I stayed up all night to finish this novel.
Ishiguro's work has always felt to me like walking through an art gallery, eyes turned toward the ceiling. You experience each documented ontogeny, triumph, and crisis from the periphery, through the discussions of passersby and lingering admirers.
Ishiguro's worlds are perceptions of perceptions, casting a distribution of uncertainty across the underlying shared reality. By drawing these layers of gauze over the details, blurring the subjects to their abstract forms, Ishiguro forces you to focus on the shape of things, to pour many stories into the gaps he leaves within his.