The book opens in London in 1930. The narrator, Christopher Banks, is by then a famous consulting detective moving in the best social circles. On selected dates, over a period of years, he gives a rambling account of his day that, in a series of nested flashbacks, harks back to events of the previous week, month, even years. These mainly feature his encounters with the attractive socialite, Sarah Hemmings, and memories of his childhood in Shanghai.
It was in Shanghai that he became an orphan, of sorts. First his father, then within weeks his mother, disappeared. Both were embroiled in the opium trade, his father as an executive of a dubious trading company and his mother as an agitator for reform. Their disappearance is a case he knows he must turn his attention to one day.
In 1937 he finally makes the trip to a Shanghai on the front line in the Sino Japanese war, complicated by the stirrings of communist revolt and the gathering storm clouds that will soon break as the Second World War. So there are bigger problems to deal with than some long lost geriatrics. Diplomatic missions are in place, including one led by Sarah Hemming’s new, but old, husband, Sir Cecil Medhurst. That means Sarah is in town, and the friendship is renewed.
For three quarters of the book the pace is steady, the language formal, and emotions restrained, as befits an educated English gentleman. Then in Shanghai, all that is blown to the winds in an action packed finale, as the competing demands of Sarah Hemmings, the diplomatic mission, and the quest to find his parents finally crack his composure and reserve.
It is not a difficult read. Ishiguro’s prose is easy on the eye, though the nested flashbacks demand attention and the odd ruffling back of pages to keep track. However, Banks is a hard character to empathise with, and the whole orphans thing (Sarah is one too, and Banks randomly adopts one of his own) seems rather spurious.
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