A Study of Kazuo Ishiguro in Three Novels: the Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go & the Buried Giant
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This document is downloaded from DR‑NTU (https://dr.ntu.edu.sg) Nanyang Technological University, Singapore. Negotiating forms, experimenting genres : a study of Kazuo Ishiguro in three novels: the remains of the day, never let me go & the buried giant Hafizah Amid 2018 Hafizah Amid. (2018). Negotiating forms, experimenting genres : a study of Kazuo Ishiguro in three novels: the remains of the day, never let me go & the buried giant. Master's thesis, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore. http://hdl.handle.net/10356/73221 https://doi.org/10.32657/10356/73221 Downloaded on 02 Oct 2021 23:42:39 SGT Negotiating Forms, Experimenting Genres: A Study of Kazuo Ishiguro in Three Novels: The Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go & The Buried Giant Hafizah Amid School of Humanities 2017 Negotiating Forms, Experimenting Genres: A Study of Kazuo Ishiguro in Three Novels: The Remains of the Day, Never Let Me Go & The Buried Giant Hafizah Amid School of Humanities A thesis submitted to the Nanyang Technological University in partial fulfilment of the requirement for the degree of Master of Arts 2017 Acknowledgements My sincerest and heartfelt gratitude goes to all those who have given me this opportunity to work on and complete this thesis, especially Dr Neil Murphy, whose infinite patience and guidance was a constant source of inspiration for me. A special thanks also goes out to the English Department at NTU, Dr Graham Matthews and Dr Shirley Chew, for their indispensable advice and support, as well as my dearest family, partner and friends. Table of Contents Introduction: Genre and Form; Genre as Form .................................................... 1 Chapter One: The Remains of the Day as a Novel of Manners ......................... 23 Chapter Two: Never Let Me Go as Dystopian Science-fiction .......................... 52 Chapter Three: The Buried Giant as Medieval Fantasy Romance .................... 87 Conclusion ....................................................................................................... 120 Works Cited ..................................................................................................... 121 Abstract This dissertation aims to interrogate the genre conventions and stereotypes as employed by British novelist, Kazuo Ishiguro, particularly in the post-war novel of manners, The Remains of the Day, the dystopian sci-fi narrative, Never Let Me Go, and finally, the medieval fantasy romance, The Buried Giant as literary devices. Arguing that instead of simply conforming to the genre-specific stylistic stereotypes of the aforementioned genres, Ishiguro first draws his readers into his stories with the use of these familiar genre cues, and then transgresses them both to create narrative tension and negotiate with his readers his unique viewpoints and beliefs regarding some of his recurring ideas surrounding the human condition: loss, the fragility of human memory and how we cope with them. Ultimately, I hope to demonstrate that as a writer, Ishiguro aims to interrogate the boundaries of not just what he considers to be genres but also fictional narratives. Hafizah 1 Introduction: Genre and Form; Genre as Form What is genre? And what is the difference between genre and form? At the most basic level, the differences between the two terms seem straightforward enough. According to Oxford Dictionaries, like genre, a word derived from French and Latin, and which is defined as a style or category of art, music, or literature, form too is used to denote type or variety. The difference in definitions lies in the particularity of the word ‘form’ which also implies shape, or even configuration. Nevertheless, when used in the context of the society to describe the cultural products of art, language and especially literature, David Duff, in Modern Genre Theory, specifies genre as a “recurring type of category of text, as defined by structural, thematic and/or functional criteria.” Genre is also frequently utilised, at times derogatorily, to classify types of popular fiction in which a “high degree of standardisation is apparent” (xiii). Although form is often used synonymously with genre, form, however, could imply a particular type of literary work like a sonnet, as well as a means to differentiate between “the form and function of a given genre, and – a less reliable distinction – between its form and content (that is, its structural as distinct from thematic characteristics)” (xii). Further to these definitions, I would also contend that on the one hand, genre is often perceived to be connotative of rules, conventions and stereotypes that have either been accepted by culture or conceptualised by literary critics. Form, on the other hand, alludes to narrative techniques, devices, as well as elements employed in unravelling a story that an author has intended for his or her own work, which thus, opens itself up to literary experimentation. It is Hafizah 2 therefore unsurprising that compared to form, genre is an ever more contentious and problematic concept simply because it is difficult to agree on the boundaries and standards of what makes a particular work belong to a particular genre. Furthermore, the classification and organisation of genres is not a neutral or impartial process and can be rather subjective, especially with significant disagreement about the definition of specific genres, or even, sub-genres. Since classical times, however, various critics and artists have dealt with genre in varied ways. In Aristotle’s Poetics, one of the earliest surviving works on literary theory, genre is described as broad categories of dramatic works, including tragedy and comedy, as well as lyric and epic poetry, depending on their medium, objects and “manner or mode of imitation” (ch. i). Even though Aristotle appears to idealise the “tragic mode of imitation” and proclaims it the “superior” and “higher art” to epic poetry, such taxonomic and dogmatic approaches to genre unfortunately continue to be dominant through much of the history of genre criticism, and this is despite artists like Shakespeare at times satirising these fixed and rigid frameworks (ch. xxvi). Hence, in an effort to defend the need for a genuine and systematic study of literary criticism, Northrop Frye in Anatomy of Criticism claims that just as there is nothing that the philosopher or historian cannot analyse in his own specialised fields, the literary critic too “should be able to construct and dwell in a conceptual universe of his own” (12). Since criticism is to “art what history is to action and philosophy to wisdom,” Frye not only develops on the Aristotelian concept of genres, but also expands on it after he laments how “the critical theory of genres is stuck precisely where Aristotle has left it” (12-13). Hafizah 3 By differentiating narrative into modes that are dependent on the hero’s power of action, he thus formulates categories such as myth or irony (33-34). For myths, which he perceives form the underpinnings of all major art forms including literature, music and paintings, as well as symbols, a comprehensive albeit prescriptive mode of identification and classification follows, after which, he classifies genre depending on the “radical of presentation.” For Frye, the “radical of presentation” refers to the condition established between the artist and his or her audience that determines if the literary work is meant to be acted out, sung, spoken, or even read in a book. Indeed, these formal genre distinctions, together with his other monumental theories on literary modes, and symbolic and mythic archetypes, are important to Frye to make meaning in this prolific “age of the printing press” (246). Yet, this archetypal framework for genres still encompasses wide-ranging and far-reaching categories of literature that seem rather restrictive and has since become obsolescent. Incidentally, one of the most influential and pervasive pieces to be published on the topic of genres seemingly refutes the concept of genres altogether. In “The Law of Genre,” Jacques Derrida explicates, “As soon as the word ‘genre’ is sounded, as soon as it is heard, as soon as one attempts to conceive it, a limit is drawn… [and] norms and interdictions are not far behind: ‘Do,’ ‘Do not,’ says ‘genre,’ the word ‘genre,’ the figure, the voice, or the law of the genre” (203). In describing the law of genre as a law against miscegenation, Derrida posits that a genre is contradictory in its function to classify, as there can be no “genreless text,” and since all texts participate in one or several genres, their “participation never amounts to belonging.” Its Hafizah 4 “generic mark” that characterises a text as partaking of a particular genre, does not necessarily circumscribe itself as “belonging” to it as well, thereby defying genre classifications (212). Undeniably, Derrida’s law of genre problematises the study of genre in two ways: if the structural, taxonomical doctrine of genres is futile, or at least much too biased towards those who decide on the definitions and differentiations of various literary works into their various types, then in the face of such rich, vibrant genre hybridity as performed by artists such as Shakespeare, or even the Russian writer, Fyodor Dostoevsky, should the study of genres be developed further or abandoned completely? The answer lies, perhaps, in the literary theories of the Russian Formalists, notably Mikhail Bakhtin. Picking it up, as it were, from where Frye’s archetypal approach to genre was discussed, Bakhtin proposes a socio- linguistic, dialogic approach to the novel, which to him represents a literary genre that is not only immensely multi-faceted and multi-voiced, but also self- reflexive in nature (Morris 113). In his seminal engagement with the works of Dostoevsky, Bakhtin declares, “Dostoevsky is the creator of the polyphonic novel” (Problems 7). Different from the attempts of previous novelists, Dostoevsky has performed a “small-scale Copernican revolution” when he developed the polyphonic novel, allowing both his hero and other characters to share in the privilege of what was previously the singular authority of the author in visualising and constructing the textual world of the narrative (49).