Review of Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
Published in 2005, with a film released in 2010, Kazuo Ishigro's science fiction masterpiece feels disturbingly relevant in the age of pandemics and quarantine. Following a young woman named Kathy as she recounts her time growing up, Never Let Me Go is a love story juxtaposed against a creeping, science fiction horror, juxtaposed against a deeply tragic parable about the power of subtle propaganda to perpetuate deep rooted systemic abuse.
Ishiguro’s masterful grasp of restraint, perspective, and emotionality had me gripped from the start. At first, it was the mystery that kept me reading, then it was the overwhelming sense of horror as the truth behind our protagonist’s situation was revealed. From then on, the book is a breadcrumb trail, interspersing fragile glimmers of hope with the unrelenting tide of despair at a conclusion it was clear was coming from the start.
This book isn't going to be for everyone. It's slow, and many of its most interesting parts are sub textual. If some books hold your hand, then 'Never Let Me Go' blindfolds you, drives you out into the middle of nowhere, then leaves you stranded in a field with nothing but a hand drawn map and a compass it 'accidentally' stepped on. Kathy, whilst an interesting narrator, is by no means an exciting one, and understanding the true driving force of her story requires patience, empathy, and a willingness to sit through teenage drama and a lot of circling around the point. The things that make this novel brilliant are the same things that render it intolerable for some readers.
It is brilliant though.
It’s rare in my, admittedly limited, experience, to find a novel that ties together all its parts as well as this one does. The story, world, narration, even the style of the exposition, all build to a greater theme, asking the reader to really take a long, hard look at the way we interact with our own culture. It’s in Kathy’s stifled, incredibly British, narration of the horror of her world that we’re supposed to find parallels to our own lives. What oppressions do we accept without question? How many systems have we inexplicably tied ourselves to for no reason other than ‘that’s just how it’s always been’? In a world where medicine, class, and quality of life are not just inextricably linked, but have been dragged, kicking and screaming into the harsh light of day by the pandemic, these are questions we need to keep asking. For all the books that have been lauded as prophetic of the outcomes of covid-19, it’s this one that gets at the heart of the issue, and it’s one that feels like it needs to be revisited.
Audiobook review: This is one of those books that I think definitely works much better in audio format. The conversational tone Kathy takes when telling her story feels natural when it's framed more obviously as, well, a conversation. A lot of her verbal tics work well when they're verbal, and I could definitely see them being irritating in a purely print format. Whilst I initially found Kerry Fox's narration to be a little grating, a response likely conditioned into me by generations of class resentment more than anything else, it quickly grew on me, and it works well for the character. Her gentle, slightly stuffy, narration works to reinforce the overall tone of the novel in a way that few casting choices do. The only way it would've been better would be if Moira Quirk was narrating, but that's only because everything in life is better with Moira Quirk.
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