The Unconsoled

Kazuo Ishiguro, 1995 

Read: March –April 2026 

Edition read: Faber and Faber, 2013, 535 pages 

Fiction, Literary fiction, Post-modernism, Surrealism 

*Spoilers* 

A classical piano player, only ever referred to by his surname of ‘Ryder’, arrives in an unspecified, somewhat Germanic city, to give a performance. Between arrival and said performance, errands unfold one after the other into a chain of Kafka-esque side-missions, with the kind of incongruous logic only found in dreams. Time stretches, locations move about (the copy-editor must have had their own nightmares over this one), and otherwise repressed people bring their various crises and make unsolicited confessions to Ryder, in which they assume he is up to speed with whatever they are divulging. This assumed information – which we share Ryder’s ignorance and sometimes bemusement of – remains unexplained to both him and us as readers (for example, Ryder having his picture taken in front of The Sattler Building is hugely controversial – we just never get to know why).  

This air of mystery is coupled with nearly every character’s excessively polite and precise and utterly verbose dialogue, which occasionally results in paragraphs several pages long. As such, the action and the plot unfold slowly. Although tense, it’s nowhere near ominous enough to be considered a thriller or horror novel (nor does it have the pay-off).   

Rather, the novel lends itself to interpretation rather than explanation. Mine is that, in this dream-like state, the city is Ryder; maybe his self-perception, maybe his unconsciousness, and that he is trying to resolve some traumatic event – or maybe just overwhelming disappointment (one of the major themes) – with this trauma/disappointment simultaneously embodied and split into multiple characters, with each of these representing something that Ryder feels about himself. 

A few examples: Stephan believes that his childhood inability to commit to his piano lessons caused his parents’ marriage to break down. And much as how Stephan’s parents ultimately never do watch him perform, nor do Ryder’s parents visit. Brodsky, once a conductor and now an alcoholic, is psychologically hung up on his wound (the nature of which is hinted at but never specified), with both of these issues estranging his wife. Despite a late resurgence, his conducting of the orchestra goes badly askew. Miss Collins, the said estranged wife, finally loses her patience, telling him ‘You’ll always go back to your one true love. To that wound!’ We are repeatedly told that the whole city – i.e., Ryder – and its reputation is dependent upon its ability to produce a genius musician, for which it turns to an outsider, Ryder, for help (unsuccessfully). Ryder, although clearly talented, is displaced even in his own dream/mind/sense of selfhood/sense of being, staying in a hotel (rather than at home) as he struggles to fulfil these expectations. 

The variation upon this a couple of characters who it slowly becomes apparent are drawn from Ryder’s life and not just his mind, but his memory of which has been repressed. The most tragic of these are Sophie and Boris, to whom he appears respectively to be a husband and father figure. 

Despite their symbolic prevalence, these characters are well-rounded and relatable. Taken together, the nature of these characters, with their combination of deep-seated unhappiness and repression, has a clear significance as symbolic elements. Despite the many unsolicited, detailed divulgences that Ryder is exposed to, nearly every character has an otherwise subdued, inhibited personality. Little in the way of obvious resolution is delivered and whatever has placed our protagonist in this position – or mental state – remains concealed. As such, The Unconsoled is a melancholic read; how we thwart the promises and expectations of our talent without even realising it, until only hindsight is left (‘Oh dear, Mr Ryder, I’m much too old to be standing at any crossroad […] If this had all happened even just seven or eight years ago […]This is hardly the time to be starting out with a whole new set of hopes and fears and dream.’) Ryder’s parents never arrive; Stephan recites his piece as support act, but the whole point, that his parents witness his talent, is thwarted; Brodsky’s conducting of the orchestra falls apart; Ryder’s performance never happens. Yes, this is a Kazuo Ishiguro novel. 

If you enjoyed, or rather, enjoyed how sad Never Let Me Go, The Remains of The Day or Nocturnes made you, you’ll like remaining unconsoled to this one too. 

Worth reading? Yes. Don’t be daunted by its length or its deliberate wordiness, it’s a compelling read. 

 Worth re-reading? Yes. This could even illuminate some interesting foreshadowing. 

You might like this if you enjoyed: 

The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien 

A New Name: Septology VI-VII by Jon Fosse

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro 

The Remains of The Day by Kazuo Ishiguro

Nocturnes by Kazuo Ishiguro.