I also prefer not to be judged by the books I have read and have not blogged about, since my blog has been hibernating since Veterans' Day. I wish I had some witty or impressive explanation for that, like being too busy training for the Ms. Olympia contest, or having spent the past two months studying manuals on exciting new sexual techniques, but I can't claim anything of the sort. I've been reading, but I've also been lazy (BTW, if you haven't seen the first three seasons of Friday Night Lights, they're awesome). Also, I handmade 90% of my holiday gifts this year, and it's hard to sew and read anything, let alone Moby Dick.
Perhaps if I had a clone, one that I could program and assign some of my tasks (wrangling the chickens and cleaning up after Frida come to mind), I would get more read and written. But I don't have a clone, and I don't want one. I don't think the world wants one. And after reading the amazingly well-written novel Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, I'm more than a little frightened at the prospect of cloning, anyway.When I originally began reading Never Let Me Go, I was following the advice of several writers (I think Steven King was one, but I can't remember) who placed the novel on their "best of the decade" list without going into detail about its plot, so I thought it was just another book about thirty-somethings reflecting on their years in an exclusive British boarding school, and all of the juicy secrets and liasions that permeate the lives of a bunch of teenagers living together.
But Ishiguro has created a much darker, much more sly world beneath the reminiscence-of-boarding-school facade. In this case, the students at Hailsham are, in fact, wards of the state who have been bred specifically to be used as donors for diseased and injured people. These children are the products of a society that has made the preservation of existing human life paramount, and its populace has become so accustomed to medical advances that it is a foregone conclusion that an amputation, a cancer, a failed organ will be replaced in what has become a fairly routine system. But the kicker is, the children don't know who or what they are--all they've ever known is life at the secluded school, and they haven't been told anything about what will become of them.
What makes this novel so stunning, so absolutely incredible and unforgettably powerful is the subtle, creepy, and truly masterful way Ishiguro subtley unveils the truth about the children's conception and their fate. Narrated by Kathy B., the story unfolds gradually but not slowly, as the 30-year-old narrator recalls the friendships she shared with others at Hailsham, specifically Ruth and Tommy. In retracing the development of their complicated threesome, she also exposes, piece by piece, the quiet clues the students pieced together through the years about the true nature of their existance. Without resorting to graphic description or gore, Ishiguro makes the culture that led to these characters' fate absolutely believable and horrible to contemplate.
Cultural critic and author Chuck Klosterman, a writer I consider an idea guru, has said that he doesn't think fiction has much importance anymore. "I don't think novels are shaping the way people think about the world, regardless of their merit as art." I would beg to differ with Mr. Klosterman on this point. Even if, as he points out, the best-selling novels are about wizards and vampires, I still think those shape how people see the world. Fortunately, though, there is other fiction out there that is also forcing us to reckon with the bigger, more realistic possibilities of our medical and technological advances--Never Let Me Go is one of them.
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