Never Let Me Go

 Kazuo Ishiguro

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Science Fiction

Initial Impression
I’d been meaning to read this one for years. It kept showing up on all those “100 best books of all time” lists, which, honestly, probably inflated my expectations a little too much. I did watch the movie adaptation ages ago but barely remember a thing from it (probably a sign it didn’t land with me). So at least I came into the book without the movie clouding my judgment.

Summary
Never Let Me Go is a strange, quiet kind of science fiction. It follows Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy, three students at Hailsham, an isolated English boarding school that looks ordinary at first glance but… well, isn’t. The story is told through Kathy’s memories, so you get this hazy, filtered view of her childhood and teenage years. The unsettling part is how gradually you realize what’s really going on: the kids aren’t just kids. Their lives are designed with a grim, predetermined purpose, and they’re raised to accept it without much question.

As they leave Hailsham, they take on the roles of “carers” and eventually “donors.” The euphemistic language makes it sound benign, but it’s not. Their adult lives are shaped by those early lessons of quiet obedience, and even when they try to resist or at least find loopholes, it always circles back to the same unavoidable end.

The book doesn’t give you a dramatic uprising or big sci-fi twist. It’s more about the characters trying to live as if they were normal people—falling in love, clinging to friendships, nursing small jealousies—while always, underneath, carrying this awful knowledge of what’s waiting for them.

Characters
The characters are written in a way that feels very subdued, almost muted. Kathy, as narrator, is patient and reflective, sometimes frustratingly so. She spends a lot of time on tiny details, memories that don’t seem important at first but turn out to be the emotional spine of the novel. I sometimes wished she’d push back harder against her world, but then again, that passivity is kind of the point.

Ruth is prickly and manipulative one moment, heartbreakingly vulnerable the next. She’s probably the most “alive” of the trio because of those contradictions. Tommy, by contrast, is almost too straightforward. His emotional outbursts, his struggles with creativity, make him sympathetic, but he also feels a bit like the tragic boy everyone already knows is doomed.

Writing Style
Ishiguro writes with restraint. The prose is sparse, conversational even, like Kathy’s just musing over tea and half-apologizing for going off on tangents. It’s deceptively simple, and there’s no flashy worldbuilding or futuristic tech jargon. The horror lies in what’s not said, in the calmness with which these kids talk about things that, to us, are horrifying. That restraint works, though it can also drag; there were long stretches where I caught myself drifting.

Setting and Atmosphere
England here is painted in muted tones: damp fields, quiet cottages, long country roads. Hailsham itself comes across as both idyllic and eerie, almost like a dream you can’t decide is comforting or unsettling. Later settings—the cottages, the clinical medical centers—strip away even more warmth, underlining how little freedom these characters really have.

The atmosphere is heavy, but not in a loud or dramatic way. It’s more like a slow, persistent ache. You’re not on the edge of your seat, but you’re unsettled, like watching a train you know is going to crash, but at a painfully slow speed.

Final Thoughts
Here’s the tricky part: I admire what the novel is doing, but I didn’t love actually reading it. The pacing is glacial, and while I get that’s deliberate—it mirrors Kathy’s reflective, almost detached way of remembering—it did test my patience. I kept waiting for a spark of rebellion, or at least some big rupture in the quiet acceptance, but it never really came. That might be Ishiguro’s whole point, but it also left me feeling flat.

Thematically, though, it’s rich. Questions about what makes life valuable, how memory shapes identity, and the quiet ways people try to find meaning when the future is already written—all of that lingers. At least, it should linger. In my case, it didn’t stick as much as I expected. Maybe I just didn’t click with Kathy’s voice. Or maybe, like the film, it’s the kind of story that leaves me appreciating it intellectually but not carrying it in my heart.

So, three stars. Respect for the craft, respect for the ideas, but personally? Not unforgettable.

Key Themes

• Memory
• Mortality
• Love and intimacy
• Loss and grief
• Identity
• Humanity and dehumanization
• Friendship
• Social conditioning
• Acceptance
• Loneliness
• Hope and futility