a spare and moving novel by kazuo ishiguro about post world war 2 japan written in the first person.
an artist who specialized in inspirational patriotic art contemplates the devastating effects of his life’s work. the ‘floating world’ is the world of pleasure palaces and soft fragile lantern light that was considered the valid subjects of artists. this insularity is what he revolted against (art must find beauty wherever it can)- instead insisting upon the political role that art should play. (artists cannot separate themselves from reality).
as the new americanism emerges all around him, as value systems change and as all the beliefs he held dear in his earlier incarnation are disappearing around him he is forced to reevaluate the role he performed in the creation of the national japanese imagination that led to its eventual defeat in the war.
a particular sadness that is perpetual and unresolvable.. the sadness of a realization that what you held most dear ended up being so devastating for so many people.. what does that mean for your life? what is the legacy that you leave behind now?
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