Book Report: Never Let Me Go

9. Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go (2005) (5/7/2020)

The other day on Facebook, a writer acquaintance, Lidia Yuknavitch, commented: "oomph—just reread Never Let Me Go / Kazuo Ishiguro again (it's a slim volume/short read) . . . had a mega micro cry. Art draws my admittedly whack-fucked emotions out of me in the best and most gentle ways . . . gives me a place to PUT some of this disorder inside me. thank you, art. thank you, artists." I was drawn by the "oomph," by the idea of a "short read" (it wasn't, not for me anyway—but I am a slow reader), and by the idea of what "Art" can and does do. Plus, I knew exactly where on my shelves this book was.

And now I have finished. Perhaps I am writing this report too soon, because I expect it's a story that will keep sinking in. I found it a bit of a slog—very slow (which made it seem long), and in a way too conversational, if that's the right word: told in the first person, and all about memories. The story is set in "England, late 1990s," and the narrator, Kathy H., is a thirty-one-year-old "carer"—that is, for the past almost twelve years she has taken care of "donors." That much is stated on the first page. But what these categories—and a few others, like "possibles" and "completeds"—mean is revealed only gradually.

She spends the first part of the book, or over 100 pages, reminiscing about a school, Hailsham, that she attended—well, didn't just attend, but lived full time at, no parents ever in sight, just "guardians," or teachers. The second part, another 100 pages, concerns "the Cottages," where she and others seem basically to be waiting, biding time. We see no work in particular being done; their main task is to write an "essay," but even that seems meaningless. Plus, in this section there is a crucial visit to a coastal town in Norfolk (foreshadowed in part one as England's "Lost Corner"). And then there's part three, 80 pages, where everything comes together. Through all this, Kathy has two best friends, Ruth and Tommy, and most of the story concerns her ins and outs with them. This is where the conversational, meandering style comes in, as she loops back and forth, now having a particular story to tell, but first needing to fill us in on a prior, meaningful incident, then segueing into another bit of atmosphere, before getting to the point. There's a lot of hindsight in play as well, second-guessing what she or others might actually have felt or thought in the moment "back then."

Yes, it's clear from the start that things are off, and many of the incidents she relates—especially those concerning a certain "Miss Lucy"—add up to a feeling of gothic foreboding. There is a "Gallery" curated by a mysterious "Madame," who shows up at intervals to collect drawings or poems or other creative works that seemingly capture the "insides"—the souls—of these children. There are rivalries and alliances, misunderstandings and real love. I guess it's an emotional book, but there's also a certain distance to it, a lack of questioning of things as they are, an acceptance of mystery, or is it darkness.

In that sense, it feels like an object lesson, a warning not to stand back and simply observe what's going on (right now, right here) without questioning why and whether it must be that way. As another teacher, Miss Emily, says near the end,  speaking of Hailsham, which in the intervening dozen or so years has gone to ruin:

"I can see that it might look as though you were simply pawns in a game. It can certainly be looked at like that. But think of it. You were lucky pawns. There was a certain climate and now it's gone. You have to accept that sometimes that's how things happen in this world. People's opinions, their feelings, they go one way, then the other. It just so happens you grew up at a certain point in this process."
 "It might be just some trend that came and went," I said. "But for us, it's our life."
 "Yes, that's true. But think of it. You were better off than many who came before you. And who knows what those who come after you will have to face."

In a way, Ishiguro (who, by the way, won the Nobel Prize) really seems to be writing about a lot in life—fate, the inescapable. But surely there's something more than that? Or were the Greeks right?

The book also, it turns out, imagines a world in which science and medicine had a radically different turn following WWII, and (perhaps) invites us to consider the ethical implications.

As I said, I may need to digest this book further. But yes, I'm glad I finally read it. Now for something a little less speculative.

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Today's count for the virus in Monterey County, 250, up 3; deaths holding steady at 6. I hadn't been looking at the geographic breakdowns, but today noticed that 13 percent of total cases (so, 30 cases altogether) are on the Monterey Peninsula and down through Big Sur;  the Salinas area accounts for 65 percent of cases (163). Latinos account for 70 percent of cases. And the age group most affected, with 30 percent of cases, is 24–34; 24–54 accounts for 66 percent of cases.

Stay inside. Read a good book. Stay well.