The Buried Giant and thank you Fiona!

The snow reschedule cost us some turnout this past week and so we had a lovely time at Fiona's with a small group, each of us with things to say about this unique book. Most, if not all of us, had read  at least of Kazuo Ishiguro's books before, and some of us had read a few of them. Our group feltThis one is not at all like the others, in fact, each of his books seem to be a new approach.

At the same time, to me at least, this book is what I expect from Ishiguro. The slow pacing, the way information comes along the way to help the story along, and the removed, distant way the characters tell their stories were all familiar to me. And those very things made the book difficult to love, although most of us admired it a lot. Fiona really liked it, for one.

This was a melancholy book, one that literally had a mist lying over it, robbing the Britons and the Saxons of their memories of recent war. The mist, the breath of an old and dying dragon under a spell from Merlin, would hopefully keep peace until all those old enough to remember the war were gone, and so peace could continue. The narrative is dreamlike, and measured, even when there is tension and action.

The loss of those memories may have indeed kept the peace, but also cost the present. The main characters, Axl and Beatrice, can't remember when they last saw their son, nor what he looked like. And why was he gone? Nor could others remember their own lives. Beatrice and Axl both wonder, at different times, if we could remember, would we still love each other? Would some memories just hurt too much?

Fiona thought the story may have its roots in Plato's Cave, where those within saw only shadows and thought them to be the real world. In fact, Axl and Beatrice lose their candle early in the story, when their villagers decide they no longer merit one. That begins their long walk through an ancient Britain with a vague purpose to find the son they no longer had.

Eventually, even Beatrice and Axl must part, separated by a boatman who must take one or the other except when couples can prove their perfect love. And with no memories, how does one do that?  It is sad, even heartbreaking, but one must precede the other.

I admit that while I did not love this book, it certainly stayed with me, and even now I think about it. That is one worth of a great novel. At the same time, what was the point of it all? Why did this odd world exist and what did it really all mean. Maybe it takes more than once to get all this novel had to offer.

However, on to our next book, Joan of Arc, by Mark Twain. We are meeting on March 21 at Mary Millhiser's house at 6:30 pm. Hope to see you all there!