The Remains of The Father

[contains spoilers for “The Remains of the Day”]

On the surface, the plot of Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel “The Remains of the Day” seems quite clear. An aged butler named Stephens  takes a trip through mid-century England and thereby dives deep into his past.

One aspect I haven’t found mentioned in other reviews is the relationship between the protagonist and his father William, a butler as well, who, despite being surpassed by his son in all measures of professional excellence, is still being revered by him. The story is told from Stephen’s point of view, making it hard to figure out what is real and what he wants us (and himself) to believe. His relationship to Miss Kenton for example, a coworker, whose present is a constant in the butler’s thoughts never becomes quite clear.

So who is the father? His background is never explained, but it can be assumed, that he grew up in a poor family and then climbed up the echelons though sheer hard work and professional excellence. So professional that even when his employer invites a businessman, who is directly responsible for his other son’s death during a failed military raid, into his manor he not only chooses to serve him, but does so attentively and without a hint of indignation. Or at least that is the truth Stephen makes us accept. As the great houses of the English aristocracy shrink along with their king’s empire, William falls on hard times and takes shelter at his son’s workplace, where he starts to work as an underbutler.

One thing that Stevens seems to be completely unable to accept is the reality of his father aging and the accompanying mental and physical decline. After the old man starts to slack in his house duties, a stern confrontation between the son and Miss Kenton develops.

‘Whatever your father was once, Mr Stevens, his powers are now greatly diminished. This is what these “trivial error” as you call them really signify and if you do not heed them, it will not be long before your father commits an error of major proportions.’

‘Miss Kenton, you are merely making yourself look foolish.’

‘I am sorry, Mr Stevens, but I must go on. I believe there are may duties your father should now be relieved of. He should not, for one, be asked to go on carrying heavily laden trays. The way his hands tremble as he carries them into dinner is nothing short of alarming. It is surely only a matter of time before a tray falls from his hands on to a lady’s or gentleman’s lap.’

Of course it isn’t before long that the father really falls. While carrying refreshments for his Lordship he trips and becomes unconscious. From there on he is assigned to push a trolley in the back of the house instead of being allowed to wait the wait the tables as had been his role for nearly the last half-century. Nevertheless Stevens is quite optimistic.

It was almost as though some supernatural force possessed him, causing him to shed twenty years; his face lost much of the sunken look of recent times, and he went about his work with youthful vigour that a stranger might have believed there were not one but several such figures pushing trolleys about the corridors of Darlington Hall.

Not shortly afterwards the father falls again – and dies shortly afterwards. It is a sad ending to a hopeless novel, but what is the reader to make of it? Maybe we can walk away from it thinking more about how the stories we tell ourselves are not necessarily ture, especially when it concerns people that are close to us. Not only do we want to live on through our children, but we are see ourselves in our parents and their weakening foreshadows ours.