But his readiness to accept the emerging modern culture, his recollections of painful childhood memories and past humiliations point to his willingness to accept the culture change Japan is experiencing. Ono is equally disturbed by Shintaro’s questioning of the floating world and his longing for something ‘more tangible’ (180). In drawing a parallel between his pupil’s dissent and his own disagreement with his master a couple of decades before, Ono gives Shintaro’s position credibility—ail the more so, since Ono has registered his pupil’s exact words and reflects on their pertinence.
22Also, Ono enjoys various elements of the lifestyle offered by modern culture, such as the opportunity of going to see a ‘monster film’ with his grandson Ichiro. Ichiro displays a boyish male superiority when Ono offers to take him to a film which would frighten the women (Ono actually encourages him to scorn his mother and aunt in order to reinforce the male complicity between grand-father and grand-son). Setsuko however reprimands her son (34) especially as she realizes that the boy’s feeling of superiority only leads to silliness and excitement (Ichiro ruins the picture he was doing and starts running around wildly). Ono himself finds that this episode only leads to yet an other Joss of memory or inability to focus, which somewhat contradicts the male superiority he felt so passionate to share with his grandson.
23Throughout the narrative, masculine culture and nationalism are closely entwined. Mori-san obviously embodies both sets of values and the reader is under the impression that, given the opportunity, Ono himself would still celebrate Mori san’s lifestyle which entails spending the evenings in the pleasure district. But Ono’s ambivalence becomes apparent when he both praises and rejects Mori-san. In the time of the narration, Ono further stages himself as floating between two worlds just as other characters are described as belonging to both a traditional and modern culture. Ono’s own daughters although respectful of their father in the traditional Japanese way, are also presented as having a mind of their own as they allow themselves to contradict their father. Ono’s pupil who returns to ask his master a favour is both over-polite and insistent. The way Shintaro formulates his request is relevant of how the present relationship between master and pupil is affected by traditions and the characters’ common history: ‘Sensei, with every respect, I am always grateful for your advice and learning. But at this moment, I am man in the midst of my career. It is ail very well to reflect and ponder when one is in retirement. But as it happens, I live in a busy world and there are one or two things I must see to if I am to secure this post, which by ail other counts is mine already. Sensei, I beg you, please consider my position’ (104).
- 9 Shintaro is a former student of Ono’s, is applying for the post of art teacher at a highschool and (...)
24Shintaro addresses Ono as his master (‘Sensei’) but his slightly ironic comment on retirement shows limited respect for Ono. It is clear that the purpose of Shintaro’s visit is no longer to deliver a speech of ‘loyal nature’ (25) to his master but to obtain a service from him.9
25As the reader pieces together the cultural elements appertaining to the traditional culture or to the modern culture, he is also given an insight into Ono’s unknowing misuse of his talents. Further information on the pastis revealed through Ono’s efforts to dissuade his former acquaintances from giving an unfavourable report to the ‘detective’ in charge of his daughter’s marriage arrangements. Ono’s narrative aims at demonstrating his desire to save his daughter’s marriage prospects by undertaking the ‘precautionary steps’ required by Setsuko. The reader is led to appreciate the redeeming value of Ono’s efforts: the narrative strategy manipulates the reader by staging present undertakings which are in contradiction with past convictions and which compensate for negative impressions caused by Ono’s reputation as a nationalist painter.
26Thus, the focalisation strategy—the humble retrospective of an ageing man—commands the reader’s respect. Ono’s attempt to ensure his daughter’s future also conveys the impression that he would like to be given a chance to ‘make up’ for his past conduct; as his eldest daughter Noriko suggests, Ono’s past will most likely spoil Stesuko’s marriage prospects unless Ono acknowledges his mistakes. Ono is thus stimulated to move beyond self-deception and own up to his past. Nevertheless, the reader’s impression is that the character is not quite up to the challenge of doing so. The recurrent use of digression does convey an impression of randomness, spontaneity, and sincerity but the narrative is incomplete (the reader is not meant to question what is conveniently left out and he thus feels that the narrator is mainly trying to reassure his own ego).
- 10 Weedon claims that the individual is not in a position of sovereignty in relation to political disc (...)
27Also, the reader is made well-aware that memory is a slippery and mysterious human instrument. Even in old age, the human subject constructs itself according to a complex system of beliefs and fantasies. It is clear from Ono’s own comments that the narrator wishes to construct a self which rises above mediocrity. And this obviously bears an influence on the way he lingers on the past—he conducts his reminiscences so as to fit his fantasized self-image. But although Ono may play an active part in the agency of his memories and reflections, he is not staged as a ‘sovereign protagonist’.10 His self-delusion is not powerful enough to block out moments of doubts or ‘moments of truth’. It is because of this Jack of sovereignty that the reader’s sympathy for Ono is won over. However suspicious the reader may be of Ono’s pride, he is moved by the protagonist’s recurring feelings of guilt which are never to be permanently dismissed.
- 11 The staging of this type of nostalgia creates a link between Ishiguro and other anglo-saxon writers(...)
- 12 Mori-san gives Ono a strong sense of purpose and identity. When Ono doubts the values of nationalis (...)
- 13 For example, Ono underlines Mori-san’s kindness and generosity to Gisaburo (147–51).
- 14 According to Ishiguro’s own comment: ‘Tve always tried to defend nostalgia as an emotion, because I(...)
- 15 lbidem, 7.
28Lack of sovereignty, doubts or ‘moments of truth’ are notions related to the experience of nostalgia which infuses the narrative. In staging different forms of nostalgia, the narrative strategy highlights the ambivalence of that emotion. Nostalgia is a powerful tool both to dwell in self-delusion and to move beyond it. When Ono feels nostalgia for Mori-san’s world, he persistently speaks in favour of his master’s conception of art. Ono’s nostalgia then corresponds to John S. Rickard’s exploration of the concept, such as Shaffer points out when interviewing Ishiguro: ‘John S. Richard reminds us that the word “nostalgia” is drawn from the Greek words for nostos, or “return”, and algos, or “pain”. Rickard goes on to describe nostalgia as “an obsessive return that cherishes the pain of absence” and as “an orientation toward the past that freezes past existence, preventing rather than encouraging true investigation and dialectic”. He defines the nostalgie as one who “turns toward the past in order to avoid the present and future”.’ Such a definition of the nostalgie often applies to Ono as he lingers on memories related to the so-called ‘floating world’11 Even when the protagonist remembers having doubts about his Master’s lifestyle or beliefs (146–51), Mori-san’s arguments win out,12 to the extent where they become Ono’s own arguments expressed in his very words: ‘ . . . many phrases and expressions which came to be most characteristic of me I actually inherited from Mori-san, and so it is quite possible that those were my teacher’s exact words that night, instilled in me by the powerful impression they made on me at the time’ (151). Mori-san’s flaws are counterbalanced by his qualities which Ono contemplates while clinging to the belief that Mori-san was a great master13 and that Ono himself was a great master. But paradoxically, while nostalgia is staged as a form of melancholic regret which clearly leads to escapism and evasion of the truth, it is also portrayed as a ‘valuable force’14 in Ono’s life. When the memories carry residues of a happy earlier time, nostalgia becomes an ‘intellectual cousin of idealism’:15 because of the positive emotional value in this particular brand of nostalgia, the protagonist begins to imagine the possibility of a better world. It is as the happiness of the past comes to invade Ono’s mind, that he is also stimulated to look towards the future and hope for a better world. In other words, when Ono is capable of transposing his feeling of gratitude for the past to the future, he manages to acknowledge his own mistakes, because they become irrelevant in relation to the great promises of the future. As Ono contemplates his grandson happily acting out his cowboy fantasies, as he reflects on Noriko’s marriage prospects or on Setsuko’s second child to come, or as he observes young workers in the last scene of the novel, his nostalgia for the past is full of hope for the future: ‘I smiled at myself as I watched these young office workers from my bench. Of course, at times, when I remember those brightly-lit bars and ail those people gathered beneath the lamps, laughing a little more boisterously perhaps than those young men yesterday, but with much the same good-heartedness, I feel a certain nostalgia for the past and the district as it used to be. But to see how our city has been rebuilt, how things have covered so rapidly over these years, fills me with genuine gladness. Our nation, it seems, whatever mistakes it may have made in the past, has now another chance to make a better go of things. One can only wish these young people well’ (206).
29Ono is looking at this younger generation of people which reminds him of his own ‘boisterous’ youth and it is again the pleasure district, the ‘floating world’, that springs to his mind in this last digression. Ono seems to think that the younger workers have the same sense of patriotism or idealism that Ono had, they share his capacity for joyful entertainment and ‘good-heartedness’, but thanks to the fact that they live in different times, they will avoid his mistakes and their lives will be different. Ono’s last comments indicate that these young men will be given a chance to create something worthwhile and their beliefs and commitments will point to a better world. According to Ishiguro’s own comment: ‘Ono has got to accept that a man’s life is much too short to have a second chance. He had a go; it is too late for him to have another. But . . . A new generation comes along; Japan can try again’.16
30The reader’s conclusion about Ono is encapsulated in what Ishiguro says of his character: ‘[Ono’s] life’s messed up because [he] happened along at a certain time in Japanese history’ (11). But Ono draws comfort in the fact that the nation can learn from its mistakes and try again even if it’s too late for an individual to do so. And thus the novel concludes: ‘One can only wish these young people well’ (206). Because of this hopeful ending note, finding out the truth about Ono becomes irrelevant. The reader may be conscious that the character’s digressions serve the purpose of both concealing and revealing, that Ono’s self-portrait manipulates the reader into feeling compassion for the protagonist, and that the narrator’s self-deceptive reminiscences only reveal his desire to consider himself above mediocrity; but although Ono’s attempt to establish the truth about himself Jacks credibility (mainly because of his compulsive need to construct a flattering image of himself), his last wish concerning the younger generation leaves the reader with an impression of sincerity. The young people Ono contemplates probably know no better than he did—they are ‘ordinary men’ (200), but as Ono realizes that they will be given a chance to do better, he is filled ‘with genuine gladness’. The emphasis at the end of the novel is both on ‘gladness’ and impermanence: Ono’s world is forever floating, changing and eluding. The young men whom the nostalgie Ono watches from his bench, are floating along, passing him by. And yet, they too are obsessed with their own existence. They too are full of life and enthusiasm, as Ono once was. They too will make mistakes. They too will live and learn. And they will probably leave no more of an imprint on the world than Ono who is staged as gradually floating out of his own world. But nevertheless, these young men are very much alive and part of Japan’s reconstruction process; and it is now this younger generation that matters. Both to Ono and to the reader.