NB: This is not a translated version, the original version is indeed in English.

If I had to use a single picture to represent this book, I would use this:

Synopsis
It is only many years later, that at age 30, Kathy finally allows herself to reminisce about the years of her childhood. She, together with many others, had been brought up in an idyllic, sheltered environment of Hailsham, an establishment deep in the English countryside. All the children are brought up with fantastic lessons, art classes, music, games, all any child would have wanted and an emphasis that personal welfare was crucial for them. But none of them really questioned why they were there and what lay ahead in their future…

It is only in their late teens where the idea of ‘donations’ become introduced to them. At first only in passing, as if it were an unimportant part of their lives, and gradually, introduced as some sort of natural process in their lives, as a means to which they would live out their lives.

Unknown to them, (or rather, their minds just did not want to accept the truth), they were actually all clones of real people, brought up only as a host for the organs that their real people wanted/needed. I’m sure everyone reading this would have balked at such an idea, but interesting enough, they did not. They just accepted their fates quietly, some even taking lessons to be a carer for other donors before they started their own donations.

It’s a chilling novel, of love, loss and hidden truths. An entire complex myriad of emotions - rage, pity, self-loathing, pain, melancholy, a sweet sort of sadness. It’s a masterpiece indeed!

Somehow, I felt that this book was a parallel of the real world. We aren’t clones but we sure aren’t much different from them. How many of us have accepted our lot without question? How many have dared to challenge our ‘fate’? And how many of us are so comfortable in our current environment that we do not think about how else we could make our lives fuller?

I’m not saying that it’s bad to be living our lives like Kathy did with hers, sometimes, you’re just not given any choice. But, think about it, don’t you feel that need to do something different? Something just extraordinary, and perhaps, just perhaps, have that little chance to realise greater potentials?

Anyways, here’s an excerpt from the book, just so you all out there can get a ‘feel’ of Ishiguro’s style.

‘Thinking back now, I can see we were just at that age when we knew a few things about ourselves - about who we were, how we were different from our guardians, from the people outside - but hadn’t understood what any of it meant. I’m sure somewhere in your childhood, you too had an experience like ours that day; similar if not in the actual details, then inside, in the feelings. Because it doesn’t really matter how well your guardians try to prepare you: all the talks, videos, discussions, warnings, none of that can really bring it home. Not when you’re eight years old, and you’re ll together in a place like Hailsham; when you’ve got guardians like the ones we had; when the gardeners and the delivery men joke and laugh with you and call you ’sweetheart’.

All the same, some of it must go in somewhere. It must go in, because by the time 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 from 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.’

— from ‘Never Let Me Go’, Kazuo Ishiguro