The subtle art of bantering often escapes me, too.

Yesterday, I finished The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. I’ve seen the 1993 film version starring Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson several times. I enjoyed it a great deal, so I’ve wanted to read the book for quite a while, but for some reason, I never got around to it until now. The film is a faithful adaptation. What I found most surprising was the fact that the book is a diary kept by Stevens during his trip to meet Miss Kenton in 1956, twenty years after she left Darlington Hall to get married.

The book defies the conventional wisdom that a writer of contemporary fiction should show rather than tell. Most modern writers try to keep exposition to a minimum while striving to put the reader in the middle of the action and conversations as much as possible. Ishiguro does allow us to watch certain scenes play out, but most of the time, Stevens is telling us what happened rather than showing us. It works beautifully because by climbing inside of Stevens’ mind to such a degree, we see most clearly how self-deluded he is.

In a way, Stevens is a stuffed shirt. He is all about duty and dignity and carrying out his responsibilities, but Stevens is not a puffed-up blowhard as many stuffed shirts are. There is little arrogance and condescension behind his professional façade. Stevens hides behind his role as butler and comforts himself with the idea that by serving a well-intentioned employer to the best of his abilities, he is doing his part in preserving his country and the world at large. He does this because Stevens is intensely shy and has few social skills. He is most comfortable interacting with others as a butler. The subtle art of “bantering” escapes him.

At the end, after learning that Miss Kenton (now Mrs. Benn) has no interest in returning to Darlington Hall to serve as housekeeper, Stevens realizes that he let the love of his life slip through his hands so he could go on serving an employer who turned out to be a fool and a Nazi stooge. His abilities are on the decline, and the grand English country house he was once so proud to work in is now owned by an American. It has become a relic. The staff has been greatly reduced. Most of the rooms have been closed off. The quiet remains of the day is what Stevens has to look forward to.

I strongly relate to Stevens. Thankfully, I’m not so self-deluded. I know that being around people makes me uncomfortable and that this is the reason I withdraw from them. But life has a way of slipping by no matter if you’re up to the game or not, so I understand how Stevens could find himself alone on the verge of old age and wondering if he has wasted his best years.