Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

If you have not yet read Never Let Me Go, then I’m afraid I can’t tell you what it’s about. I can say it’s a dystopia, that it’s set in an alternate modern-day England, and that the narrator, Kathy, is reminiscing about her childhood at an idyllic boarding school named Hailsham. Or at least that’s what she seems to be doing. But I really can’t say more, because I suspect that the least you know, the greatest the impact of this book will be. I say “suspect” because sadly, after years of successfully avoiding spoilers, I read a one paragraph blurb in a list of reading recommendations that gave away everything. Dear internet: no major spoilers in plot synopses please? But anyway, the good news is that I still absolutely loved Never Let Me Go.

First of all, a warning: I’m not going to include any outright spoilers in this post, but to talk about why I loved the book so much I’m going to have to hint at things. And it’s likely that my hints will allow you to put two and two together, so proceed at your own risk!

I really loved Kathy’s voice. Ishiguro has done it again. Kathy is very different from Stevens from The Remains of the Day, but I think both are brilliant narrators in somewhat similar ways. In a way, Never Let Me Go is also a book about relationships and transience; about silence and regret. What Ishiguro does so well is to make everything completely understated and yet incredibly moving and impossible to ignore. Kathy’s social world is dominated by unspoken things, by subtle connections, by feelings that remain covert for far too long. As she looks back on her life, she actually acknowledges this and explains the perceived meaning of interactions that were never openly discussed. And the reader, as an outside observer, can tell just what went wrong in terms of communication.

The story focuses as much on Kathy as it does on Ruth and Tommy, her two best friends. The strength of Kathy’s connection with Tommy in particular is obvious from the very beginning, yet they only discuss it far into the book. The result of this is that when things are finally out in the open, they are bittersweet and tinged with regret. And this made me so immensely sad.

(Warning: particularly spoiler-y paragraph.) But the saddest thing of all about Never Let Me Go is the deferral rumour, and the answer that Kathy and Tommy are finally given. Of course, even if it had been positive, it would only have bought them a few more years, but that extra time matters so much that we almost forget this. What I found particularly brilliant was the fact that their quest and their faith in the rumour were remarkable alike what we do in our non-dystrophic world; what we seek and what we believe in—and this is especially striking considering that Madame tells them that the rumour seems to begin again spontaneously even if they deny it. We’re all after more time, and we’re more than willing to embrace ideas that suggest that we will be given it. Even the whole... system that allowed Kathy and Tommy and Ruth to exist in the first place is all about deferrals; about postponing the inevitable, about gaining time. There’s something very human about this, and very moving too.

I’m mostly focusing on characters and relationships here because that was what impressed me the most, but there’s also, of course everything else that’s not being said; all the things about the world where the novel is set; all that we don’t know because Kathy doesn’t know it. And though they’re only hinted at, they speak loud and clear. Never Let Me Go raises questions about identity, about how much people will accept if only they’re raised to believe that a horrifying reality is natural and inevitable, and about how willing we are to dehumanize others if it proves to be convenient.

The premise behind Never Let Me Go is shocking and horrifying, yes, but, perhaps because the book was spoiled for me, I skipped being horrified and jumped right into being sad. And that’s how I felt for days after I finished this book, and how I still feel if I think about it: filled with a quiet sadness and with regret.

Favourite passages:

And though we just kept on walking, we all felt it; it was like we’d walked from the sun right into chilly shade. Ruth had been right: Madame was afraid of us. But she was afraid of us in the same way someone might be afraid of spiders. We hadn’t been ready for that. It had never occurred to us to wonder how we would feel, being seen like that, being the spiders.

It couldn’t last, of course, but like I say, just for those few months, we somehow managed to live in this cosy state of suspension in which we could ponder our lives without the usual boundaries. Looking back now, it feels like we spent ages in that steamed-up kitchen after breakfast, or huddled around half-dead fires in the small hours, lost in conversation about our plans for the future.

‘I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold on to each other, holding on as fast as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how I think it is with us. It’s a shame, Kath, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever.’

They Read it too:
Raging Bibliomania, Stuff as Dreams are Made On, Reading Through the Night, Kay’s Bookshelf, Shelf Love, The Zen Leaf, Becky’s Book Reviews, Stuck in a Book, Save Ophelia, books i done read, Trish’s Reading Nook, S. Krishna’s Books, Care’s Online Bookclub, Books of Mee, DogEar Diary, Vulpe Libris

(I’m sure I missed a ton of them. Apologies in advance, and if you leave me your link I’ll be happy to add it.)