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THE UNEXAMINED LIFE
The 31-year-old narrator of Kazuo Ishiguro's
brutally sad Never Let Me Go (Alfred A. Knopf, New
York, 2005) has a voice of such pained emotional
constipation that it would require a Costco-esque
haul of Ex-Lax, Liquid Orano and Dr. Phil to induce
the slightest semblance of what we might call a
hissy fit
But this is good. For what Kathy H. lacks in
control of her destiny, she more than recompenses
in the airtight letting of
her story. Reared at an
institution reverently
known as Hailsham,
Kathy's life is sheltered,
but hardly privileged.
With its pastoral fields
and lakes, the school appears cut from the cloth
of Eton until we realize its students never discuss
parents or vacations.
Never Let Me Go's fantastic premise would nor
mally place it squarely in the sci-fi bailiwick, yet
to mistake this, Ishiguro's sixth novel, for a glib
commentary on genetic science is to miss the
sheep for the clone. Prudence prevents me from
disclosing too much, but suffice it to say this is a
haunting and enveloping story made all the more
terrifying by the authentic tenor of Kathy H.'s
voice and a selective shielding of a big picture
context.
The real-time narra
tive takes place in the
England of the late
1990s, though there's
scant mention of Tony
Blair or New Labor.
Kathy H. is looking back
on her life at the age of
31, though she reflects with the seen-it-all
authority, but not arrogance, of a soul much older.
Like many of Ishiguro's narrators, she's sympa
thetic, remarkably lucid and not wholly reliable.
For Kathy and her close friends Tommy and
Ruth, life's parameters are fixed in social cum sci
entific constructs beyond their grasp. Growing up
at Hailsham, they knew they were "different'' but
the extent of it was never explained to them, at
least not directly.
Like other Ishiguro novels (The Remains of the
Day, A Pale View of the Hills), Never Let Me Go
functions on two levels. There's the stark and
complex emotional landscape provided by Kathy
H.'s monologue and a narrative crossword puzzle
that challenges us to figure out exactly what her
predicament really is. The experience is not unlike
a cinematic slow reveal Think of Rosemary’s Baby
when we stared in
abject honor at Mia
Fanow staring in abject
honor at the demon
child she'd just shat
out. We never see her
baby, of course, and
that's why it was so terrifying.
Like everyone at Hailsham, Kathy H. knows
she's destined to become a "carer." then a "vet
eran* and finally, a "donor." After three or four
donations, she'll "complete." We never see this
happening, yet its inevitability underscores all of
the narrative present.
During Kathy's Hailsham
years, which consume the
lion's share of her story,
the future is the question
that dare net speak its
name but can't be avoided.
Hailshamites who probe
too hard as to the nature
of their nature are treated
like pariahs: not from the
adults, but from their
peers, even though they
equally yearn for answers.
Why, they wonder, is it so
much more horrific if they
smoke than others? Why
can they have sex without
the usiwl consequences?
Why are they encouraged
toward artistic creation?
Why do many of their so-
called "care givers" appear
so forlorn and reticent with
these questions? In short,
what are they hiding?
If Never Let Me Go was
a science fiction novel, or
merely less disciplined,
there'd certainly be a plot
for liberation or a "see ya
in hell" denouement. But
it's not, of course, and
Kathy H. and company are
eerily resigned to their fate
as though resistance is not
merely futile, but spiritu
ally tacky.
Despite Ishiguro's
extraordinary premise,
most of this novel is mired in the routine dramas
of childhood—schisms among friends, jockeying
for power within cliques, loves lost and thwarted.
Never Let Me Go is like watching youth slowly, pre
maturely bleed into a drainpipe. This doesn't
sound like fun, I know,
but so what? Want fun?
Get a trampoline. Don't
read serious fiction.
It's not the will to
turn pages that's the
problem; Ishiguro is too
talented a storyteller to
bore us. What's troubling
is how to feel when they're turned. I for one was
inspired by a novelist at the top of his form. The
controlled voice is so disciplined, it's all you can
do to keep from clapping. In this case, the
residual sadness begs anotlte' form of restraint:
the kind that keeps you from playing in traffic.
What more can a reader ask?
John Dicker
Like many of Ishiguro’s narrators,
she’s sympathetic, remarkably lucid
and not wholly reliable.
Never Let Me Go is like watching
youth slowly, prematurely bleed into
a drainpipe. This doesn’t sound like
fun, I know, but so what?
K PIEDMONT
COLLEGE
Demorest • Athens
1-800-277-7020
Undergraduate & Graduate Programs
www.piedmont.edu
*The Liberal Arts College of Northeast Georgia 9
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