Book Review: The Remains of the Day

In The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro writes about opportunity cost.

The novel follows Mr. Stevens, a distinguished butler, as he travels through the English countryside. He is on his way to meet Miss Kenton, a former colleague who has written him a letter lamenting her marital problems. Stevens interprets this letter as a recruiting opportunity and promptly sets off to see if she will rejoin the staff.

This self-deception sets the tone for the rest of the novel.

Stevens spends much of the trip in a reverie. Like other travelogues, the perspective switches between past and present as Stevens recounts various stories from his time as a butler. He is particularly preoccupied with the concept of "dignity", a quality that he has deemed especially important among great butlers. Prompted by the scenery, he compares the dignity of a butler to the calmness and restraint of England which "feels no need to shout" about its greatness. It is clear that in evaluating the countryside he is also providing a qualitative assessment of himself. The countryside is a self-portrait.

Stevens is, in many ways, admirable. He is loyal, dependable, and eager to learn. The tragedy is that in delegating his labor to another man he has also delegated his judgement. His master, Lord Darlington, is a great man involved in great affairs. However, when Lord Darlington makes morally bankrupt decisions like supporting the Nazis and firing Jewish staff, Stevens absolves himself by claiming that questioning these decisions fall outside of his professional responsibility. Loyalty is admirable; obsequiousness is not.

Stevens failures extend beyond politics. When his father dies during an important event, he remains at his post so as to not interrupt the smooth functioning of the manor. This evening stands out to him as the closest that he has become to being a "great butler". In his mind, the greater the personal sacrifice, the greater the dignity.

As he nears the meeting with Miss Kenton his mind naturally drifts to their interactions, revealing the true nature of their relationship. Throughout their time working together, she repeatedly offered opportunities for intimacy that Stevens was unable to acknowledge. Now, decades later, he is lying to himself by positioning the visit as an opportunity to remedy a staffing shortage, rather than rekindling a missed opportunity for love. Stevens is not an unreliable narrator because he lies, but because he cannot tell himself the truth.

Like Peter Keating in The Fountainhead, Stevens is unsettling because his failures are familiar. When he justifies personal sacrifice in the name of professional obligations, I can hear myself doing the same thing. Working too much, ignoring clear signals from those close to me, and allowing obligations to substitute for difficult choices are all failures I recognize in myself. The book is melancholy because it's plausible.

Stevens never allows himself to admit the truth. Instead of directly confronting his misgivings, he channels his energy the only way he knows how: the pursuit of a seemingly menial skill that will improve his worth as a butler. Initially, this decision feels pathetic. Confronted with a lifetime of regret, he creates another professional exercise for himself. And yet, there is something admirable about it. Stevens never abandons what he has spent his life building. He is not seeking redemption through change, but through awareness.

Although Stevens cannot recover the day, he can still decide how to spend the evening.