Bob Bob Ricard, Kazuo Ishiguro’s favourite London restaurant, on the corner of Beak Street, Soho, has upholstered booths that make it look like a luxurious railway train – the Orient Express, perhaps. We settle in at 1.30pm for what will turn out to be a long journey, with a conversation sprawling, various and with multiple destinations. Ishiguro sits opposite in his habitual uniform of black jacket and shirt. His hands are expressive and he steers the conversation with such freedom that questions seem cumbersome interventions. He has claimed he is not a novelist reliant on observation (his Booker-winning novel The Remains of the Day and 2005 sci-fi hit Never Let Me Go share a “tweaked” reality). Yet he is all attention – a good watcher and listener.
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