|
In the end, I can't tell if Ishiguro has a fully realized world in his mind and failed to communicate it, or if it's somewhat nebulous to him as it is to some of us.
It makes me appreciate how tricky a dance it is; I hate over-realized worlds where the author tells everything in so many words rather than, comfortable in the knowledge of the world himself, he trusts the reader to get it right, or right enough, based on what the author reveals. Of the two, I'd rather have less than too much. Unfortunately, the Miss Emily info-dump smacks of Ishiguro having second thoughts at the very end.
The gallery never made sense, no matter what interpretation you put on it.
|