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Offsetting the bizarreness of these revelations is the placid, measured voice of the narrator, Kathy H., a 31-year-old Hailsham alumna who, at the close of the 1990s, is consciously ending one phase of her life and beginning another. She is in a reflective mood, and recounts not only her childhood memories, but her quest in adulthood to find out more about Hailsham and the idealistic women who ran it. Although often poignant, Kathy's matter-of-fact narration blunts the sharper emotional effects you might expect in a novel that deals with illness, self-sacrifice, and the severe restriction of personal freedoms. As in Ishiguro's best-known work, The Remains of the Day, only after closing the book do you absorb the magnitude of what his characters endure. --Regina Marler

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Won't ever fade

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"...complaining about how memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don't go along with that. The memories I value most, I don't see them ever fading. I lost Ruth, and I lost Tommy, but I won't lose my memories of them." For a novel that packs so much broiling emotion in theme and plot, it's surprising that among so many waiting-to-boil paragraphs, this relatively tame passage are the most impactful words in the whole novel. The rest are very controlled, bordering on the absurd. From a title that is very strong... the novel goes on a very timed and restrained prose. In the dispassionate text, you'll want a volcano that is about to explode, but it never happens... AND THAT's WHERE THE MAGIC IS. Perhaps it's the natural style by Ishiguro to deliver broiling emotion by leaving 80% unsaid. And since the narrative is first person, it is perfect for the protagonist's grab for empathy from us readers. The injustice, wrongness, and sadness of it all carries on on how Kathy presents their ultimately-oppressed lives, like natural, reality, everyday news. This novel is also relatively short compared with other of Ishiguro's work. It seems like a quick read, but the other review is correct in saying that it stays on you for a long time afterwards. Just suspend your Science, Social, and Governmental Regulations clamors (arguing against how realistic the novel is), and enjoy how great Literature can be with novels like this. Very sad, yes, but how can you widen perspective with just happy endings?

Immensely Tragic, Heartrendingly Sad

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There are two reasons why the story of "Never Let Me Go" is stunningly sad, immensely and heart-wrenchingly tragic. First, it is the context of the advancement in selfish, irresponsible, dehumanizing genetic technology, hailed as the best hope for humanity to conquer diseases and aging, yet ironically at the expense of the dignity of humanity itself, and the many precious souls who are the products of this God-less brilliance; represented by the main characters in this book; Kathy, Ruth and Tommy. Here the bigger picture is a depraved inhumanity; wherein though seemingly "very good, more scientific, and more efficient" and I should add, "more pragmatic" from the outside according to "Madame," but in reality "a harsh and cruel world" (p.272). Second, it is the vivid exposure of the natural humaneness that Ishiguro displays so exquisitely in the lives of those who are the victims of this horrid inhumanity. The atrociousness is exacerbated precisely by this natural humanness springing up from their personality, aspirations, and shattered dreams, which is even more ironically more humane than those supposedly the "real" human beings who are responsible for their existence intended to supply spare parts. The implications of this novel are huge. It wakes us up and asks ourselves the question, "What is a human being and what is his or her dignity?" I echo what Chuck Colson said in his review, "I recommend this book for adults and older teens (there's some material here that is not suitable for younger children), and I encourage you to share it with people who don't fully understand the cloning issue. Never Let Me Go is a powerful work of art that, by impacting the imagination, reaches us at the deepest level, which is often more powerful than the best scientific and political arguments."

Questions of loss and mortality

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In "Never Let Me Go," a fictional story focusing on three classmates from a unique boarding school, author Kazuo Ishiguro deals with questions of loss and mortality that each of must eventually confront. As we get older, as we lose our friends and family, as the environment around us changes and things once familiar to us disappear or become unfamiliar, as we cling to our memories of how things used to be, how do we come to accept the fact that our lives are finite and attach some meaning to our limited existence? These are questions that the narrator of "Never Let Me Go," Kathy H., copes with as she recounts the disjointed memories that comprise her life. Sorting through these memories, she finds comfort in her friends and her career, eventually coming to terms with the meaning of her life and her ultimate fate. Reflecting upon her life, Kathy devotes most of her time to thinking about her friends from Hailsham, a secluded boarding school where she grew up. Because contact with outsiders at Hailsham is limited, one of the school's big events is the quarterly Exchange, where students are given tokens they can use to buy other students' artwork. As this is the students' only way of accumulating material possessions, they grow dependent on each other for their "personal treasures" and learn to value others' work, forging unique bonds with one another. Kathy's two best friends are Ruth, an extroverted leader at the school, and Tommy, a shy introvert who gets bullied due to his lack of creativity and inability to produce substantial work. While they depend on each other throughout their time at Hailsham, like a lot of friends they drift apart after leaving the school. Looking back at the petty argument that led to the group's break, Kathy comments, "It never occurred to me that our lives, until then so closely interwoven, could unravel and separate over a thing like that." Kathy regrets the loss of her friends, but doesn't do anything about it until she hears that Hailsham is closing: "[I]t started to dawn on me, I suppose, that a lot of things I'd always assumed I'd plenty of time to get around to doing, I might now have to act on pretty soon or else let them go forever." Realizing that her time is limited, Kathy decides what is important to her - what she doesn't want to let go of - and reconnects with her old friends, Ruth and Tommy. In addition to her friends, Kathy's career has a special meaning in her life. Kathy begins the book by identifying herself as a "carer." Although a lot of carers "are just going through the motions waiting for the day they're told to stop," Kathy enjoys her work, the long drives and the solitude, and she knows she is good at what she does. As a carer, she helps look after patients, assisting as they recover from "donations" and keeping them calm. She knows that she is a good carer, which is important to her: "[I]t means a lot to me, being able to do my work well." However, when she becomes Tommy's carer, he questions the meaning of her work, asking her if she really considers her job to be important since all of her patients are going to "complete," or die, anyway. Kathy responds, "Of course, it's important. A good carer makes a big difference." When reflecting upon her life, Kathy decides not only that her friends are important to her, but she also considers her job important, believing she makes a difference by helping others. However, as the book begins, Kathy only has eight months left as a carer, and then she will begin the last phase of her life. Initially, Kathy does not accept this fate, hoping to get a "deferral." When the headmaster of Hailsham tells her a deferral is not possible - Kathy cannot escape her ultimate fate any more than the rest of us can - Kathy wonders what the purpose of her life has been: "Why did we do all of that work in the first place? Why train us, encourage us, make us produce all of that? If we're just going to give donations anyway, then die, why all those lessons? Why all those books and discussions?" In fact, one of the Hailsham teachers, Miss Lucy, had made this same argument when they were children, believing it was more important that they know their ultimate fate than worry about creating artwork and developing their sense of culture: "If you're to have decent lives, you have to know who you are and what lies ahead of you." But this is not true, the Hailsham headmaster counters, addressing Kathy and Tommy: "Look at you both now! I'm so proud to see you both. You built your lives on what we gave you. You wouldn't be who you are today if we'd not protected you." Ultimately, Kathy comes to agree with the Hailsham approach. When she meets a patient who did not go to Hailsham, but wants to hear all about her time there so that he can replace his own memories with Kathy's, Kathy realizes "just how lucky we'd been." Without being warned what lay ahead - as Miss Lucy had wanted - Kathy had been free to live her own life; even if it was messy, it was hers. As the novel concludes, Kathy drives to Norfolk, where she had shared her happiest memories with Tommy: "I imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was standing in front of it." Instead of hanging on to those things and people she has lost, Kathy realizes that this is as far as her fantasy can go: "I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, and drove off to wherever it was I was supposed to be." Like most of us, Kathy knows her life is limited, and the best we can do is go about our everyday lives, doing what we are supposed to do. She will never let go of her memories of what she has lost, but she has accepted her fate. Though her life hasn't been perfect, Kathy, reflecting upon her memories, finds that her life has been meaningful - having had close friends, an important job, and an idyllic childhood, she considers herself "lucky." But has she, in fact, led a decent life? Has her life been purposeful and meaningful? These are universal questions we may all ask of ourselves - how to accept our own mortality and assign purpose to the limited life we have been given. However, these big questions of how to deal with loss and mortality also become a source of frustration and disappointment for readers because, while "Never Let Me Go" builds these questions up, it never seems to fully resolve or answer them. Fortunately, though, it does provide some clues. One of the recurring items of the book relates to a song Kathy plays as a child called "Never Let Me Go." What makes the song special for Kathy is that she assigns her own meaning to the lyrics; instead of listening to the actual words, she imagines her own version of the song: "Even at the time, I realized this couldn't be right, that this interpretation didn't fit with the rest of the lyrics. But that wasn't an issue with me. The song was about what I said." At one point, when Kathy is dancing to the song in her mind, Madame, a Hailsham leader, catches her and starts sobbing. Later Madame confesses that, when she saw Kathy that day, she imagined Kathy was holding onto the old world, a "kind world," which was being replaced by a "harsh, cruel world," but now Madame realizes her interpretation was wrong: "It wasn't really you, what you were doing." Soon after Madame catches her playing the tape, the tape is lost, her friend Ruth tries to replace it, and later, with Tommy's help, Kathy finds another copy of the tape. The symbolic implications are clear: just as she assigns her own meaning to the song, Kathy assigns her own meaning to life. Sometimes she may be lost, sometimes others like Tommy may help her, and sometimes others like Madame may assign a different meaning to her life than she does, but Kathy is the final author of her life. While others may deem her life meaningless, she herself is content, if not happy. "Never Let Me Go" may not provide a universal answer for some of the big questions it poses about loss and mortality, but the ultimate message seems to be one of hope: as the authors of our own lives, it is up to each of us to take what we are given and make the most of it.

A subtle touch

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Ishiguro remains one of my favorite authors whose talent is extraordinarily mysterious to me. I still can't figure out how he knows how to write what he does. Like McEwan or McCarthy, he shapes a world beautifully understood by himself, yet those of us who try and enter find ourselves picking our way through dangerous territory. I have to say I was nearly taken out of the world in 'Never Let Me Go' because I was so repeatedly astonished at how subtly he drew the characters and their actions. The small pettinesses of the world of somebody like Kathy or Ruth are so mundane they become marvelous. It transcends the skills required to create a believable SF world; this is nearly an experiment in existentialism, whereby these characters grow challenged by their empty lives and make such feeble attempts to enrich them.

a different kind of horror story

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At first glance, the book describes the mundane details of the lives of three people whose only purpose in life is to serve as organ donors. The pace is deliberate - the book is a series of small events and anecdotes which on their own would be completely insignificant. However, as we slowly realize that we are witnessing cattle being brought to slaughter - cattle that is fully aware of its fate - the effect of these mundane episodes becomes chilling. I don't think this is a book just about cloning and clones, or even just about the role of science in our society. I see it as a comment on the relation we have towards each other, and other living beings in general. I came to this book right after reading "Haunted" by Chuck Palahniuk, and the contrast between the two just could not be greater. The final effect of Palahniuk's raging prose is much more fleeting than the Ishiguros' understated writing.