Kazuo Ishiguro, <An Artist of the Floating World>

I've already shown my affection for Ishiguro's writings every time I did get a chance. The fondness, I believe, became quite official to my friends and acquaintances, and An Artist of the Floating World, the fourth Ishiguro novel I read, even reinforced the feeling. My answer to 'your favourite author' question has changed a lot simply because I couldn't guess. Honestly speaking, I've never read multiple books by the same author until recently; to be precise, until I reached my hand to Never Let Me Go and picked it up from my bookshelf last semester. Since I lacked an experience of hovering around a particular writer to explore his or her bibliography, giving an answer such as 'Tolkien as I'm a big fan of his (movies)!' or 'Jane Austen' was my best. Oh, as I'm writing this, the privilege of being the first author whose work's' were read by Changhyun Park, must actually go to Austen. By the way, that's not important anymore insofar as my taste finally arrived at its destination: Ishiguro, memory, and the sense of a human being.

 

An Artist of the Floating World is about an old artist recollecting his memories before and after the Second World War. One can easily presume that the plot will develop around something related to the war by the chapter names - "October 1948," "April 1949," "November 1949," and "June 1950." However, I realised that Ishiguro never talks about the war itself only after finishing the book. Perhaps that was a result of the reader's biases, but now it appears that the author deliberately set the story in such a way, and he nonchalantly succeeded in deceiving his audience. Yes, the shadows of the war indeed linger on almost every character. They discuss the repercussions of the Japanese Imperialism, especially that stretched out to Manchuria, nevertheless, reluctantly. Maybe this uneasiness applies to only the protagonist, Masuji Ono, an ageing painter who was once revered as one of the greatest artists but now faces much hostility due to patriotic acts done during the wartime. The younger generation, including his daughters, sons-in-law, and pupils, display strikingly a different attitude towards the tragedy of six years. They seem to ceaselessly question the validity of imperialism and demand those accountable for the mess to mend or at least apologise to them. Yet, I'm afraid this social upheaval to renew everything from top to bottom was a sham.

 

I eventually came to wonder how Ishiguro will end the story as the last scenes did not tell much about what really made Ono fall from grace nor 'seem' crucial. A small family talk, a conversation with Matsuda, Ono's once close friend, and an account of a reinvigorated town. These small things often blind one from truth of the utmost significance, but after a due examination, one surely notices that they were the microcosm of everything. At this point, I understood the testimonial from Chicago Tribune, "A subtle and generous examination of [Japanese] character." Albeit he grew up in Britain and confessed a confusion towards people praising him for reflecting Japanese culture so well, Ishiguro indeed knew the core of the Japanese spirit. The collectivist zeal to dedicate one's life for the country, the chasm between the elder and younger generations on their past deeds, and most importantly, the hastiness to forget about mortification all show up in the last scenes. As soon as he admits his ignorance of the secular world, Ono determines to step out of "the floating world," a euphemism for the pleasure district. Before he meets Matsuda, who awakens him to ever-growing poverty and incompetent bureaucracy, Ono devotes himself to much more subtle subjects, such as geishas and nomikais. Shortly put, he painted art itself on canvases under the supervision of his master, Moriyama-san. Then, after the awakening, he converts to more social themes, endorsing the imperialist ideology, instilling patriotism, and even accusing his own, most talented pupil, Kuroda, of possible treachery.

 

Of course, Ono didn't 'accuse' but only 'reported' Kuroda's case to the Committee of Unpatriotic Activities where he worked as an advisor. Ishiguro also doesn't highlight the protagonist's misconduct directly. He instead briefly informs the readers of what happened between Ono and Kuroda near the end of the story. Until then, Ishiguro implies there had been certain mistakes in the artist's career, and they were so critical that they even affected the marriage of Ono's daughter. Simultaneously, Ono avoids reminiscing the wartime experience yet eventually concedes that he'd been flawed. His contemplation continues after the miai(formal matrimonial meeting between families of bride and bridegroom) with the Saitos goes well. The most troubling memory ironically resurfaces when every worry of the present moment has been settled. Whether unconsciously held out or not, that's the point where Ono departs himself from the rest of his family and younger generation. Setsuko, his eldest daughter, and Noriko, the second, had constantly blamed their father for his imperialist career before Noriko was finally wed to a decent man. After the wedding, no one in the family dare mentions Ono's life as a renowned artist. They even pretend to have forgotten their implicit criticisms towards him. In other words, their faint embarrassment was affected to find Noriko a safe ground in the future. In fact, Ono's sons-in-law, who represent the younger generation in general, also play a pretence; they pour out outrage to the elders by effacing all the traces of the past. They retain the resentment but rather choose to swipe away their ignominious history once their renovation project starts off 'successfully.' However, I doubt rebuilding Japan in that way, on the blank slate, would result in success as the sons-in-law believe. Look at the remaining tension in East Asia. Look at the status of Japan today. Was it the same as in the latter half of the previous century? No, they are certainly a falling sun. Without enough reflection on their past, the history repeats itself just like the remorseful master-pupil relationship between Moriyama-san and Ono, then Ono and Kuroda.

 

Ono takes the responsibility at last. That keeps dignity inside him. He and Matsuda both recall the old days full of ambition and talent, consoling one another that their pride lies in their determination to carry out what they believed right. However, Ono knew that things done wrong are wrong indeed since a long time ago. It was only his feeble-mindedness inextricably formed by his pride, memory, and age that deterred him for so long to acknowledge. However, Ishiguro plays a rather cruel trick at the end. Soon after he regains the dignity, he leaves his revelation to a personal level, realising that the new era of the young won't heed him anymore. Thus, as his master Moriyama-san found his own complacency in the pleasure district, which was termed "the floating world," Ono enters his own floating world of memory and arts.

 

Ishiguro, Kauzo. <An Artist of the Floating World>. Vintage Books, 1986.

 

Having said this, I must say I find it hard to understand how any man who values his self-respect would wish for long to avoid responsibility for his past deeds; it may not always be an easy thing, but there is certainly a satisfaction and dignity to be gained in coming ot terms with the mistakes one has made in the course of one's life.

 

P.S. This somehow became a short analysis, but... I didn't intend to go that deep, and to add lastly, in my opinion, An Artist of the Floating World was Ishiguro's build-up to his subsequently published novel, The Remains of the Day. And maybe this resemblance of central theme made me so fond of this novel as well.

+ The term "Floating World" （浮世; ukiyo）actually refers to the hedonistic attitude of joi de vivre during the Edo period.