Each time my eyelids bowed down to the devil of grave drowsiness, the concave depths displayed a lean, modest shadowy figure standing on the Bridge of Hesitation; the wrinkles on his forehead becoming deeper , trembling with culpability, wishing for Noriko’s miai to be an incessant success. The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow">Jerome K Jerome was accurate with his analysis of the solitude of an idle mind bringing generous thoughts. There I was, nursing an acute bronchial cough cursing the fateful knitting needles for hampering my purling flair even as Masuji diffidently questioned Mr.Kuroda’s whereabouts to his surly assistant. How could a man be punished for something he believed in? How can skepticism prevail on man’s patriotic ideals when his loved ones too perished in the dreadful horror? Is the idea of patriotism merely seductive when one does not have to stand on the edge of its justification? “Ordinary men with no special gifts of insight, it was simply our misfortune to have been ordinary men during such times.”, that is what Mr. Mastuda asserted rubbishing Masuji’s contemplation of a culpable survival. The close knit life of ordinary men is anything but ordinary. The narrow area of existence magnifies the aspects of circumstantial actions. The wrongs do not get washed by the flow of vast oceanic waves but float amid the marshes of a pond. Isn’t ‘the lives of ordinary men’ restricted as the stagnant pond waters? The tight-knit communities in which he daily moves, the by-lanes, the alleys which witness his daily travels and those numerous heads that pop up at the windows every time he closes his door; absolutely nothing is inescapable in the life of an ordinary men. With such unusual vigilance how could his troubles then be marginal? Dignity and self-respect brings a sense of calmly happiness to the life of an ordinary man. With no monetary affluence or supremacy, ‘dignity’ seems the only path of his civil acceptance. In a world so constricted with flimsy lifelines of obstinate relationships, exile is a nightmarish death.‘The validation of a war’; I dread debating this subject as my nerves tremble with utmost anger. A part of me appreciates the use of military powers in virulent situation of civil conundrum. And, then there is the other half that contests the legitimacy of the power usage in case of political egotistical fulfillment. Comprehension of any war literature is a chaotic process hindered by my faint heart. I have always nattily stayed away from any war related prose, especially the ordeal of soldiers or the aftermath of human lives. I may not know the tribulation of braving a war front or structuring a war graph, nevertheless I certainly know that is shameful to doubt the worthiness of valiant sacrifices. The anger that seethed when Suichi called the deaths of young Japanese soldiers wasteful appeased when he validated his disdain by questioning the prevailing injustice of seeing the ‘real culprits’ still alive and enjoying luxurious perks amid the brazenness of righteousness. “To my mind, that’s the greatest cowardice of all”. How true! Isn’t’ that a bitch! Ishiguro speaks the language of restless youths of many generations questioning the inequitable penalty of the war. The politicians, spiritual leaders, capitalist cliques waving their chameleonic flags of patriotism shy away from battling on their once beloved home ground. Why those clandestine escapes to safe havens when their own vile concoctions amalgamate in their own drinks? Why not brave the salient turmoil themselves, that these ‘benevolent guardians’ stir? Suichi admitting flaws of the nationalistic chimera, the misplaced self-respect and prevailing shamelessness veiled under a patriotic farce is a tale told by every life of a torn nation. Japan was a torn nation after the WWII, feelings ranging from compassions to abhorrence raced among the minds of those alive and trying to weave a better future in their displaced living. Those who once were applauded for their patriotic songs were now mercilessly beaten and whispers about selected betrayers flooded the atmospheric desolation. Masuji was among those who lived with ignominy finding getaways from his past leeched onto him like a hungry parasite. Masuji Ono may have once been the most revered artist of his time, but to me he is now a worried father of Noriko fearing the consequences of his past action being detrimental on his daughter’s future. Having lost his wife and son in the war, the only family Masuji had was his two daughters, how in the devil could he allow his condemnation of his war efforts hamper the bright prospects of his unmarried daughter. Masuji was no longer the influential artists of the Pre-war era; he was now an old feeble man who relied on old memories and occasion outing in the Midi-Hidari neighborhood for a pleasurable day; comprehending the wisdom behind the western influence in his grandson’s rearingKazuo Ishiguro highlights the apprehension of a man in admitting his mistake in the fear of his denunciation; chronicled three years after the war. An Artist of the Floating world, the name Ishiguro chose for his novel, travels through magical serenades of flamboyantly lit streets of Midi-Hidari district, the hypnotic sways of delicate fingers playing amongst the elegant kimonos captured through beautiful brush strokes ,where an local artist reveled in his honorable dignity only to lose it and then gain it back again with grit and determination as there is certainly no shame in admitting one’s mistake made in the best faith because in a ‘changing world’ one is bound to stumble and falter because no one is perfect or a virtuous ‘sensei’.
This was the first novel, by Kazuo Ishiguro, that I finished reading due to its seemingly familiar title. From its 206 pages, I think, most readers should find reading it quite manageable as guaranteed by its Winner of the Whitbread Book of the Year Award in 1986. Reading it, as for me, was relatively enjoyable since I needed concentration in following various episodes and its key protagonist named Masuji Ono, the eminent painter, during his retiring years in the midst of his family, neighbours and friends after World War II ended. However, I think there are a few points after reading it worth mentioning so that my friends, perhaps, would like to follow suit and may suggest more ideas for creative reading in this community.First, it was mildly disappointing to me when I could come across the words 'floating world' after reading pages after pages till I reached this paragraph: ... We lived throughout those years almost entirely in accordance with his (i.e. Mori-san's) values and lifestyle, and this entailed spending much time exploring the city's 'floating world' -- the night-time world of pleasure, entertainment and drink which formed the backdrop for all our paintings. ... (pp. 144-145)I could not help wondering if this was similar to what I read in Ihara Saikaku's stories. However, from the context I think the author has applied such the floating world as the aftermath of Japan's unthinkable calamity in the world of impermanence.I would like to invite my friends to read this four-paragraph scene (pp. 8-9) preceding this excerpt below and appreciated the author’s writing style in which his readers, I think, could visualize such serene, noble and kind elderly ladies paying a visit to Masuji Ono on the prospective house and land sale: It was an eccentric procedure, but I saw nothing objectionable about it; it was, after all, much the same as being involved in a marriage negotiation. … When I gave my consent to the investigation, and expressed my gratitude to them, the younger sister addressed me for the first time, saying: ‘Our father was a cultured man, Mr Ono. He had much respect for artists. Indeed, he knew of your work.’ (p. 9)From these dialogs, we can see this is simply magnificent; I mean sheer pleasure derived from good, exceptional prose with its literary aesthetic impact on the mind. That is one of the reasons why we, I think, still enjoy reading hopefully in search of our favorite authors worldwide. In essence, this part is worth spending our time in the midst of our sometime chaotic world, that is, we can relax ourselves, imagine and be happy.I also admired another episode depicting Mr Ono’s initial encounter with Dr Saito around sixteen years ago, after having moving into his new house, while adjusting something he became aware of someone stand behind him: … I turned to find a man of around my own age studying with interest my newly inscribed name on the gatepost. ‘So you are Mr Ono,’ he remarked. 'Well now, this is a real honour. A real honour to have someone of your stature here in our neighbourhood. I am myself, you see, involved in the world of fine art. My name is Saito, from the Imperial City University.’ ‘Dr Saito? Why, this is a great privilege. I have heard much about you, sir.’ … (p. 131)This lively, educated dialogs between these senior men should be cherished because each has his own way in conversing with honor and respect towards the other.Therefore, I think, this is one of the novels that its readers should enjoy reading to know and understand such typical Japanese familial relationships since we can appreciate their politeness, controversies and tolerance. From its 206 pages we could leisurely browse a few pages or more at our heart’s content till the end and apply our reading as a solid background for his other novels.
Do You like book An Artist Of The Floating World (2005)?
Second reading. The gist of this novel is the narrator's culpability for his patriotic actions during the war with the U.S. Set in a suburb of Tokyo during the American occupation, the narrator, Masuji Ono, is now surrounded by those who blame him and those like him for Japan's disastrous gamble on war. Ono's generation was that of the old men cheerleading for war. And there can be no question about his complicity. In his youth he trained as an artist of the demimonde or "floating world," but turned to graphic propaganda during the war. His work was responsible for motivating untold thousands of young Japanese men to throw their lives away. Here's the rub though: Ono in the end was nothing more than a patriot. I agree that nationalism is abhorrent and that he was on the wrong side of history. But really it was Ono's misfortune, as it was Japan's, to be so catastrophically led. It strikes me as absurd that those around him berate and belittle him. There is even the suggestion by his eldest daughter that he do the honorable thing and commit seppuku, (literally, "stomach cutting"), as a means of cleansing the family name and clearing the way for the younger daughter's marriage negotiations. Reading the book I was reminded of how U.S. soldiers were treated when they returned from Vietnam. Ono was a combatant, no question. But it's really those around him him who've changed since the defeat, not Ono himself.
—William1
With this my reading of Ishiguro's canon is complete. So he'd better be working on something new.The novel is set in postwar Japan. The first person narrator, Mr. Ono, is a retired artist reflecting back on his career and life. He is widowed, and his son was killed in a minefield in Manchuria. He has two adult daughters and one grandson. As he explains his daughter Noriko's attempts to find a husband, we are first led to believe that her lack of success is simply a result of unfortunate timing; the war threw up obstacles. Noriko is already 26, a bit past the husband-finding prime. As the novel progresses, we learn that two previous attempts to find a match for Noriko - these are long investigations in which the prospective groom's family will hire a detective to look into the potential bride's family and associates - have fallen through, and that this is due to her father's activities as an artist. Mr. Ono had changed his painting style from images of "the floating world" (the world of nighttime pleasure and entertainments) to one more patriotic and supportive of Japan's war aims, and had reported another artist to a government committee investigating artists who failed to be sufficiently propagandistic.Ishiguro's novels are like onions: you advance layer by layer to the interior, slowly peeling away what is being told to you, gradually gaining awareness of what is happening. They benefit from being read twice, so you can reread earlier passages with the knowledge learned from later ones. His narrators are always unreliable. Perhaps they are the most unreliable narrators in all of literature. Here, Mr. Ono will relate a story that seems to get at the crux of a matter, then muse offhandedly: "But this is all of limited relevance here."
—Lobstergirl
I finished this book on a very blue note. The narrator has a great amount of emotion built up that he refuses to acknowledge, and keeps a 'stiff upper lip'; acting almost normal despite the fact the world he once knew and loved has been completely eradicated by the war and those adapting to the aftermath. Even worse is he sees himself as being at fault for the destruction, although truthfully, as an artist he couldn't have had that much impact on Japan's decisions concerning the war. (view spoiler)[ Nonetheless, he blames himself for creating art that supported the war, and believes others wish that he would honorably commit suicide to atone. (hide spoiler)]
—Aubrey
