I just want this book to end.
So far it has just been a slog, but this girl describing with such pathetic hope her mother remembering them again, just…ugh. Make it stop.
(An aside: if this goes that route and focuses on memory like that, I tell you Ishiguro had better have some damn big hole in his life to justify it. He’s better not be doing this because memory loss “sells.” No forgiveness on that count, buddy. None.)