Anul trecut, de ziua mea am primit cadou o carte . "Sa nu ma parasesti " de Kazuo Ishiguro . Nu stiam cine-i acest autor, ce carti a mai scris, cati ani are si care ar putea fi subiectul volumului. De aceea surpriza a fost mare.

                  E o carte as zice eu moderna , care vorbeste de un subiect real si posibil al acestui mileniu. O carte care accepta existenta clonelor, a unor persoane realizate dupa modelul altora . Ideea principala ar fi : "Au clonele suflet ? Ele pot iubi? Au dreptul sa iubeasca sau sunt doar niste marionete in mana noastra? Ne putem folosi de ele? " Sunt doar niste simplii "donatori de organe" pentru oamenii normali?

                   Ne este infatisata o lume ciudata, a scolii Hailsham unde sunt educati si traiesc numai "donatori",  clone care incet, incet , inteleg lumea in care traiesc. Persoanajele principale sunt trei , Kathy(povestitoarea), Ruth si Tommy . Acestia sunt urmariti din copilarie pana la maturitate si mai apoi moarte. Sunt la fel de normali ca si noi,  picteaza, citesc, scriu poezii, se joaca , invata , dar totusi nu pot ocupa un alt loc in societate. Au intrebari, nelamuriri, iubesc, se tem , rad si plang . Totusi sunt supusi unui destin diferit. Nu au sansele noastre.

                    Per total, e o carte buna, care trezeste intrebari si idei noi. Tristetea finalului e normala , se naste o melancolie a imposibilitatii schimbarii destinului .

                    Pentru cei interesati de subiect : Lectura placuta!

The book deals heavily with childhood fantasy - those daydreams where you once imagined yourself as a movie star, someone famous, a mother, even love, etc. - gone awry. Imagine living in a world where the people outside your surroundings are allowed to grow up to be whatever they want to be and you're future is set for you. Imagine knowing that you're different from everyone else and are hated for that. That others like you outside the gates of your private school are abused and mistreated and you're given the lap of luxury. Imagine that your only purpose in life is to grow up, stay fit and healthy and give up you life in order for others to live. That is the life of the clones in Never Let Me Go, a narrative told through the eyes of Kathy H., a carer going on her twelfth year.

The clones are split up between carers and donors. It is up to the carers to keep the donors morale up as they are healing. But carers, when the time is right, are called for donations in the end. The clones are created in order to cure the maladies once thought as incurable. Cancer, in this dark new world, has a cure. That is the sole purpose of these "creatures."

After realizing the purpose of the clones - and that they were clones - questions started leaking into my head and I'm sure it was Ishiguro's intent. Because as students, the clones are taught art mainly, it is left the door open - and the question is asked late in the book - to ask, "Do clones have souls?" I know I'm not one to talk about souls, but the very fact that they are able to create without mimicing is what left that door open in a world where a god does reign over. Because some may not believe that humans have souls - I hold my doubts - then let me ask this: Because clones are copies of other people, do they have minds of their own? Each clone has a possible in the world - meaning a person they were modeled after. What are the chances that their future aspirations (even though they are not allowed a regular future) are the same as those their possibles had, or have? Not to mention the mannerisms and personality, are these their own or are they embedded in the cloned DNA?

On a more ethical question, seeing that the clones were raised as children into adulthood, only to "complete" during their 30s, you must ask if it's ethical to harvest the clones for organs and the like? The sole purpose of their existence is to give up their lives so that others may live. However, it seems like a dark world to create a life in order to kill it. And this all comes back to the soul/mind questions: If these clones lack souls/minds, then one can say it is perfectly find to harvest them for parts so that others can live as they are no different than a lab rat who is given an ear to grow on its back. However, the fact that they have artistic talent, holding with traditional thought that one must have a soul to create art, proves that they do not lack this. The fact that they can feel love - or at least grasp the abstract concept of love and emotion - proves they have a mind. I cannot be certain that they have either, because their lessons are to model humans as closely as possible so that they are not pointed out in public places as they are feared by the majority of people.

If they have minds of their own, then the answer to the next question is yes. If they don't, then there is no logic in the question, which is: Can clones logically believe in a higher power? Because they know how they came into existence was by human will rather than a divine power, it is hard to grasp if a clone can believe in a god. I won't get too much into this question, so I'll leave it at that.

Are clones seen as demons? Most Christians are already on a witch hunt to prove that homosexuals are sinful and spawns of hell, but at least homosexuals were born in a natural way even though their sex lives aren't viewed as such. Because they were created, not born, into this world by science that is not natural biology, I have to assume that clones will be seen as something other than human. It's not far from me to think that clones would be seen in a negative light by believers (well, most believers) yet be accepted as perfect donors because we know how ignorant some might be.

Anyway, these were the questions that I came up with reading the book. There might be more, but I'm sure these cover all of the fields.

So what is it about first person that make it something to be avoided? Is it too limiting for a tyro?  Am I in danger of slipping into autobiography? I'm hoping someone will enlighten me. At the moment I am taking the risk with my WIP, despite (or because of) the experience of a fellow writer who showed her novel to an agent. The agent showed an interest but asked for it to be rewritten in third person. The writer obliged and the book was still rejected.

Going back to Ishiguro, what impressed me was how the timescale was handled, jumping from one preiod to another to hint at the future while gradually revealing the past, all to squeeze maximum suspense out of the subject matter without ever becoming sensational. If anything I found the denouement (when we 'catch up' with the narrator) slightly less satisfying to read; I already knew all I needed to know.  

If you've read the book, this might make sense. If not, read it! (Though not for light entertainment).

Kazuo Ishiguro: His novels are traditional in a sense, but delightfully refreshing and different in another. "Never Let Me Go," which I've now read twice, is a beautifully sad story of a girl who grew up in an isolated, mysterious environment in which she and her schoolmates were highly educated about everything but their own lives. "The Remains of the Day," which I started today, promises to be equally intriguing. The Booker Prize winner's also a movie, so if you've read it or watched it, don't spoil it for me!

Gogol Bordello: I believe I first heard this band in the movie "Everything is Illuminated" (the band is in this scene, by the way). But I got their CD yesterday, and I'm listening to it right now. It is terrific. Eastern European meets punk meets good writing meets fun (despite the often depressing lyrics). So perfect for today.

Free, cool photos: sxc.hu has awesome stock photos, most of them free with a free membership. I used it all the time when I was learning design in school, and today I love to just browse it, typing in the oddest things I can think of and seeing all the results it has.

East Side Pies: This pizza company had my heart, despite its questionable sanitary practices (making sausage without using gloves), from the first because its pies are unquestionably delicious. Today's dinner was a slice of their Olivia pizza, with pesto, feta, black, green AND kalamata olives, fresh whole roasted garlic cloves, mozzarella and ... mushrooms, I think. Amazingly good despite the questionable salt and fat content, and enough for a whole meal on its own.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (2005)

5 stars!

Science fiction that reads like literature is always a rare find. Never Let Me Go is an excellent example of a novel that will satisfy both science fiction and contemporary literature fans.

The premise of this novel is simple, albeit slowly revealed as the story progresses, so I won't spoil it. Ishiguro is playing with so many big ideas in this novel, but as I read it, I didn't fully realize what was really being explored, because I was so caught up in the narrative of the main character's (Kathy H.) childhood and adolescence. I only gradually came to ponder the underlying issues. Why do we accept without questioning our destinies as they have been told to us? What is it about human nature that needs the Other, something different to hate and discriminate against? At what point do we trade in our humanity?

Beyond the story, the characters are what make this novel so affecting. The voice of the narrator is so fully realized that I could literally hear her speaking in my head, down to accent and intonations, as I read. This book was so beautiful and haunting it will resonate with me for a long time.

Ce păcat că nu ştii niciodată când e ultima dată… Afli abia când e prea târziu. Şi nu rămâi decât cu părerile de rău. Ce păcat că ai tăcut când trebuia să fi vorbit! Sau că ai vorbit când trebuia să fi tăcut. Sau că ai fost serios când trebuia să fi zâmbit. Sau că ai râs când trebuia să fi ascultat…

Cam asta face Ishiguro în The Remains of the Day - îţi aminteşte de toate gândurile nespuse şi sentimentele nearătate, pe care încerci să le arunci cât mai departe, de regretele peste care îţi este atât de greu să treci… Ishiguro scrie atât de frumos, într’o engleză atât de curată şi literară, inventează niste personaje atât de plăcute şi de sensibile încât nici nu’ţi vine să mai laşi cartea din mână.

Lenebarbie

>>>>>>>>>> Citeşte mai mult aici <<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Kazuo Ishiguro's newest book is literature with such unbearable lightness, you'll find yourself ironically pinned under a ton of heartache. Unlike authors such as Micheal Onjaatje or Gabriel Garcia Marquez, simple, clear descriptions make up Ishiguro's laconic prose and the lack of breathtaking imagery to defend yourself from the face of true beauty will strip you bare and vulnerable to the haunting poignancy of the story.

In short, its about three childhood friends, Kathy, Tommy and Ruth, who grew up together in a private school where cloned children were shielded from the outside world and taught to feel special about themselves. Although Kathy had long tried to put this idllylic past behind her, the entrance and sudden exit of these two friends in her life will force her to relive those memories in painful details again.

"Never Let Me Go" is a cautionary tale of morality; about the nostalgia our pragmatic world feels for the idealistic realm of the past. More than that, it is also about how we manage to handle ourselves with aplomb; why we do not end up screaming and crying at the top of our lungs every now and then. In the predictable banality of our every day life, it wouldn't have made much of a difference if we did.

Never Let Me Go
Author: Kazuo Ishiguro
2005, 304 pages
rating: 4.5/5

Other Reviews:
Jeanne at Dog Ear Diary
Chartroose at Bloody Hell it's a Book Barrage

This novel won him the Booker Prize. In an interview at the time of his award, Ishguro explained that he wanted to explore two themes, how ordinary people relate to people of influence and the effects of sublimating one's own feelings for an ill-conceived ideal. His vehicle for this is a series of brooding ruminations by a British butler who has dedicated his best years in service to a wealthy Brit who was a naive Nazi sympathizer in the years leading up to World War 2.

Mr. Stevens, the butler, records his recollections of life as head of staff at Lord Darlington's Oxfordshire estate. By this time, Lord Darlington has passed on, and Stevens serves a new resident at the country manor. He takes an unprecedented driving holiday, ostensibly to visit the west country of Cornwall with an offer to Miss Kenton to return to service at Darlington Hall—after years of absence and an apparently disappointing marriage.

In truth, Stevens has feelings for Miss Kenton. And he seems to be finally coming to terms with these feelings and taking some bold action consistent with them. But how will things turn out? And is it too late?

Stevens entertains a high-minded conception of his former responsibilities as butler in an important household where great affairs of state were once decided. Ishiguro's talent is revealed in his ability to expose the self-deception in the butler's assessment of his vocation. Readers, who depend on what Stevens permits himself to say, have a better grasp of his self-induced misery than the man himself.

This is contemporary literary fiction set in a period of radical transition in British context. Ishiguro paints a compelling picture of the period and of attitudes that prevailed—attitudes about political responsibility, democracy versus plutocracy, the nature of vocation, the proper limits of loyalty, the modulation of desire in relation to duty, the recovery of purpose following disillusionment.

Most interesting to me is the way Ishiguro introduces, without resolving, difficulties posed by representative government. Ultimately, I think, Stevens holds an untenable view about the scope of his own responsibility. He feels he must defer to others who understand matters better than himself. But of course he must decide who deserves such deference.

Stevens is often funny, though he lacks a sense of humor. He is, in fact, too serious for his own good. And yet, he has genuinely endearing qualities. He is both naive and innocent on the one hand, and stern and morally obtuse on the other. We like him for who he is underneath his reserved manner. And it is because of this fondness that we are irritated by his emotional inertia.

The story has been fairly adequately re-presented in the 1993 film of the same title, starring two great British actors, Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson. The book concludes better than the film, and makes better sense of the title. But Hopkins and Thompson are brilliant in their depictions of the Stevens and Kenton characters. The film was nominated for eight Academy Awards.

The term “floating world” comes to us from the Japanese ukiyo-e, or pictures of the floating world. Ukiyo-e is the genre of Japanese woodcut prints and paintings produced between the 17th and the 20th centuries. Common motifs were landscapes, seascapes, tales from history, and depictions of the theater and pleasure quarters.

The term is also a satirical allusion to the "Sorrowful World" or earthly plane of death and rebirth from which Buddhists seek release. It is this confluence of differing interpretations that we find relevance in the story of Masuji Ono and his experiences in postwar Japan.

In postwar 1940 Japan, Ono is a relic of traditional Japan - of social structure and decorum, of tea houses, geisha and meditation gardens. He is unable to communicate with his daughters, unsure of the propriety of his wartime nationalism - yet unwilling to succumb to the prevailing Western philosophies. Ono struggles to find order in the chaos of new ideas and changing social norms. Many of Ono’s former friends and colleagues have killed themselves because they cannot reconcile the old and new Japan.

Like the majority of Ishiguro’s work, Floating World uses a single tale to speak to a larger story. One of the main reasons I admire Ishiguro’s work is that he places emphasis on “what characters perceive to have happened rather than what actually happened.” I find this to be a nearly universal phenomenon that exists in every relationship between human beings at any level – acquaintances, friends, family, colleagues, lovers, spouses or mortal enemies.

Human memory is a strange thing. We almost always retain the good while minimizing or entirely rejecting the bad. Memory often fails. Studies show that eyewitness testimony is some of the most flawed imaginable. Most times, we simply can't rely on what we remember.

Perhaps that's why I continue my (many) failed attempts at blogging. Maybe that's why I keep the four or five unfinished "novels" on my hard drive. Maybe that's why I feel the need to take photographs. Maybe that's why I feel compelled to commit memories to music.

Maybe.

Maybe...

Why are summer holidays the best time to have a stack of books to read?  You'd think winter would be the season for it.  Rainy, cold, windy, dreary....  

No wait.  That's Germany this summer.

Good thing I'm well-stocked for holidays starting in only three days.  Probably too much to attack in just under four weeks, but I'll give it a shot.  Besides, some of them aren't meant to be read from beginning to end.

The first one I'll mention is Siri Hustvedt's The Sorrows of an American.  After falling in love a few weeks ago with Ms. Hustvedt after reading What I Loved, her latest was something of a post-honeymoon let-down.  I guess I came to expect a book with the same depth of insight into troubling psychological themes and instead found myself getting bogged down midst a dandelion salad of intertwining relationships spanning three generations, several families and storylines.  Maybe I just wasn't paying attention enough.

A lot in that stack I've read before.  Bill Bryson's Notes From a Small Island I've been through twice already, but always find a laugh from him.  Shakespeare was bought on the strength of the author's name - we'll see how that turns out - and as for Mother Tongue: read it!  It's full of a-hah! No shit? moments about the language you use every day and never really thought about before.

I'm probably the last person in the Western Hemisphere to read anything by Richard Dawkins, so it's about time.  Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go I bought for the same reason as the Bryson: my wife and I love the film The Remains of the Day and so we've high hopes for this one.

George Carlin's Braindroppings and Napalm and Silly Putty, mentioned back when the great man brayed his last, is for those spots inbetween when there's just no time to get deep into a story.  Monologues, one-liners, quips, probes, thrusts, screeds, japes, taunts, insults, musings, harangues, verbal ordeals, jokes, notions, doubts, opinions, questions, thoughts, beliefs, assertions, assumptions, disturbing references, comedy, nonsense, satire, mockery, merriment, sarcasm, ridicule, silliness, bluster, toxic alienation, joy, anger, wonder, confusion, wisdom, hostility, innocence, impudence, reflection and semantic distortion*** suitable for about 10 minutes before the book falls to the floor with a soft plop to begin a mid-afternoon sacking out in a cot somewhere, or maybe just a trip to the john.

Sarah's Key and Missing Mom are a nod to my wife's taste, but despite their obvious girly exterior, I always trust her judgment.  Did I ever mention that I think she's the wisest woman I've ever known?

And last but not least: a recommendation to read Planet Germany by Cathy Dobson, a well-written and funny account of a year in the life of a British expat family's attempt to fit in once and for all with their German neighbours and surroundings.   I liked it because it was both personal and refreshingly free of most of the worn-out stereotypes you hear all too often about Germans and their country.  Self-published doesn't get much better.  You can order it by Amazon like all the books here, or just get ahold of her via her blog.  Tell her I sent you.

***Full disclosure: shamelessly copied from both covers.

ISHIGURO, Kazuo. NUNCA ME ABANDONES (Never Let Me Go, 2005). Barcelona: Anagrama, 2005; 351 pp; traduït per Jesús Zulaika; ISBN 84-339-7079-8

       Als trenta-un anys, Kathy H. recorda la seva infantesa. L'internat de Hailsham, les Cottages, els seus companys, els seus amants. La memòria de la descoberta de la vida es barreja amb la certesa d'una veritat que durant molt de temps les institucions i els mestres havien amagat.

Passat i present que s'amaga i es descobreix. Sexe, amor i poder. Descoberta, engany i incertesa. Amistat, crueltat i por. El secret d'una societat.

"No es que temiera echarme a llorar o perder la compostura o algo parecido. Pero decidí dar media vuelta e irme. Incluso aquel día, más tarde, me dí cuenta de que había sido un gran error. Pero todo lo que puedo decir es que, en aquel momento, lo que más temía en el mundo era que cualquiera de los dos se fuera y yo tuviera que quedarme a solas con el otro. No sé por qué, pero me parecía una opción viable el que se fuera de allí bruscamente más de uno de nosotros, y quise asegurarme de que ese uno fuera yo."

L'aprenentatge mai resulta senzill. La dificultat augmenta quan hi ha qüestions amagades, silenciades, que es van enfosquint. La curiositat i la por fan voler saber més i, també, preferir continuar ignorant. La vida no té un manual d'instruccions, ni resulta senzilla. Sovint l'angoixa pren cos, ho pot cobrir tot amb una boira gris, on bellesa i desassossec van de la mà. Ishiguro crea aquesta atmosfera a mida que el lector queda captivat pel seu relat. El record de la infantesa i la joventut queden difuminades per un silenci latent i dens, que fa que la lectura, subtil i tendra, no deixi d'entreveure un neguit. Un relat pertorbador i inquietant es remou sota una aparença bella i reposada, que no deixia de fluir, com el temps, com la vida, davant els nostres ulls. Malgrat notes que podrien caure en classificacions de ciència ficció i distopies, Ishiguro no es recrea en elles, sinó que només les roça. La intensitat de la bellesa, la tristesa, la fatalitat i la malenconia, no deixen de buscar dins de la condició humana, aquella mena de vaga realitat o d'estranya quotidianitat que obren un cúmul de sentiments que van dels paratges més suaus als més salvatges.

... No busquis un final feliç. No sempre el trobaràs. No esperis aquella mena de porta de salvació, ni de llum al final de la foscor. No té perquè ser així. I malgrat això, no deixaràs de sentir que potser el destí et pica l'ullet, que potser les llàgrimes no brollaran i que el regust a la boca no serà ni dolç ni amarg, sinó tots dos alhora...

Awhile back, in a post of a book review, I offered to the first commenter who requested it, my copy of said book.

That blogger happened to be Chartroose.

She, being the awesome and amazing reciprocal type, offered to send ME a book.   What she saved on posting, she poured into the purchasing of MORE books!   I was so excited to see a package hanging from my mailbox today and I knew instantly who it was from.

I rushed into my house, carefully sliced open the box (I actually learned how to open boxes of books when I worked at a Waldenbooks ~20 years ago) and was delighted to find When We Were Orphans.  

Chartroose and I are engaging in an here-to-for unpublished, non-formally announced challenge to read more Ishiguro after enjoying Never Let Me Go.   Feel free to join us.

But wait!  There's MORE!   Not only was this National Bestseller, Booker Prize Finalist, New York Times Notable Book in the box, but I also found Laura Moriarty's The Center of Everything and a hard cover book (that my dog thinks smells very intriguing..) Hard City  by Clark Howard.

The sun is shining, the temp is moderate, and my neighbor's pool is available for my use since I'm caring for their dog while they are on vacation.   I don't have to be anywhere until 4:30...   Is today a great day, or what?

Thanks Char.

There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs. ~Henry Ward Beecher

1. Who is your all-time favorite author, and why?

This is quite difficult to answer, because there are lots of authors I adore. Geez! I guess if I absolutely had to choose one, it would have to be Mark Twain. He was very prolific: he wrote novels, short stories, essays and (not so good) poetry. He had a razor-sharp wit, and there was no better satirist than Twain. I love The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and Life on the Mississippi (and should reread both of these books). What I like most about Twain is that he was kind of a prophet. Many of the things he said way back when still hold true today, like this quote: "The Mississippi River will always have its own way; no engineering skill can persuade it to do otherwise..." Twain hated war and man’s inhumanity to man—and he was one of America’s first true libertarians.

Hemingway said, "…all modern American literature comes from one book by Mark Twain called Huckleberry Finn." I totally agree.

2. Who was your first favorite author, and why? Do you still consider him or her among your favorites?

My first favorite author was A. A. Milne--unequivocally and without question. When We Were Very Young is still my favorite book of poetry, and I occasionally reread a Winnie the Pooh story, especially if I’m having a bad day. This sounds so dumb, but the major characters in Winnie the Pooh speak to me when I read about them because every one of them shows a different aspect of my personality.

• Pooh = selfishness & generosity
• Piglet (my favorite) = fear & courage
• Rabbit = OCD to the max!
• Owl = intelligence & single-mindedness
• Eeyore = self-pity and moroseness

I have issues with Tigger, because he’s way too happy and he’s a total moron.

One of the most traumatic experiences of my childhood occurred when Mom washed my Piglet doll, and he lost an eye. She fixed him, but I never felt the same about him after that. Why do Mom’s do that? Sure, he was filthy, but it was my filth, so it was okay. A little bacteria never hurt anyone!

3. Who is the most recent addition to your list of favorite authors, and why?

This one's easy. It’s Kazuo Ishiguro, and it’s due to this book: Never Let Me Go. (See my review here). He’s not very prolific, but I’m sure his novels will live on for a long, long time. Never Let Me Go should be taught to lit. majors. It should be dissected and examined by the best literary minds in academia. I will be reading When We Were Orphans soon, and I’m totally psyched about it.

4. If someone asked you who your favorite authors were right now, which authors would first pop out of your mouth? Are there any you’d add on after a moment of further reflection?

Okay, here they are, in no particular order:

• George R. R. Martin
• S. M. Stirling
• Paul Auster
• Michael Chabon
• Neil Gaiman
• Kate Atkinson

Upon further reflection, I’d add Jonathan Lethem and Douglas Coupland. Oh, and Carl Hiassen too!

Go ahead and give this a shot. It really makes you think! If you write about your favorites, let me know in the comments and I'll go to your site and check them out.

Puntuación: 7/10

Ultimamente he de reconocer que cada vez me gusta más la literatura japonesa, su estilo me tiene enganchado. Narración directa, sencilla, pero siempre con un "algo" que te atrapa. Esta novela de Ishiguro no es una excepción.

En ella nos cuenta la historia de Ono, (bueno para ser sincero Ono nos cuenta su propia historia ya que está contada en primera persona) un pintor laureado en el pasado, que reflexiona sobre su carrera pictórica desde la experiencia y la madurez que le proporciona su edad. La historia está ambientada en el Japón posterior a la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Ono en su juventud era un pintor que apoyó al Japón imperial, lo que le acarreó enemistades entre los demás pintores, y aunque era reconocido por la crítica, con el paso de los años reflexiona y esto le hace replantearse su pasado, más aún cuando las nuevas generaciones quieren tomar ejemplo de todo lo que hacen los estadounidenses y no ven con buenos ojos su obra.

Es un libro que propone algunas reflexiones muy interesantes sobre temas como la moral, las dificultades por las que pasan los artistas para expresarse, las elecciones que deben realizar en su carrera... .

Yo personalmente como "intento de artista" sé que hay veces en que te planteas si seguir haciendo lo que a tí realmente te gusta o intentar acercarte más a lo que guste a la mayoría. Yo de momento lo tengo claro, pobre pero auténtico.

Por último os dejo una crítica de un colega, para que tengais una opinión más.

Review    Never Let Me Go  by Kazuo Ishiguro

I could point you to the search in all of WordpressLand:   http://en.search.wordpress.com/?q=never+let+me+go+kazuo+ishiguro   There are many reviews.     Please feel free to leave me a link to YOUR review if you have one.  Thanks.

or...

I could just tell you it was amazing and let it go at that.    But, I do believe it begs discussion and I must rush over to my friend's house and insist she read it NOW so we can talk about.      I also think you might want to NOT know too much.    For this novel, I purposely only read reviews that attempted to be vague.    So, if you are like me, don't go read Chartroose's 'Review And Then Some' until AFTER you read the book.

å

A few quotes to share from other bloggers:   "Disturbing but quiet.  Thoughtful but mildly strange."   - Verbivore at Incurable Logophilia

"While the scenes are in many ways idyllic, there’s a thread of wrongness running through all of her [the narrator's] stories, and the reader is on guard."    Eva, A Striped Armchair

Quotes from the book,

I can recall now, as fresh as anything, Tommy's own face, the anger receding for the moment, being replaced by an expression almost of wonder, like I was a rare butterfly he'd come across on a fencepost.     p195

"It's too easy," I said,"to criticise when you're just driving by."
"Easiest thing in the world," Tommy said.   p228

  Å

This completes 10% of my 2008 1.0 Percent of the 1001 Challenge.    Did anyone else notice the odd drawings/characters that separated sections?    

OK, not related but I HAD to go search youtube for Judy Bridgewater!   ha.    Found this instead.    It sort of works, though.

↑                   ↑                    ↑

I would love to meet and get
to know this man.  He's my
new hero!

(Caution: There are spoilers in this post)

If you are one of the two people who have not yet read this excellent novel, try to get your hands on a copy as soon as possible.  In my humble opinion, Never Let Me Go is one of the best books I’ve read in at least a decade, if not longer.  It has been added to the Chartroose Shortlist of the best novels of the 21^st century.  Since it’s only 2008 and I’ll be dead long before the 22^nd century arrives, and I’m basically a nobody, this probably doesn’t mean much, but hey, it’s my ego list and I’m sticking to it!  I started out listening to a borrowed audio version and ended up buying a copy to finish reading with my eyes instead of my ears.  This means I was extremely impressed, because I hardly ever buy books!

There are undoubtedly a gazillion reviews of Never Let Me Go floating around the blogosphere, and there are quite a few book bloggers who are better reviewers than I am (like Dorothy, Victoria, Stewart and Verbivore) so I’m going to avoid taking the obvious approach to my review of the novel.  Earlier today, I did a bit of thinking about the story.  What is Ishiguro really trying to tell us here?  This was no small task, because Never Let Me Go is chock full of symbolism.  It’s so allegorical that I’m sure that I overlooked about 99% of the true meaning, but my OCD was kicking in, so I absolutely had to try to figure it out!

Never Let Me Go is about children being cloned and raised to adulthood for the purpose of donating vital organs to their "originals" when they are fully grown.  After donating several organs, usually two to four, the clones "complete" (die) at around age 30.  Although it’s never stated in the novel, I think they must start out donating organs with a spare, like a kidney or a lung, and then end up donating the biggies that will kill the donor, like hearts and pancreases.

Never Let Me Go may be about clones, but it’s not really about clones at all.  It’s about society—the haves and the have-nots; the way the majority of us regard the underclasses and those less fortunate than we are; the way we objectify everyone and everything that isn’t like us.  Like I mentioned in a previous post, Never Let Me Go is about conformity, and not just the conformity of the clones, but the conformity of everyone.  It’s also about alienation.  The clones weren’t even considered to be human—society thought they didn’t have souls (obviously in order to subconsciously justify the immorality of the entire business).  One of the "guardians" at their idyllic boarding school expressed this opinion by saying that, "…There were times when I’d look down on you from my study window and feel such revulsion…" (p. 269).

On a deeper level, Never Let Me Go is about the futility of life.  It’s a "what’s-the-point" kind of Nihilistic dystopian novel (without the anarchy) that shows that nothing can save us from the inevitable—not love, not art or beauty, not anything.  It’s a Borg book, saying that we might as well allow ourselves to be assimilated because resistance is futile.  The cloned kids don’t rebel against the inevitable, but then, neither do the Borg, do they?  And while, at the very end of our lives, we may "rage, rage against the dying of the light," with every ounce of strength and determination at our disposal, Death is always the winner.  Always, with no exceptions. 

Now for the neat-o part of this post:

Science first—

• About 97% of our cloning efforts have ended in failure. Scientists have cloned or attempted to clone sheep, cats, mice, goats, cows, horses, mules, pigs and rabbits. Currently, cloned mice are being used for health research.
• Scientists in the UK successfully cloned their first human embryo in May of 2005. They are still trying to figure out how to isolate stem cells from clones.
• Several years ago, a couple of U.S. universities suspended their cloning research due to lack of funding and/or lack of success. Harvard recently regained approval to restart their cloning project. Harvard researchers intend to use clones to harvest stem cells to help combat juvenile diabetes and Parkinson’s disease.
• A Las Vegas based for-profit company called Clonaid has claimed that it has cloned a human baby, but they seem to have nothing to show for it.

My favorite cloning (and related) novels:

This feature length animated film will be released in August:

And, last but not least, humor—

En otras noticias, voy a leer los libros de Kazuo Ishiguro este próximo verano. Sus libros son los favoritos de una amiga y quiero descubrir si me gustan también.

A thought so chilling to even to think about, finds life and voice in 'Never Let Me Go'.

This novel is set in a school by name 'Hailsham' where cloned children are reared in an artificial establishment to be the donors of future. A world completely devoid of moral implications and incredibly insensitive to the sensitivity of human emotions. A world of three kids: Kathy, Ruth and Tommy, filled with what seems like a benign bliss of childhood unravels into a great sham of artificiality, where simple words like 'donations', 'complete' assume grotesque ramifications.

Kathy's observation about Madame's revulsion: "Madame was afraid of us. But she was afraid of us in the same way someone might be afraid of spiders. We hadn't been ready for that. It had never occurred to us to wonder how we would feel, being seen like that, being the spiders."

Or the silent acceptance of donations reflected thus: "All the same, some of it must go in somewhere. It must go in, because by the time a moment like that comes along, there's a part of you that's been waiting. Maybe from as early as when you're five or six, there's been a whisper going at the back of your head, saying: "One day, maybe not so long from now, you'll get to know how it feels." So you're waiting, even if you don't quite know it, waiting for the moment when you realise that you really are different to them; that there are people out there, like Madame, who don't hate you or wish you any harm, but who nevertheless shudder at the very thought of you--of how you were brought into this world and why--and who dread the idea of your hand brushing against theirs. The first time you glimpse yourself through the eyes of a person like that, it's a cold moment. It's like walking past a mirror you've walked past every day of your life, and suddenly it shows you something else, something troubling and strange."

Subtly dark and infinitely sad, this book casts a fatalistic note on human lives that are led in a cloak of artificiality. Probably, thats why my heart didn't ache for the characters, though it bled for the sheer helplessness of the situation. A deep seated loathness for a place from which there is no escape, rather than to await the dead end that is reserved by the time one is born. This book sets itself not to explore the technicalities of cloning or the perils of being a clone, but rather captures the fine nuances of humanity in minute detail and makes one wonder about the core definition of it. The context of the book feels artificial, the tone has a note of fatality, yet the people feel awfully natural. Albeit, cast in a cloud of cold desolateness. This book is not for those who are on look out for heroes. For all the characters are patient victims in waiting for their end, leading a life as if its on loan, with an air of detachment around them which they flaunt mercilessly, accepting in silence the grim fatality of the life that they are leading.

How glad I was that this story is still a piece of fiction and not a disgusting manifestation of the modern day genetic experiments that intend to deliver greater good to greater lot at the cost of assured unhappiness for some.

Un temible klan Yakuza ha llegado a Madrid. Oriente en Occidente; un trocito de Tokyo en la Plaza de Antón Martín. Es la última tienda de Rocío Rodiel y Titi, un pequeño pero gran local en Calle Atocha donde puedes encontrar desde modelos de aires orientales (hombre y mujer), hasta pequeños detalles que orientalizarán tu vida diaria: cojines en forma de sushi, cine y literatura (Yukio Mishima, Kazuo Ishiguro, Wong Kar Wai...), imanes de nevera, decoración del hogar, utensilios de comida japonesa, complementos... Una línea de productos seleccionada con muy buen gusto, trabajo y cuidado y el mejor trato personalizado. Patrocinada por Yohana Cobo, y abierta desde el 5 de Mayo.

_lamadriguera se encargará de la tienda y la publicidad online.

¡Orientalízate en calle Atocha, 52!

Perhaps because of my privileged upbringing (private school) and context (exurban midwest), or perhaps because of a discomfort with confronting difference, the English literature I have come to know is white and male. Looking back on my literary career, I am beginning to worry that I have for too long bought into the separate-but-equal mentality of the canon.

Where other literatures have come into my education they feel decontextualized, tokenized, colonized: the sheer talent of a Toni Morrison, for example, would invalidate the canon's premise were she not acknowledged, so there she is, with Ralph Ellison and Maxine Hong Kingston. But I don't understand Morrison, Ellison, or Kingston in anything of the depth with which I understand Henry James, Thomas Pynchon, or even Zadie Smith.

Smith, because she writes something like World Literature, seems to escape some of the literary ghettoization of the American canon. Still, World Lit can't always escape the gravitational pull of academics' ghettoizing impulse: over and over again Kazuo Ishiguro explains to white interviewers that he doesn't model his fiction on Yukio Mishima and Junichirō Tanizaki (Chekhov is his greatest influence, followed by James). Interviewers and reviewers, even (especially?) from academic publications, tuck Ishiguro into an ill-defined Japanese Lit.

There are dangers in assuming all authors are like Ishiguro, of course: I'm not sure Philip Roth could give a disquisition on the range of styles deployed by Tanizaki and then come back to explain the stylistic influence of a certain Polish translator of Chekhov. Still, it seems not unreasonable to imagine that authors of the twentieth-century novel, in all languages, are employees of one of the more culturally heterogeneous firms around.

Back to my problem: as a product of my time and place I know the canon as it is espoused by my university, and I know the canon as it is espoused by my authors. (Woolf and Rushdie are graciously forthright about the books they think people should be reading.) But I don't know, and I don't know how to know, the canons that boom outside the walls of my little University, the list of 100 Essential Books They Won't Teach You In College.

The 150-word Review: Subtlety and nuance are underappreciated in today's world.  The best art makes use of what is not there:  the negative space.  Understatement, yielded by a gifted writer, can elevate a tabloid concept into a work of great depth and contemplation.   Kazuo Ishiguro, in his novel, "Never Let Me Go," gracefully crafts a simple narrative that obliquely examines the human soul and free will in a world not unlike ours.

"Never Let Me Go" is narrated by a lonely caregiver named, Kathy H., who reminisces about her seemingly idyllic, but strange, childhood at a boarding school in the English countryside.  As she shares more about her adult life, a pervasive sense of melancholy and longing envelops her story and we slowly discover that her mere existence is a heart-rending tragedy.  Ishiguro's brilliance lies in the resigned dignity and simple grace in which Kathy confronts her fate and ultimately proves her humanity.

You will like this book if you are a fan of: the English country side, free will, stylish understated prose, boarding schools, memory, dystopian fiction, quiet desperation, indoctrination, and enduring dignity.

This book will go great with: Old Peculier Ale

Set the mood with: I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2

Clavinism (stuff that will not make you look cool in a bar): Not surprisingly Norm, Kazuo Ishiguro won the Whitbread Prize in 1986 for his second novel, "An Artist of the Floating World," and the Booker Prize in 1989 for his third, "The Remains of the Day."