There was something about the way this young woman's hair framed her face, that reminded me of a a character in an Ishiguro novel, a kind of demure resoluteness. But perhaps this a bit of wistful retro-fitting, a kind of post-hoc intertextuality bought on by finishing Ishiguro's short story collection 'Nocturnes'. After being so smitten with 'Never Let Me Go' this felt like Ishiguro going through the motions, stuck in a room of people he had no sympathy for, like cooking with slightly rotten vegetables, no good can come of it.