The Remains of the Day

I am so confused by this book. People whose literary tastes I deeply respect have suggested this book and it did so little for me. The main character feels like a caricature of a type and not even after hundreds of pages of being in his head does he feel any more like a real human. I think he's supposed to be endearing to us and somewhat tragic, and yet he is none of these things. This single dimension character does not grow, does not learn, and does not reflect.

There is a narrative device employed in this book which is fairly pointless. In its essence, we the reader are served the musings and stories of the past from an old English butler as he takes a trip through the English countryside to see a female coworker from his past. Along the road trip, his remembered stories move chronologically and tell us about the history between the Wars as experienced by him, a butler in the house of an influential British gentleman. And yet, this framing serves no narrative or thematic purpose and makes little sense for how the protagonist's recollections unfold. His stories from the past are entirely disconnected from what's going on around him on the road trip, and there's no reason why it would take six days for him to think of and share with us the story of his former employer's ruin and disrepute at the onset of WWII.

The supposed romantic “tension” with the female lead here is absurd because there is no reason why any other human would want to be with the main character. And so the book's big “reveal” that she has had surges of love for him throughout their life around one another sounds more like dysfunction on her part rather than wistful romance of what could be.

One person who suggested this book to me called it beautiful. I've got no idea what book they were reading. Some quaint descriptors here or there, and very “clear” prose, sure–but beautiful? Nope. There is no poetry in these pages. Straightforward meandering descriptions.

I suppose the book is meant to be a witness to the loss of innocence and sense of propriety and “dignity” (a word/theme brought up with little subtlety throughout) as England moved into its post-empire, post-war self. It wants us to see the naivety of the “old ways” and mourn the savagery of realism and “growing up” to human nature on the world stage. And yet, the book, its narrator, its structure, its language, and its “romance” fail to make this hit home.