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by Kazuo Ishiguro
In Yanagihara’s novel, squalor and degradation are the ruinous individual exception in a world of summer houses and talent and hard work that gets you somewhere; in Lish’s, they are the baseline condition of the life we have made on our planet.
Accessibility is such a strange, sad measure of the writing I love. Dora the Explorer is accessible. The Unconsoled is not.
Recently it struck me that the list of books I’ve started and not finished has grown quite formidable. I ask myself what this “means,” if it reflects some kind of moral devolution.
The surprise in a large part of Kazuo Ishiguro's work is that he changes the very quality of the world in some subtle but deeply alarming way.