This post is part of my series on Kazuo Ishiguro. This post does not yet have notes from the Harry Ransom Center.

Ah, the emperor’s new clothes… People have very polarized opinions on this book. There are critics who say the premise ballooned into 500 pages of self-important gibberish. And yet there are others who believe it is one of Ishiguro’s best pieces of work.

Me? I hated it but also loved it and eventually settled on liking it. This was my final unread Ishiguro book, and in a way I’m glad it was, since it is so far removed from everything else he’s written.

One aspect is the length—this book is substantially longer than any of his other books (maybe 2-3 times longer), though that is something I eventually grew to appreciate. Another aspect is that it is immediately clear that there is something wrong. From the ramblings of Gustav in the elevator over multiple pages, from the way Ryder knows things he shouldn’t, from the way his bedroom suddenly shifts—the nightmarish atmosphere is immediately established far more assertively than the uneasy worlds in Ishiguro’s other books.

People have written a lot on the commentary on the cult of art and how people are trying to use Ryder’s gifts for their own ends, or how Ryder never actually plays piano for anyone except for himself (and later, we find, for Brodsky mourning his dog—so maybe that is a commentary on how art is supposed to be enjoyed). So I am sure there is probably a lot to be dissected there.

But I honestly just really liked this book because of the dreamlike atmosphere and the exploration of Ryder’s character and anxieties. We see how each character is a reflection of a different aspect of Ryder (or his parents), and even though it feels like the plot goes absolutely nowhere, you feel like you really understand Ryder’s past and future by the end of the book. I also enjoyed the dreamlike atmosphere and the way the world warped based on whatever Ryder fixated on next.

It really was utterly unlike anything else I’ve read. So it was hard to sort out my feelings about the book once I had finished it. But ultimately, I was unable to stop thinking about the book after it was finished. Even more surprisingly: after 500 pages of wandering around in a nonsensical nightmare, I was disappointed it was over—I had not wanted the dream to end.