Several months ago, when I decided to publicly state my opinions on books I read, I came up with two rules for myself:
- You don’t have to finish the books you don’t like
- You will never write about the book you don’t like
Number one is simple – there are so many books in the world that I don’t have time to waste on the books I don’t like.
The second rule came out of the respect for the writer. I know how hard it is to finish a novel and how emotionally attached each writer is to their work. Just because I don’t like a book, it doesn’t mean that book is bad; it simply means that it’s not for me. I’m sure that no writer opens Goodreads hoping to find another bad review.
However, when it comes to Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, I’m not quite sure what to think and do. I didn’t like the book, and I finished it. I’ve said that I won’t write about the book I don’t like, but I have a huge urge to tell something about it, and I will give my best not to say anything bad about it, because, as I already said – the fact that I didn’t like the book doesn’t make it a bad book and that you won’t like it, as well.
When I start reading a new book, it takes me a chapter or two to decide whether I’ll finish the book or not. Never let me go is a novel which was promising a lot at the beginning; the setting is mysterious and intriguing. The main character, Kathy, is a clone whose only purpose is to serve as a farm for her organs, and to donate them in the future.
She is not the only one. It’s a huge project, and she has a lot of clone friends and we wonder how many organs can a person donate before dying.
The clones fall in love, the are jealous, ambitious, they have dreams and disappointments, just as real people.
Ishiguro’s style is mesmerising. It will hold your attention while the images of the clones appear in front of your eyes, and you will relive their lives, but somehow, the whole time, I expected something to happen; something big; something that will make me to drop the book and sit in a bath of thoughts about what I’ve just read; but it didn’t.
Maybe I had false expectations from a literary piece of work which explores inner instead of outer life of a character. Perhaps I missed the moment, because it was subtle. Maybe I’m not mature enough for this book.
The book is good, but there was something missing; something that will make my jaw drop.
Finally, my suggestion is to read the book yourself but don’t expect anything from it, and perhaps you’ll be more fortunate than me.