The Buried Giant

I was wondering what I'd get when I noticed what appeared to be fantasy from [a:Kazuo Ishiguro 4280 Kazuo Ishiguro https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1424906625p2/4280.jpg] on the library shelf. [b:The Buried Giant 22522805 The Buried Giant Kazuo Ishiguro https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1451444392s/22522805.jpg 41115424] proves to be remarkably Kazuo. In this fictional Albion with ongoing Anglo-Saxon conflict, he threads an underlying question of what it means to be British, that to me feels like the kind of interrogation you can only really have when you grow up a non-native Brit. It's startling, at least to me, to see the landscapes of England shifted to fantasy and yet described so accurately (or what I imagine to be accurately). He gets the spirit of the place.Setting aside, the novel is an odd, timeskipping piece. We're kept in the dark about most of the plot, since the characters don't really know what's going on half the time anyway. It's interesting to meet characters who don't remember their own lives, but I wouldn't say the experience is particularly fun. The jumps in perspective and time, even mid paragraph, are disorienting. Again, that's sort of the point, I suppose, but it's not easy to read. Ishiguro gets an amazing sense of tone and atmosphere here; it's certainly “literary” or at least feels that way. Yet impressive prose doesn't make it entirely enjoyable, so come into this with appropriate expectations...

See my full review at The Emerald City Book Review. I have to admit that I had a difficult time puzzling out what was metaphor, what was delusion, and what was reality, and that this made me uncomfortable. There were some indications that what certain characters described as otherworldly creatures or phenomena (e.g. ogres) had a more mundane explanation, and that the pre-conceptions of the characters determined the world they perceived. This is an interesting philosophical point, but disorienting when applied to a story, in which generally the author is performing the magic trick of making us believe in something that doesn't exist. It matters not whether that something is a dragon or a duchess or a dachshund; within the world of a story it must gain being and presence, or why bother with it?

This dis-orientation was inconsistent. There were times when it was very hard to imagine an alternative explanation for what the characters were describing, other than that they were all completely insane. And yet, if that were the case, what could be gained from entering into their fractured minds? Are we meant to reflect on our own self-delusional versions of an impenetrable reality? That's a stage on everyone's quest, but to me it cannot be the end. I believe in meaning and wholeness, and if that betrays my lack of sophistication as a reader and human being, but so be it. I'm not interested in subversion for its own sake, only when it helps to break us through to a higher level of understanding.

Though I enjoyed parts of the journey, and grew to care for some of the characters, in the end I was left frustrated and dissatisfied. Perhaps a reread will enlighten me further as to what Ishiguro might have been trying to say, but right now I'm not at all sure.

This is the third Ishiguro novel I've read, the other two being The Remains Of The Day and Never Let Me Go, and I am struck by how different their subjects are.

I did enjoy this book as well, though I thought it was a little drawn out and the cryptic qualities of some of the characters' intentions and the reveal of the world didn't always work.

I did love the prose when it was very specific such as in some of the dueling scenes. Ishiguro is great at dealing with the dignity of his characters and those scenes really brought that to light here.

It feels like nothing really happens and it's slow paced, but it's just interesting enough not to stop reading, and everything of value happens in the last couple chapters, but at least there is a lesson about love and memories as a double edged sword and that sometimes it is better to forget the past in order to move forward.

”What kind of god is it, sir, wishes wrongs to go forgotten and unpunished?”

This is my third Ishiguro novel, with The Remains of the Day being my first and favorite, and Never Let Me Go being my second and incredibly lackluster in my opinion. I went into this not really knowing which of the two polarizing opposites I'd land on, but aside from some really poignant and heartwrenching scenes, this landed squarely in the middle for me. I feel like there's really two separate ideas going on here, and I felt one of the stories was way more compelling/emotional than the other, which really impacted my overall enjoyment.

Spoilers follow.

The story starts out focusing on Axl and Beatrice, two elderly Britons living within a community they've been a part of for as long as they can remember. Unfortunately, their memories don't go back all that far for mysterious, unclear (in the beginning) reasons. Things that recently happened often go forgotten, and things long in the past may only occasionally be faintly remembered. Despite the persistent memory problems, the two decide that they really need to visit their son in a village several days away, and set out to see him. Along the way they meet up with Edwin, a boy persecuted by his village for superstitious reasons and Wistan, a Saxon warrior who rescues Edwin and takes him under his wing to train him as a warrior. The small group happens along Sir Gawain (King Arthur's nephew, for those keeping track), on a quest to slay the dragon Querig. Wistan also is there to slay Querig, at the behest of his Saxon king. Querig, as it turns out, is the cause of the widespread memory loss, and Gawain and Wistan find themselves at odds with each other over the slaying of the dragon.

The overall feeling of the book was melancholy and kind of dream-like. This wasn't an easy read by any means, and there's lots of symbolism, metaphors, and other literary elements to really chew through to get at what the book was trying to convey. I'm not even really sure I understand the significance of some portions, which is fine, I kind of like books that make me think. I will say that I was way more invested in the Axl/Beatrice story, as they struggled with their memory loss, their love for each other, and what is revealed to them about each other as it goes along than I was the Wistan/Gawain story where one wants to slay the dragon and the other wants to protect it. Theirs was a distracting story, and I got bored/impatient with a lot of it. The ending, though, was one heck of a payoff for the journey there. Incredibly emotional.

So I guess, 3.5 stars? Maybe? I'll round it up to 4, just to put it in the middle of my ratings of Never Let Me Go and The Remains of the Day, but it's a hard book to get into and not everyone wants that kind of work with their reading. Give it a shot if you've read other Ishiguro works, but I'd make it one of your last stops in his catalog.

Soms valt het mee, en soms valt het tegen, aangeraden boeken.

En soms is het niet duidelijk of het aan het meevallen dan wel aan het tegenvallen is.

Dat was bij Kazuo Ishiguro's laatste worp het geval. Ishiguro is de mens van Remains of the Day en ja, zijn naam is Japans maar hij woont al van zijn jeugd in Engeland en zijn schrijven is Brits.

Ik wist niet waar mij aan te verwachten, en als het begint in Engeland in de jaren pakweg vijfhonderd, met een Saxisch dorp waar iedereen aan chronisch geheugenverlies lijkt te lijden, dacht ik in eerste instantie dat het iets Logan's Run of The Village-achtig zou worden. Een plaats waar mensen niet weten dat ze in afzondering van de wereld leven, kunstmatig dom gehouden, yada yada.

Maar dan bleef het allemaal maar aanslepen, en zag het er naar uit dat het zich écht in vroegmiddeleeuws Engeland afspeelde. Een oud koppel, Axl en Beatrice, die zich net zoals iedereen in hun dorp zeer weinig dingen herinneren, weten wel nog dat ze elkaar zeer graag zien.

Volgt een duistere historie over al dan niet een kaars mogen hebben ‘s nachts, en een vage herinnering die ze hebben aan een zoon die ze hadden maar die er nu niet meer is, en na veel over-en-weer-getwijfel trekken ze er op uit, samen in een vreemde wereld.

Ze komen een vreemde krijger tegen, Wistan, en wat later een jonge kerel, Edwin, en de ondertussen blijkbaar zeer oude Gawain.

Iedereen blijft maar vanalles vergeten, en op een bepaald moment dacht ik ha! Ishiguro is hier een Memento aan het uithalen, we gaan in het boek vooruit, maar in het verhaal achteruit!

Een paar bladzijden later was duidelijk dat het niet zo was, maar ondertussen bleef het boek zich maar moeizaam voortslepen, van episode naar episode. Werd duidelijk dat het vergeten een betovering was die over het land uitgesproken was, door wellicht Merlijn om het land in vrede te houden. En jaaa, ik had ondertussen door dat er een keuze gemaakt moest worden tussen vergeten en in vrede leven, of zich herinneren en (mogelijks) in oorlog leven, en tussen vergeten en elkaar graag zien uit gewoonte, of zich herinneren en (misschien) elkaar nog liever zien wegens gegrond in ervaring, maar mogelijks ook elkaar niet meer graag zien wegens wat er allemaal gebeurd is in het verleden.

Dat lag er op den duur nogal dik op, vond ik.

Ik dénk dat veel mensen het een mysterieus en ontroerend boek zullen vinden.

Mijn hoofd is net iets te cynisch, vrees ik. Mijn referentiekader voor Arthuriaanse zaken is zo ongeveer 30% John Boorman's Excalibur:



en 30% Monty Python and the Holy Grail (“who are the Britons?”)



...en dan pas de klassiekers (met natuurlijk T.H. White op kop, gevolgd door waarschijnlijk De Rode Ridder, ha!).

Waardoor ik dus heel het boek met klepperende kokosnoten in mijn hoofd zat, en de mist die doet vergeten in mijn hoofd zachtjes Anál nathrach, orth' bháis's bethad, do chél dénmha intoneerde.

En nog veel, véél erger dan dat: de stemmen van Axl en Beatrice kreeg ik van pagina één niet meer uit mijn hoofd. Want mijn hoofd had Ishiguro's oud-achtig aandoend Engels en plechtstatige intonaties vervangen door het gedodder van Henry Crum en Minnie Bannister.



You can't get the wood, you know. Mmbuddy.

I'm a sucker for anything that fits neatly between the art world and the pop world, and this book was everything for me. A great literary author decided that his next story needed to take place shortly after the fall of Camelot, and that it needed a dragon in it. The best way to instantly get me on your side for something is to have genre fiction a requirement to get your themes across. This book focuses on the importance of both personal and cultural memory, and is a love story about the later years of a relationship. I really don't want to spoil anything because this book is incredible. If you've ever wanted to see the fantasy genre take itself seriously, pick this one up.

Rating: 2.71 leaves out of 5Characters: 3/5 Cover:2/5Story: 2.85/5Writing: 3/5Genre: Fantasy/Magical Realism/Historical FictionType: AudiobookWorth?: EhhHated Disliked Meh It Was Okay Liked LovedThe book started out pretty strong for me and I was glad to have a theory that was right towards the beginning. I was confused about 50% of the time which made the book really dragged. I was listening at 2.65x speed because I just wanted it to be over and done with. I think it hit the 50% and it really went down hill. The thing that got me to round up to a 3 instead of down to the 2 was the old couple and the ending. I tried really hard not to cry while listening to it since I was at work. XD

Axl and Beatrice decide to take a trip and visit their son. It's the time of King Arthur. Sort of. Except that a mysterious mist that befogs the mind lies over the land. And there are dragons. Real dragons. And other strange creatures.

I don't know what to say about this story. I liked it. But it was gentle, like a children's story, and it was filled with strange creatures, like a fable. I can't peg it, really. But I liked it. Still thinking about it. That's always a good sign.

I've been reading fantasy books for decades. And never have I read a fantasy book that was used as such an allegory for the psychological trauma inflicted on a population from war and infidelity. A quiet, slow novel where everything is a little more than it seems. It is filled with the same mastery of nuance and innuendo that Ishiguro is known for. Brilliant. Like many fantasy novels there is magic and dragons and ancient armies. But unlike most of them, the epic battles are meditative and within each of the characters in their own small way. The best book I read last year was “The Remains of the Day”. I need to continue on this trend, and read more and more of Ishiguro's work.

This was the first time I've read Ishiguro, and I was impressed with the way a surface simplicity belied a profoundly deep and moving story and meditation on memory and the embodied place of memory in our personal and collective lives. Ishiguro creates an evocative and believable landscape and i could fairly see the mist on the page - an Avalon for today: not romanticised, yet not a hard-nosed de-mystified historical place, either. Something in-between with enough magic to bring the reader in and allow the reader to play a role in the narrative and plot development. He has a beautiful way with language and how language is the key to human relationships. Powerful reading, and one i look forward to returning to in future.

The Buried Giant by [a:Kazuo Ishiguro 4280 Kazuo Ishiguro https://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1424906625p2/4280.jpg] is like a warm comfortable bard's epic tale told around a warm fire. Like other epic tales of a quest the story is more about the journey and relating the deeds of legendary characters than about the characters themselves. Like ancient epic tales born out of an oral tradition, The Buried Giant's characters are fairly two dimensional, but I argue that this is keeping with the genre of this novel. As you read, imagine the narrator talking not only to you, but to a small gathering on snowy night. With the mood set and some explanation about the structure of the book, I'll note that The Buried Giant is a story of the long and complicated love between a couple who move through fear to acceptance of their fates by way of a great journey filled with knights, warriors, dragons, and a boatman. A note about my rating system: 5 Stars = Among the greatest books. Recommend to anyone.4 Stars = A great book that I would recommend to most, even if it is a genre they don't normally read3 Stars = I liked this book but would only recommend it to those who like the genre or the particular author. 2 Stars = I dont like this book, but for whatever reason I finished it. 1 Star = Rubbish and could not finish.

“That's true, good lady, but then we boatmen have seen so many over the years it doesn't take us long to see beyond deceptions. Besides, when travellers speak of their most cherished memories, it's impossible for them to disguise the truth. A couple may claim to be bonded by love, but we boatmen may see instead resentment, anger, even hatred. Or a great barrenness. Sometimes a fear of loneliness and nothing more. Abiding love that has endured the years—that we see only rarely. When we do, we're only too glad to ferry the couple together. Good lady, I've already said more than I should.”


Axl and Beatrice, an elderly couple, live in post-Roman Britain. They – like everyone – are suffering from some strange memory loss that prevents them from recalling large parts of their lives:

“Now I think of it, Axl, there may be something in what you're always saying. It's queer the way the world's forgetting people and things from only yesterday and the day before that. [...] Like a sickness come over us all.”

Sometimes, though, either Axl or Beatrice do remember things from their past; just like one morning Axl remembers their son who has moved to a village not too far from their home. Not having seen him for many years, they decide to visit him. The entire book is basically about their journey and the people they meet.


This book is definitely not for the casual reader – you always have to read closely and attentively or you will miss a lot of small details that are not always of great relevance but which help form the “big picture”, e. g. we learn early on that Beatrice and Axl aren't allowed to own and use a candle at their home. When they're talking about a cloak much later on, we learn said cloak was one they “later we lost in that fire”.

Furthermore, the entire book can be read in a number of ways – as a somewhat simple story of the arduous journey of our elderly couple, or maybe that journey itself isn't one of physical hardship but an allegory for their life together and the challenges they encountered.

Even individual encounters and deeds during the journey can often be interpreted in many ways. The more abstract interpretation is all the more plausible as the writing style is very formal, sometimes excessively so:

“Master Ivor told us of it, and we thought it poor news to succeed your brave intervention.”

Nobody – at least today – talks like that. While this is, undoubtedly, yet another means to achieve a feeling of estrangement, it is too much for me.

In addition to this strange formality, the narrator often doesn't directly describe the landscape but how it could or would have been at the time narrated:

“There would have been elms and willows near the water, as well as dense woodland, which in those days would have stirred a sense of foreboding.”

This adds again to the feeling of estrangement from the literal story itself and makes it harder for me to actually enjoy the story. It distances the reader from the story and while that might be the right way if you only care about your art and not your reader, I didn't like that.

I always felt like I was being led by the nose somewhere and tried to anticipate it. I felt like being manipulated to be “educated” and I didn't enjoy it.


The weird forgetfulness everyone is afflicted by makes for very strange dialogue like this one:

““What's this you're saying, princess? Was I ever the one to stop us journeying to our son's village?” “But surely you were, Axl. Surely you were.” “When did I speak against such a journey, princess?” “I always thought you did, husband. But oh, Axl, I don't remember clearly now you question it. And why do we stand out here, fine day though it is?”“

Uh, yes, and why are you tormenting us with repeating dialogues like that all the time?! It's really truly annoying to have to keep reading stuff like that.

On the other hand, it's the most important narrative feature of this book so I do understand the general need to make sure we fully understand it and its implications. Even more so since both Beatrice and Axl do remember additional fragments of memories whenever they talk in length about any given topic. Quite a bit of information is given in that indirect way.

Especially information that has been hidden before – because every character in this entire book is hiding things – some major, some minor – from everyone else. Sometimes with good reason, sometimes we simply don't know and have to find our own answer.

Everything in this book is taxing like that, even down to the names of our heroes:

Beatrice literally means “she who makes happy” - and she is Axl's one and only. The only person for whom he really cares and she makes him happy.

Axl means “father of peace” (or “father is peace”) and even that is quite fitting as we will learn late in the book.


“The abbot will insist we carry on as always. Others of our view will say it's time to stop. That no forgiveness awaits us at the end of this path. That we must uncover what's been hidden and face the past. But those voices, I fear, remain few and will not carry the day.”

While I was reading “Giant”, I constantly felt like the author was wagging his finger at me and lecturing me. Literature, to me, though, is not about lecturing. I want “my” books to entertain me, to make me think and question things but not by moralising, lecturing, finger-wagging but unobtrusively.

Maybe that's too near to “edutainment” (which I have no qualm with) for some but that's just the way I feel. I don't like reading the old classics (Schiller, Goethe, etc.) either anymore – they're just too far from my life and times.

“Giant” does read like such a classic or, possibly, a play:

“Should I fall before I pass to you my skills, promise me you'll tend well this hatred in your heart. And should it ever flicker or threaten to die, shield it with care till the flame takes hold again. Will you promise me this, Master Edwin?”


At least a few amusing passages found their way into this book (possibly by accident!):

““Let's come away, child,” Axl said. “This is no sight for you or your brothers. But what is it made this poor ogre so sick? Can it be your goat was diseased?” “Not diseased, sir, poisoned! We'd been feeding it more than a full week just the way Bronwen taught us. Six times each day with the leaves.””


Ultimately, though, “The Buried Giant” is lost on me due to its excessively allegorical nature and narrative complexity – if a book is so taxing, I can hardly enjoy reading it anymore, it's simply too much for me. Maybe it's Ishiguro handing us all the essential information to make up our own mind and come to our own conclusions and it's just me.

I didn't give up on this book but I'm giving up on its author for good.