He becomes a detective and gains some renown. He finds himself enmeshed in a social circle of bright young things and has a few strange encounters with an accomplishment junkie named Sarah. Ishiguro lards his prose with clues hinting at the reality behind Banks' sophistry. Plot twists strain credulity, loose ends dangle, and jump-cuts between realism and surrealism shred one's patience. Memory distorts reality and we all filter experiences through our own skewed perceptions.
Imperialism is bad.
It's probably not wise to focus on work to the extent of avoiding human connection. It's downright folly to think you can single-handedly save the world. Ishiguro so excels at depicting. Although he claims fondness for Jennifer, Banks decides to return to Shanghai in 1937 to solve the mystery of his parents' disappearance. He realizes Jennifer will see his absence as a betrayal, but rationalizes that he might return before she even notices he's gone.