I started reading Never Let Me Go after a friend gave me her old copy which she'd finished reading. The pages were falling out and at one point I had to run to Oxfam to find a new copy after discovering pages 73-77 were missing, but eventually I made it to the end all in one piece. Having heard how sad this book is, I was expecting to fall apart and was quite surprised when I reached the end without having shed a single tear. I put this down to the very matter-of-fact, stilted tone that brought both admiration and irritation as the most heart-rending, inhumane concepts were delivered as easily as the latest information about the weather. The terrifying description of a world in which clones are created solely to save the human race from diseases and allow them a life span of over 100 years made me fear the possibilities of science and the future of the human race. However, the way in which the story was delivered did stop me from getting quite so engrossed in the sadness of the story and that, I believe, is what stopped me from crying my eyes out. The word 'completing' was used to describe a donor's death, which while distressing, did serve to keep the reality of the situation at arm's length. Ishiguro did an excellent job of conveying the confusion of the children and mirroring the gradual way in which they found out their actual role on the earth; this was impressive in terms of writing, but more than a little frustrating in places!
Having survived the book, I then decided to give the film a go. This started off well, despite the slightly amusing 80s and 90s fashion and hair styles (those were some impressive fringes!) and I think the script was brilliantly written. It wasn't long before I started feeling the first signs of depression at the story. But I thought I'd be ok - I just moved slightly closer to my boyfriend and carried on watching. Seeing the action on the screen was too much for me, though. Watching doctors pulling organs out of these young people and abandoning the dead without a second glance, treating them like absolute robots, was heartbreaking. They didn't believe these people were human, yet they were willing to take their vital organs for their own benefit with no hint of a conscience. The head-in-the-sand attitude of the people was disturbing to say the least, and a cruel reminder of what we as a race are capable of. All doubt that the donors had a soul was erased (as if it needed to be) as we saw Tommy break down once he realised there was no escape from his cruel fate and the sight of him screaming, and holding Kathy for absolute dear life, was the end of me. I sobbed and sobbed into poor Matt's shoulder, not stopping for a good ten minutes after the film had actually finished. I enjoyed the book, and I thought the writing was superb. But somehow seeing the action in front of me was what it took to finally break me. Is this an insult to Ishiguro's writing? On the contrary. The medium of writing is very different to that of the screen, and indeed I thought it paid tribute to quality of the writing, that the way in which the non-clone humans in the story had their emotions towards the clones dulled, was almost experienced by the reader too. Of course, their fate was tragic indeed, but without seeing the truth in front of me I was able to protect myself from the horror of the story.
The human race is phenomenally intelligent, capable, and loving. But this work of art served as a true warning to humanity, that we cannot ignore the suffering of others at any cost. As we already have live donors and the power to clone animals, I can only hope that this shocking story acts as a deterrent rather than an inspiration to go the last step and turn a blind eye to the fate of some for the benefit of others.
Having survived the book, I then decided to give the film a go. This started off well, despite the slightly amusing 80s and 90s fashion and hair styles (those were some impressive fringes!) and I think the script was brilliantly written. It wasn't long before I started feeling the first signs of depression at the story. But I thought I'd be ok - I just moved slightly closer to my boyfriend and carried on watching. Seeing the action on the screen was too much for me, though. Watching doctors pulling organs out of these young people and abandoning the dead without a second glance, treating them like absolute robots, was heartbreaking. They didn't believe these people were human, yet they were willing to take their vital organs for their own benefit with no hint of a conscience. The head-in-the-sand attitude of the people was disturbing to say the least, and a cruel reminder of what we as a race are capable of. All doubt that the donors had a soul was erased (as if it needed to be) as we saw Tommy break down once he realised there was no escape from his cruel fate and the sight of him screaming, and holding Kathy for absolute dear life, was the end of me. I sobbed and sobbed into poor Matt's shoulder, not stopping for a good ten minutes after the film had actually finished. I enjoyed the book, and I thought the writing was superb. But somehow seeing the action in front of me was what it took to finally break me. Is this an insult to Ishiguro's writing? On the contrary. The medium of writing is very different to that of the screen, and indeed I thought it paid tribute to quality of the writing, that the way in which the non-clone humans in the story had their emotions towards the clones dulled, was almost experienced by the reader too. Of course, their fate was tragic indeed, but without seeing the truth in front of me I was able to protect myself from the horror of the story.
The human race is phenomenally intelligent, capable, and loving. But this work of art served as a true warning to humanity, that we cannot ignore the suffering of others at any cost. As we already have live donors and the power to clone animals, I can only hope that this shocking story acts as a deterrent rather than an inspiration to go the last step and turn a blind eye to the fate of some for the benefit of others.
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