Never Let Me Go

I picked this up based entirely upon vague recommendations I’d heard. I hadn’t ever read anything by Ishiguro—or really even wanted to, though I knew his reputation as a good writer. And here’s a little confession: I pick books based at least partially (sometimes largely) based on their covers. It’s something I discovered when I was working at a bookstore: You may not be able to actually judge a book by its cover, but you can frequently pick them based on that. Covers are designed to appeal to the same target market that the book itself would appeal to. It’s not a perfect approach, but I’ve found that it yields a lot more hits than misses. Anyway, the cover of this book is not the type of cover you’d see on a book that I would read. I like covers (and books) with warmth and texture. This cover is cold and ironically impersonal, and even the irony itself was on display. I’m honestly not sure why I went ahead and got the book.

The thing is that while I didn’t misjudge it—it’s pretty much the type of book I expected, based on that cover—still I’m glad I read it. After the first couple of chapters I wasn’t sure I’d like it, and I flirted with putting it down. But it was so well written that I decided to stick with it. Ishiguro deserves his reputation, I have to say. The writing is very good; good enough, in fact, that you can read the entire book and not even realize how well written it is. It doesn’t stand out, but it’s very effective. It’s also a very thoughtful book, and gives you quite a bit to work out in your head.

The first half of this novel is all very mysterious, and you’re trying to figure out who these people are and what makes them so special and what the hell these “donations” are they keep talking about. To really discuss the book as a whole, I’m going to have to spoil it, so here goes with that.

I was pretty bummed, actually, because I had just finished Chapter 11 and was messing around reading the end matter & whatnot (I do that sometimes between chapters) and I ran across the Library of Congress cataloguing info and saw Cloning—Fiction. I about died. Obviously that was what all the suspense was about, and I figured the rest of the book wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. But then on the second page of Chapter 12, she (the narrator) tells you they’re clones. It would probably have been a really powerful moment, actually—as a writer, I appreciate the way he dropped that information in there.

The characters in the book (most of them, anyway) are clones whose entire purpose is to donate organs. Ishiguro avoids the question of exploitation, for the most part, and focuses instead on what this scenario would mean as far as the age-old “meaning of life” question. If all you’re going to do is donate your organs and die, then is it worth developing your soul, leading an interesting life, falling in love? In the end, though, they aren’t that different from us. They die a little sooner, and the manner of their death is actually in the hands of some identifiable person (though, as I say, he does a very good job of avoiding the specificity of any particular person being in charge of that kind of thing—it’s almost always ‘they’). But we all face the same question: No matter what I do, I’m going to die. Will anything live on after? Do I have a soul? I don’t know, any more than the clones in this book do.


In which sense, it was a pretty good book. I’m definitely glad I finished it.

A very relatable story for folks who grow up in 90s. Nostalgia, fragility of life and reminiscence of the past where people no longer exist but memories still stay alive.

This book is a surprisingly beautiful story but don’t look for happy endings. I once heard someone say that reading any of Ishiguro’s books is satisfyingly devastating. I find them emotionally jarring and deeply contemplative. Most of the intrigue lies in how Ishiguro’s narrative style draws you in. His protagonists are not omnipotent but their reflective lens gives their perspective that effect. Additionally, his choice of details in his world building make his books timeless. He gives the reader just enough so they know they are in some alternate reality but not so much that it can become dated. This approach gives his books a “too close to reality” feel. Ishiguro draws waves of empathy out of you and challenge you not to see yourself as one of the Hailsham kids. What I really wanted to know about them, and it never gets answered, is what took away their sense of agency to act in defiance of what they were made for. I could only assume that what made them incapable of reproducing also limited their independence. The plight of the Hailsham children is the backdrop for the critical assessment of society. Specifically, its inability to see the humanity in all people when it suits a purpose. The characters in this novel are agents who hope against hope in a cold society. That hope, like in Ishiguro’s other books, is often rooted in a fantasy spun for them that they pursue to its disappointing end. This book is science fiction in its purest form; wherein a deeply human story takes place against the stage of a society changed by scientific developments. In Ishiguro’s case it is interesting how the natural landscape itself is a key part of the story. As if he is saying that for all our technological advancement and built up environments, we always return to nature.

I watched the movie years before reading this book. I absolutely loved the movie. It's a beautiful but also very sad story about ones purpose in life. The book was very good too but honestly it would be quite hard to top the movie for me. (Carrie Mulligan, Andrew Garfield and Kiera Knightly are perfectly cast)

This book was easy to get into because of the intimacy created by the first person narrative. For me it took too long to get into explaining what some of the references were alluding to and get to the meat of the story. I liked it but I didn’t love it. The premise was really interesting and led to me trying to imagine other scenarios relevant to today’s world and technologies.