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

A Thousand Pieces of You

 Claudia Gray

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Science Fiction + Young Adult

Initial Impression
I’ve actually owned all three books in this series since 2017. I picked them up after seeing a YouTuber rave about them—and honestly, the covers themselves are gorgeous, so when I spotted a good deal on Thrift Books, I couldn’t resist. It felt like one of those “why not?” purchases that linger in your mind for years.

Summary
Marguerite Caine is the daughter of two ambitious scientists who have created the Firebird, a device that, in theory, allows people to jump between parallel dimensions while keeping their sense of self intact. Her world turns upside down when her father is murdered, and all signs point to Paul Markov, his charismatic and trusted graduate assistant. Paul flees using the Firebird, leaving Marguerite to take up a prototype of her own and chase him across realities, teaming with another of her parents’ students, Theo Beck.

Her journey takes her to wildly different worlds: a futuristic London brimming with high-tech gadgets, a post-apocalyptic city dominated by water, and even an imperial Russia where she exists as the daughter of royalty. In each, Marguerite must inhabit the life of her alternate self, adjusting to unfamiliar customs and tangled relationships. Along the way, she discovers that Paul isn’t simply a villain; in some realities, he clearly cares for her, complicating her sense of right and wrong. Gradually, her initial black-and-white assumptions about guilt and loyalty start to blur.

As Marguerite continues her chase, she uncovers a larger conspiracy: her father’s research is entangled with a powerful corporation, Triad, manipulating events across dimensions. We keep getting hints that her father may not actually be dead but trapped elsewhere, and Paul’s apparent betrayal begins to look less like malice and more like desperation to protect her family. Feels like a familiar plot of misunderstanding to me. 

On the other hand, Theo’s actions raise questions. I’m not sure how I feel about them, but they are adding layers of uncertainty and tension. Of course, all this is intentional to make things confusing for the main character and the readers. By the end, Marguerite finds herself alone and facing the messy reality that love, loyalty, and identity are rarely simple, and that each decision she makes echoes across countless worlds.

Characters
Claudia Gray seems to enjoy playing with the idea that identity isn’t fixed. Each version of the characters in a new world shows slightly different traits, which keeps things interesting even though things get repetitive at times. Still, Marguerite, Paul, and Theo all have their main identities, ensuring they have enough consistent core traits to stay recognizable across the dimensions. 

Marguerite Caine: A girl who is trying to uncover the truth behind her father’s death.

Paul Markov: The main suspect in connection with Marguerite’s father’s death.

Theo Beck: Charming and impulsive boy. Has secrets that hint at deeper motives.

Henry Caine: Marguerite’s father, whose apparent death triggers the events of the story.

Writing Style
Gray’s writing style is easy to digest. The pace keeps the reader moving from one dimension to the next without much complexity. First-person narration helps in understanding Marguerite’s internal struggles, though it sometimes leans a little heavily on exposition. The imagery of each world is fairly vivid—enough to picture futuristic London or a waterlogged post-apocalyptic city, but it doesn’t linger long enough to feel truly immersive. Dialogue generally works, although at times it can feel slightly convenient, especially when it nudges the plot forward. Romance is woven in without slowing the story, though it leans on familiar YA tropes.

Setting and Atmosphere
The novel’s main appeal is its shifting, multidimensional setting. Each world feels distinct, from high-tech cities to more historical or dystopian landscapes. The author gives each dimension its own tone and quirks. However, some of the settings feel more like sketches than fully fleshed-out worlds. I can’t help but feel that the worlds lacked the depth they needed. The atmosphere is a mix of suspense and mild thrill. There is just enough danger to keep the story moving, but how one feels about it is completely dependent on the reader’s taste. There’s also a subtle undercurrent of romantic tension, which is likely to appeal to YA readers, though it may feel predictable to others.

Overall Impression
It’s kind of funny that I was playing Tales of Xillia 2—a video game also about jumping between parallel dimensions—at the same time I was reading this. The coincidence made the book’s premise feel a little more familiar, maybe even a bit repetitive in my mind. The story is easy to follow and moves quickly, but it doesn’t dig very deep into its characters or themes. And yes, it has the love-triangle cliché that seems unavoidable in YA from this era.

All things considered, it was a perfectly okay first book. I’m not exactly eager to continue the series, though I can’t say I’ll never pick up the next installment. It’s enjoyable enough to finish, but it’s not particularly memorable or compelling—somewhere in the middle of the road. Time will tell if curiosity pulls me back for book two.

Key Themes

• Parallel dimensions
• Identity
• Love across worlds
• Family bonds
• Betrayal and trust
• Grief and loss
• Conspiracy and power
• Fate versus choice

Vanishing World

 Sayaka Murata

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Science Fiction + Literary Fiction + Dystopia

Vanishing World is a dystopian story set in an alternative Japan where love, marriage, sex, and procreation have totally transformed into something different from our current world and definitions of all these things.

The story follows a woman called Amane, who now lives in this world where sex between married couples is something prohibited and considered like an assault! She is shocked when she knows that her parents conceived her the natural way for our world, but not for the main character’s world!

Not only that, but Amane and her husband, Saku, have a sexless marriage where the wife also can date other men openly! As we follow Amane, we get to see the conflicts inside her, whether those are related to her personal identity or to the norms of the society. In a society where men can also get pregnant, Amane as well as the other characters have many challenges to face.

This was a crazy read! Of course I mean it in a good way. I’m sure the original Japanese version must be better because, no matter what, some sentences and meanings change during translation. But even if this version was the original version that was written, it still has a lot to offer.

The book is atmospheric and has many ideas, some of which can be considered bizarre. And I guess that was one of the main things that made me enjoy reading this dystopian story. The concept is bold and quite unique, making this book a very original work of art. The author's beautifully blended themes will make you pause and think. I love it when stories provoke my thoughts in this way.

I’d recommend this book for any reader who has an open mind and can get into the story without being too judgmental. Indeed, the topics discussed here and their treatment in this alternative Japan may not resonate with all readers.

Note: What irritated me while reading the book on my Kindle, and this is not the fault of the book or the writing, was the format. More specifically, it was the absence of appropriate formatting. It is not OK to send ebooks even if they are ARCs in this way. No matter how hard I tried to ignore the problem, it still affected my reading experience.

This is a picture of my Kindle to show one of the pages. Not all the pages are like that, but many of them are.


Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with the ARC of this book.