Completed April 2022
NEVER LET
ME GO
Ishiguro is the master of the slow build. I considered this might be the case from The Remains of the Day, but rereading Never Let Me Go confirmed my suspicions. His command of pacing is incomparable, tension building in such a deliciously gradual way. There really is no-one else who comes close.
In Never Let Me Go, this persistent mystery builds into a mood which is hauntingly atmospheric, and completely absorbing. The world building feels at once distinct and yet hazy, as it is told through reminiscence – the details recounted sharing as much about the narrator as the setting.
Kathy's voice was consistently relatable, both through the good times and the bad. One element I particularly enjoyed was how her experience mirrored ours, as the reader – the oscillation between knowledge and ignorance, as well as her persistent avoidance of reality. Dark truths linger on the edge of the narrative throughout the novel, but time and again I found myself pushing them aside, absorbed instead by small dramas, however inconsequential.
This masterful device made Kathy completely empathetic, as I found myself undergoing the same struggles as she does. An intimate connection with her develops as she shares her story, as we begin to feel the quiet terror that her and her peers must confront.
One criticism of Never Let Me Go I have come across is that any chance of excitement is lost through the characters' lack of rebellion. But this is actually something I loved about this book – I feel that many authors would have relied upon this strategy to build the drama. Not that this is always a bad thing, but I have read plenty of uprisings in my time – a trope particularly prominent when the protagonists are young adults, as is the case here.
Instead of giving us a cause to rally behind, Ishiguro offers only a quiet hope that Kathy's fate can be postponed, simply by asking permission. And when her request is denied, she simply accepts the situation. To me, this cut far deeper than any impassioned revolt, for one simple reason: its reflection of human nature. It's easy for us to imagine that we wouldn't accept such a situation, but this assumption is coming from a place of immense privilege. Around the world, billions of people are conditioned to accept suffering, and when you've never known any different it's no surprise that many see no opportunity to resist. In a way, every one of us will find ourselves in such a position at some point – we face the end of our lives, and as much as we may try to defer it, the conclusion is inevitable.
This quiet acceptance made the novel feel both painful, and scarily truthful. It is, in my opinion, truly a masterpiece and one which I know I will never forget.
“Maybe none of us really understand what we’ve lived through, or feel we’ve had enough time.”