This truly felt like a one of a kind read. Never have I read anything like it, but I can't see it going down well with people who like their stories to have a clear point. You spend a lot of your time reading The Unconsoled confused. Why are we here? Why can't our narrator remember anything? Why is he constantly getting lost and moving on to the next task or person without resolving the last? I've not a clue, but I spent my time with it equal parts calm and anxious. 

For me, the book says slow down, enjoy your moments, rest, and make time for people, but most importantly, don't place all of your hopes on one singular life event. Too much pressure on anything is bound to fail. I don't know. I could be talking complete bollocks, but I am a person who puts too much pressure on moments in their life. This is definitely the weirdest book by Kazuo Ishiguro I have read so far, but it has me even more intrigued to complete the rest of his back catalogue.