Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
288 pages
Published 2005
Read from May 27 to May 30
Rating: ★★★★½ out of 5
As I mentioned here, when literary authors approach the themes and subject matter of genre fiction, they trust the intelligence of their readers rather more than genre authors do. Never Let Me Go is an elegant example of that trust, and how that trust (when in the hands of a masterful storyteller) rewards readers with a story that gets deep inside you and breaks your heart before you even know why. The first hundred pages go by without a single explanation of what's going on, narrating completely mundane events and people, but with just enough wrong to twist you up inside into subtle knots of unease and dread. And once the salient fact of these characters' lives, their very reason for existence, is revealed, the sorrow of it is something I won't begin to describe. I told my book club partner, "It feels like my emotions got punched and then hit with a truck." This book merits a more elegant way of putting it, but I'm sticking to that.
The narration is a marvel, perfectly articulating (showing, not telling) the effects of social isolation, the naivete of a small, insular population never taught -- and never truly needing to be taught -- how to operate in the wider world. It's a strange but involving mix of intelligence and senses dulled by small horizons, where a trip to see a boat stranded in mudflats or a visit to a secondhand store becomes the pivot around which several lives turn. The aching humanity of Ishiguro's narration -- I lack words for it. I don't care that I've already claimed that excuse in this review. I don't know how to express how this book got into me, and I won't even try.
Go read this book.
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