When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro

 

Am in the early middle of Ishiguro’s When We Were Orphans. Years ago I sank my teeth into The Remains of The Day. I remember it like you remember your first crush. It was a wonderful read and it makes a poWhen We Were Orphans Ishiguroignant memory. I remember the story did not blaze along, but still savor the taste of profound changes the war was bringing to England and to the life and realizations of the devoted butler.

When We Were Orphans returns, with the same great voice of the Brits. It weaves back and forth from Christopher Banks’ youth in Shanghai to his adulthood in London. Ishiguro allows you to know something happened in Shanghai, but dribbles it out at such a slow pace I might have given up on it by now, if it were some other writer. I’ll stick with it because of Ishiguro’s rich language, sense of London society and the odd and unusual way Christopher has taken his adult life. But it does make me wonder if many other readers would hang in with it.

 


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