A story you can’t let go
Review by TEE SHIAO EEK NEVER LET ME GO
By Kazuo Ishiguro
Publisher: Faber and Faber, 263 pages
ISBN: 0571224113
ANYWAY, the point is?” Kathy H. says to me, after she has meandered off her intended topic.
No, hang on a moment. She isn’t talking to me – she is, after all, just a character in Kazuo Ishiguro’s latest book, Never Let Me Go.
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Such is Ishiguro’s magic in this beautifully-delivered novel, his fifth, after When We Were Orphans. It is a story that is almost science fiction-esque in its concept, but narrated in a reminiscent manner that moves you with its musical cadence.
Kathy begins by introducing herself: “My name is Kathy H. I’m 31 years old, and I’ve been a carer now for over 11 years.”
What is a carer? Who are these donors that Kathy cares for? It takes a while before the reader discovers the answers to these questions. But first, Kathy harks back to her childhood in Hailsham, a boarding school of sorts in an idyllic corner of the English countryside.
To hear her tell it, Hailsham almost seems like any other boarding school, and the students seem like other children their age. They have sports practices, art classes and giggly gossip sessions after lights-out. They form cliques, pick on certain kids and follow teenage trends.
Gradually though, you come to realise that this is no ordinary school, and that there is something odd about these students, Kathy included. Her reminiscing builds up tension, slowly revealing her own journey of discovery.
Through these nostalgic meanderings, Ishiguro provides small clues of what is to come, rather like dropping a breadcrumb here and there to lead you on. There are tantalisingly brief mentions of “completion”, “creativity” and “possibles”, which are just enough to build on the mystery, but not so much that you would be tempted to skip past the rich details of the narration.
In the end, it is not an explosive climax that awaits you, but instead, a quietly dignified revelation that is rather like a long, sighing breath at the end of a solo musical recital. Therein lies closure, not only for Kathy and her friends, but also the reader.
There is a somewhat sinister thread to Ishiguro’s plot, but it is difficult to summon feelings of horror or disgust for his creations, so human they are. He paints a picture of flawed, selfish and callous characters – in other words, people just like you and me.
His description of the students as they were growing up brings a tingle of embarrassment to you as you recognise your own childhood foibles in their behaviour. The almost by-the-way development of romance between Kathy and Tommy is sweetly satisfying, neither detracting from the plot nor adding unnecessary spice to it.
As with Ishiguro’s previous novels, memory is the central theme of Never. For Ishiguro, memory is a filter “through which we see our lives, and because it's foggy and obscure, the opportunities for self-deception are there.”
Telling a story from memory means that one may not be remembering facts as they actually occurred. As Kathy narrates, she often alludes that she doesn’t clearly remember what happened at the time, or that in retrospect, she may be seeing things differently.
In her recollections, Kathy also often interrupts herself to add some detail or other that she has just remembered, before going back to the original point of discussion.
The Booker-prize winning author likes using “tangential meandering” as a style. In an interview with CNN in 2000, after the release of Orphans, he said:
“I like the fact that by mimicking the way memory works, a writer can actually write in a fluid way – one solid scene doesn't have to fall on another solid scene? it doesn't have to be fully realised, it can be a glancing, shadowy reference to something that you'll come back to later, and then it moves on.”
There is no place for a critical analysis of the science or ethics of the issues raised in this book. Never is not about that. It is about friendship, love and loss – the three defining elements of humanity.
“I’ll have Hailsham with me, safely in my head, and that’ll be something no one can take away,” says Kathy at the end.
As for me, I will have Ishiguro’s elegant prose in my head, like a particularly memorable watercolour painting that stays with you for a long, long time.
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