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“Never Let Me Go,” published in 2005, remains a well-loved contemporary classic, quite widely distributed at corporate and independent bookstores alike. Its brooding plot, focused on the idyllic boarding school childhood of three friends who come of age to confront a horrible shared fate, has mesmerized critics and casual readers alike. But its plain language, minimal world building and lackluster plot resolution will leave readers conflicted. Whether they enjoy the tension between what is said and what is not said will determine how they enjoy the book overall.
‘Never Let Me Go’ Summary: Three Friends Await Death in a Toxic Relationship Triangle
“Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro is a dystopian novel that follows three friends coming of age in an idyllic boarding school for “donors.” Writing in clear, controlled and understated prose, protagonist Kathy H narrates in hindsight, reminiscing on a childhood centered around the Hailsham school where students enjoy a life as carefree as it is predictable and sheltered. Teachers emphasize how special the students are and the importance of the art they’re to produce for the “Gallery.”
Inept at art and more comfortable playing ball, when Tommy begins to fall behind, he starts having tantrums that show the first crack in the placid façade of Hailsham life. Kathy takes pity where others do not, beginning a lifelong friendship that promises to become something more.
In the meantime, her budding friendship with Ruth complicates matters. Ruth, an imaginative manipulator who more-or-less represents the status quo, continually tests Kathy’s allegiance and ensures a third-wheel dynamic with Tommy that follows them throughout the novel. Using this tension, Kazuo Ishiguro explores the nature of love and the strengths, and drawbacks, of unconditional friendship. The book also brings up themes related to the nature of memory in hindsight, fate versus free will, and the tension between innate morality versus complicity for the sake of social bonds.
Often-subtle, always strange, the encounters in which the characters discover, accept or contest their fate will provoke controversy among readers. This narrative tests our ability to empathize with individuals whose worldview and morality are so influenced from a young age by a reality unfamiliar to us. We’ll be left to question the human spirit’s ability to fight for what is right, regardless of upbringing and circumstance.
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Audience and Genre: Appeals to Fans of Dystopian Allegory
“Never Let Me Go” is no science fiction. You could argue that genre is more concerned with the technology underpinning the characters’ world. In science fiction, there’s a greater emphasis on building a world that’s as believable as it is audacious or otherworldly. There is often a more global emphasis, following more than one character, often taking on the third-person omniscient perspective. Many science fictions also tend to play out political dramas and ethics surrounding a controversial technology.
“Never Let Me Go” differs in each regard. (Spoilers) It is not very concerned with the nuts and bolts of cloning, organ removal and transplant; which organs are never mentioned. Nor does it focus on the receivers of these treatments, their complex motives and the ethical ramifications. Finally, it’s equally unconcerned with the political factions for and against these procedures.
Instead, the book makes itself at home in the long tradition of Plato’s cave allegories such as “The Giver” or even “The Matrix.” By making its setting less specific and its premise scientifically vague, Ishiguro is better able to explore more universal themes.
As to whom this novel will appeal, a survey of Goodreads is very telling. Those who came to the book with the most preconceptions were most disappointed, especially if they thought they were reading science fiction. Reviewer Henk sums it up well:
“When I was 16 I focused on the parse, plain prose, on world building and implausibilities; now I cried repeatedly because deep down, in a sense I feel our lives are how main character Kathy H. describes hers: In the end, we can’t stay together forever.”
Perspective: A Reliable Narrator Draws Us In, But Leaves Us in Doubt
Protagonist and narrator Kathy H describes her past in hindsight many years later while addressing us, the reader, as if we were not only part of her world but also a donor. While this unique device could easily be overdone, Ishiguro uses it sparingly in occasional asides like, “I don’t know how it was where you were, but…” These asides also reinforce her casual tone and narrative style that departs on natural tangents, and then carries on with something like, ‘Anyways, what I was getting at was…’ This all serves to lend the narrator our trust.
However, some readings might argue the narrator is a little too reliable. Her calm and plain mode of address lends credibility to character development, who said what to whom and the nature of their circumstances, all while glossing over the horror awaiting Hailsham graduates and its moral implications. Readers will come away with more questions than answers, and come to focus less on what Kathy says than how she says it, and — more importantly — what she omits. Many will find this tension an appealing part of the novel.
While we never understand Kathy’s motives for writing us, this mystery only adds to the allure, reinforcing the deceptive innocence of a narrator late in life “merely” recollecting her past, as if in reverie, to an acquaintance, (spoiler) without outright raging against lost years of love and the horror of her fate.
Three Cs: Compelling, Clear, Concise
Compelling: It Depends on Your Expectations
There is no doubt that “Never Let Me Go” is a compelling tale, but whether or not that’s true for you depends on your expectations. If you were expecting deeply detailed world building with answers to all of your scientific hunches and moral dilemmas, you will be left disappointed. If instead, you are drawn to its brooding, understated nature that leaves most of the outside world— including the nuts and bolts and justification for (spoiler) cloning and organ donation — up to your imagination.
At times I found myself craving more answers, but would more world building have made for a better reading experience? After all, there’s a line between science fiction and speculative fiction. This novel was likely meant to read more as an allegory.
Nevertheless, each main character and their admittedly small worlds are compelling. You may pine for more questioning characters, (spoiler) some rebellion or dramatic reckoning of their shared fate, but perhaps that’s exactly what Ishiguro was aiming for.
Clear: To a Fault?
Ishiguro’s — or we could say Kathy’s — writing in “Never Let Me Go” is clear, perhaps to a fault. Her sentences are rarely long. The storytelling style is casual, addressed as if to an acquaintance. Her tangents feel natural the way our brains might follow a thread, yet never go on too long. Then she course corrects with an aside like, “Anyways, what I meant to say was.”
Chapters and subchapters are well paced and often end with a gentle cliffhanger of what’s to come. Ironically, you come to learn that it’s more about what she omits than what she says. It’s this very leading-you-by-the-hand style that lends to the tension and brings out the novel’s themes.
Concise: The Right Length
At 288 pages, the paperback took two reading sessions over two days and flowed naturally. It also wasn’t difficult to pick up where I left off. The plot unfolded naturally, following the progression and fate of the students and their lives after Hailsham, and is peppered with curious incidents that threaten to reveal more of what’s really going on. If an incident or a feature of life at the school is introduced, like the “Gallery” where students’ art goes, it’s well explained, even if not fully, and then expanded upon later. Each incident seems well placed and is generally tied up with a neat bow — sometimes too neat.
I don’t think the novel would have benefitted from being longer, unless it was structured as a struggle and vindication with a second part. I think this type of plot would have been too ambitious and would likely have thrown off the novel’s cohesive atmosphere.
Character Development: Not Flat, But Lacking Outrage
“Never Let Me Go” features moderately developed characters with relatable, rich relationships yet somewhat dim inner lives that will leave some readers wanting. While they don’t fall into tropes, they’re also not fully fleshed out — intentionally so. Many readers will come to sympathize with Kathy, Tommy and Ruth as products of their circumstances, characters in a relatable allegory. Still, they’re rarely mere set-pieces to string together a plot.
Where Ishiguro shines is in portraying social dynamics, awkward encounters and subtle hierarchies. He deftly describes the way Ruth, Kathy’s bossy friend, uses her imagination throughout the novel in increasingly sophisticated ways to manipulate others into looking to her as a leader. He potently describes cringeworthy situations, whether petty or significant, where both Kathy and Tommy sacrifice their happiness, or their sense of right or wrong, to enable their relationships with Ruth. But Ishiguro does so in a way that helps us relate to both sides of the equation: We imagine Ruth’s behavior likely comes from a need to feel special, and important, in the face of a shared, identical fate. And we all know too well that the best friendships are often marked by enabling your friends’ worst behaviors. The thought of losing them is too much, hence the title of the book.
Nevertheless, no character has a true breakthrough. (Spoilers ahead) While they’re fully aware of the horror that lies ahead, they don’t seem to possess the moral compass that us readers do. There’s never outrage or deep investigation into the workings and justifications of organ donation, let alone a reckoning or outright rebellion. Their biggest aspiration in the novel is to get a deferral, which merely delays the inevitable by 3-4 years in which they’d live in the same sheltered circumstances they’re used to. Even though they’re fully aware of their fate, they never fail to use euphemisms like ‘complete’ (which means to die). You get the sense that they know, but do not understand. The consequences of their fate are only feared in how they affect each character’s social standing, friendship or ability to love. Some may find this quietly brave — a consequence of their circumstance — while others will find this naive, hard to believe and deplorable.
The characters certainly come of age and grow in maturity: the way they handle social dynamics, the rich friendships they do all sorts of things for. However, they hardly develop their sense of right and wrong.
Besides some outings to nearby towns during their college years (called the ‘Cottages’), they never truly meet normal people besides their teachers, nor tempt an escape to live a normal life. Neither are they expressly forbidden to do so; there are no fences, no threats and no punishments mentioned. While this gives the novel a distinct dystopian mood and mode of discourse, readers may pound their desks and ask how the characters’ lack, or fail to develop, an innate outrage at their situation. It’s not like they don’t have access to popular culture. They even find porn magazines at “the Cottages”.
Yet, these dynamics propel the main theme of the book that calls into question how easily an environment and upbringing, when it’s as engrossing as life at Hailsham, can dim our worldview and cause moral apathy.
Story: Ample on Tension, But May Leave You Out in the Cold
The plot of “Never Let Me Go” hums along at a gentle, consistent pace, which makes it easy to read and compelling, without being a total page-turning drama. In essence, it’s a casual retelling of Kathy’s life more concerned with nostalgia and the meaning of friendship and love than the horrors of their shared fate and the procedures, politics and justifications for (spoiler) organ donation.
Of course, this dramatic irony is the main draw of the novel. While there’s definitely an arc with a few major crises, I believe Ishiguro intentionally dials down the resolution to these incidents. Regardless, I found each incident to be memorable, usually associated with a landscape, object or imagery and easy to picture in my mind’s eye.
These elements give the book its quiet, understated mood, but some readers will be left pining for more. More emotional catharsis? More humanity, perhaps?
In the novel, if something were totally devastating to us readers, to its characters it’s mildly unsettling, moderately troubling at worst. Whether you enjoy this reticence is a matter of taste.
Prose Style: Quiet and Understated, with Rare Sublime Moments
Throughout this review, I’ve touched on the quiet, clear and understated prose of “Never Let Me Go,” and Ishiguro’s talent for social situations, tension and buried anguish. There’s possibly a distinction to be made between talented story building and the actual language itself. While I believe the clear prose was intentional and works well to set the mood and convey the themes, others readers may finish the book pining for richer, more elegiac passages that rise above the ordinary, something like a movie vignette.
No sentence is merely meant to be a pleasure to read for its own sake. Instead, if the language is compelling, or rarely beautiful or contains a powerful image, it does make an outsize impact. Ishiguro doesn’t use figurative language all that often, but when he does, it feels appropriate to the narrator’s nature:
“We could see hills in the distance that reminded us of the ones in the distance at Hailsham, but they seemed to us oddly crooked, like when you draw a picture of a friend and it’s almost right but not quite, and the face on the sheet gives you the creeps.”
In describing a donation center’s commons in which resident donors lounge on deck chairs around a pool now drained of its water, Kathy writes, “It was only when I saw the photo it occurred to me what the frame was and why it was there, and today, each time I see it, I can’t help picturing a swimmer taking a dive off the top only to crash into the cement.”
Descriptions are crisp but rarely flowery. Look elsewhere if you’re after super saturated imagery, poetic turns of phrase or brilliant sublime passages. Ultimately, Ishiguro’s restrained approach seems to fit with what the book is trying to convey, an approach that would likely have sagged under the weight of more esoteric or figurative language.
Dialogue: Similar to the Other Prose
The dialogue in “Never Let Me Go” is equally understated. Conversations don’t dominate the prose in any way, and remain human, believable, yet surface level. However, there are often undertones of tension or dramatic irony beneath the surface. While the dialogue is perfectly aligned with Ishiguro’s overall style in this novel, it’s prey to the same critiques readers may have with other elements. Readers may struggle to believe characters don’t go deeper with each other. Perhaps they’re a product of their environment, yet with their access to any popular media during their Cottage years, you’d think they’d have a bigger awakening. Readers will either praise the cohesive aesthetic of the novel or balk at its implausibility.
Setting: Memorable Places, One Step Removed from Reality
“Never Let Me Go” is set in a fictional 1990s England. Its first half is dedicated to life at the Hailsham boarding school where, as students come to learn, each student is (spoiler) a clone and a donor.
But rather than leaning on the horrors of the latter, Kathy’s narration emphasizes the former: the idyllic childhood she enjoyed, even if it was peppered with troubling incidents. Much of this nostalgia is infused in spontaneous sunny strolls with friends around its well-manicured sports pavilion which, she elaborates, “We loved…maybe because it reminded us of those sweet little cottages people always had in picture books when we were young…by the time we were in Senior the pavilion had become the place to hide out with your friends when you wanted to get away from the rest of Hailsham.” If the school is only featured in the first half of the book, its impact lingers throughout the whole novel as the narrator strives to cling to cherished memories of her childhood.
After Hailsham, it’s off to the Cottages, a cross between college and vacation, set in a poorly maintained old farmstead, a pseudo intellectual haven akin to some Wes Anderson film where students lounge around making art, reading and debating the merits of this or that author while outlining the “essays” they’re neither required to — nor do — finish. (Spoiler) In reality, it’s more of a waiting grounds before becoming “Veterans” who go off to “courses” to become “carers,” a waiting grounds that affords much freedom and little oversight, and yet where the biggest transgressions are finding and hoarding porn magazines and casual sex. They’re permitted to come and go, seemingly at will, and occasionally go on road trips to nearby towns, once they muster up the nerve.
One such trip is to the mysterious town of Norfolk. Unlike other towns they were taught about back at Hailsham, it’s a place for which their former teacher somehow lacked photos to showcase it. She ends up calling it “something of a lost corner,” which the students misinterpret and come to think of Norwalk as the place where all their lost property went, a sort of lost and found. (Spoiler) This idea gains significance when Kathy loses a tape at school and finds (what’s surely a copy) many years later. Being a coastal town with an unforgiving cliff-lined shore makes it a memorable setting, both idyllic yet foreboding, where the most heart-tugging incidents happen — (spoiler) where Tommy proves his love for Kathy, and Ruth discovers that her “possible,” from which she was cloned, isn’t really her possible, yet glimpses the very life she had discovered in magazine ads and pined for ever since.
I’ve already touched on world building, but I’ll reemphasize the fact that though its setting is allegorically rich, some readers will scratch their heads at how we never really feel in touch with “the real world.” Even when the characters finally go on an outing, and they face a tear in their version of reality, you still feel as if they’re somehow insulated. I think so much of this aura comes down to the characters never really meeting normal people, ever having to go to the DMV or mail a letter or even go out to eat. This eerie uncanny feeling will truly bother some readers, while others will relish its dramatic effect and moral impact. My conclusion is that while Ishiguro could have brought in more of these elements, it would have posed more questions than there are answers, leading to a bloated novel.
Rhetoric: Concerned with the Human Condition, Not Biotech Ethics
Ishiguro’s motive or angle in “Never Let Me Go” is not overt. He doesn’t make a case against a specific movement within science, ethics or politics rooted in the real world. Instead, like a haunting thriller, the novel leaves you with a general sense of foreboding and general desire to hug your nearest loved one. If that idea immediately turns you off, this might not be the book you’d hoped to read.
It is not a discourse on a near future (in this case, a plausible past) in which (spoiler) genetic cloning is not only possible, not only normalized, but even cheapened to the point where ‘humane’ schools like Hailsham are closed in favor of treating clones as subhuman. Yes, these are all integral facts of the world Kathy inhabits, but we’re not privy to the details. Like all “students,” they essentially know what’s in store for them without questioning how, let alone why. This knowledge gap works to create an uncertain mood, but does little to wade into the real and murky ethical waters around cloning, how and if humanity would achieve it, and what unintended consequences we’d allow in the process. It doesn’t ask tough questions like: Would life be better if it were devoid of suffering and we all simply died of old age? Is our current corrupt system for procuring and awarding highly demanded organs much better than some alternative?
But the book is no science fiction nor moral treatise. I believe it’s to be read as an allegory to remind us of our humanity while its characters struggle to show much beyond a trace of doubt and a polite pushback at a fate we hopelessly watch unfold. It’s to be read as a meditation on the nature, power and pitfalls of friendship and love. It also gets us brooding on the effect of groupthink, the way institutions can manipulate their subjects to be practically apathetic.
You may disagree, like me, and say you simply cannot believe humans have no innate moral backbone, regardless of their upbringing and circumstances; that (spoiler) no one would stand up in a Hailsham class and shout, “This is wrong! Let me out of here!” or run off into the fabled “woods” just outside, reach the nearest normal household and ask for help—something like we get in a comparable book, “The Giver,” that memorable scene where everything goes from black and white into color. And then you can imagine Part Two where Kathy comes out with a scathing exposé on the organ donation industry, etc.
But then, I’d counter, the book wouldn’t be the self-contained reading experience it is. (Even the Giver ends once the “real world” is reached.) It would double in size and break into another genre or several.
Whether you agree or disagree with its warnings, the novel stirs debate.
Cultural and Political Significance: According to the Author, None?
Does “Never Let Me Go” fit into a greater political or cultural debate? If it does, it’s important to note that was never the author’s intention. In interviews, Ishiguro himself admits the book is more of a comment on the human condition, of the nature of love and friendship in the face of inevitable mortality — something readers, while not donors themselves, could relate to: This feeling that our time alive together is never enough. He then mentions how the sci fi element was more of an intriguing way to explore these themes.
If the book were to enter a discussion on the ethics of organ donation, it wouldn’t make that big of a splash. Firstly, full human cloning is far from being achieved. The true ethical dilemmas lie elsewhere: In the black market we already have where people, usually in dire poverty, elect to — or are deceived or coerced into — donating organs; In growing organs from stem cells; And a not so far off future in which brainless embryos could be cloned for certain organs. And the layers on top of that problem when it comes to who gets to, or can afford to have these transplants. There is even a plausible reality in which impoverished parents sell their children off to be donors in some black market. However, if you read the book to weigh in on any of this, it wouldn’t have much to say, because creating living, conscious human clones for the sake of organ donation is the least plausible in the face of more plausible and pressing possibilities.
Critiquing the Critics
Mainstream reviews from major publications tend to be quite praiseworthy of” Never Let Me Go,” emphasizing an allegorical reading and putting its tight, understated prose on a shelf along with Samuel Beckett, Vladimir Nabakov and even Franz Kafka. Consumer reviews, like those found on Goodreads, reveal a majority of favorable reviews, with praise centered around how heartbreaking and thought-provoking the book was. Negative sentiment usually focuses on its lack of believability, somewhat stagnant plot and characters who don’t outrage at their situation.
I think the discrepancy between casual reader reviews and critics is more that the latter are widely read and also do more research on an author’s motives. When you add those up, it’s hard to misread the book as a boring and failed sci-fi experiment. Many readers missed the fact that we’re meant to ponder our own mortality, that our own lives aren’t that much different, that our society also uses euphemisms for death and generally covers up its sheer reality as much as possible.
On the other hand, would I personally put “Never Let Me Go” on the same shelf as the aforementioned authors? I can see how the book borrows elements of each, yet it’s not cruelly hilarious like Kafka, nor daring and elaborate like Nabakov, nor as painfully minimalistic as Beckett.
Mainstream critics gave Ishiguro too much lenience when it came to his apathetic characters. If we were to read the book as an allegory of our own too-short lives, then we’d have to relate more to the characters. Few reviewers noted the complex duplicity of the characters: How Ruth is manipulative yet for understandable motives; and how Kathy H, upon finally getting with Tommy at the end, so unceremoniously lets him go on to “complete.”
Cover Aesthetic
“Never Let Me Go” has been released several times, featuring varied cover art. The most widely distributed edition is published by Vintage (International Edition, March 2016) and features a close up portrait of a young woman looking slightly out of frame, perhaps mildly troubled. Her blue eyes, round face and alabaster skin suggest Victorian English beauty standards. In contrast, a previous edition featured a racially ambiguous brown haired woman, face blurred, swaying in a teal dress.
The latter may have better fit the universal appeal of the allegory: While the novel takes place in England, it’s hardly rooted to English identity beyond some landscapes and a history of boarding schools. This previous edition also hinted at a particularly touching scene when Kathy dances to a tape she found, holding an imaginary baby. What’s more, the blur effect evokes the transient lives these students have, whose memory of their rich inner and outer lives will die with them. The Vintage edition cover was likely a commercial choice, as a close up face is more striking and may tempt a reach up to the bookstore shelf.
‘Never Let Me Go’: Book vs Movie
Released five years later, the film adaptation of “Never Let Me Go” captures the buried anguish and understated tone of the novel while leaving out some of the two-sided complexity of its characters. With a screenplay written by Alex Garland and directed by Mark Romanek, the film treats the characters with a generous empathy that many readers may not have found in the book. Understandably, the shorter format cuts to the chase sooner and leans most heavily on the love triangle, as well as the theme of mortality.
The effect of a musical score can also not be understated. Rachel Portman’s score elegantly shades the emotional underpinnings of the implied horror unfolding. The music infuses the film with a richness that makes up for its brevity.
Whether viewers who’ve read the book will enjoy the simpler characters is a matter of taste. The novel more painfully shows the double-sided nature of Kathy, Tommy and especially Ruth. Kathy does good but seems to feel less than the reader when faced with horrible circumstances. After every incident, she seems to carry on and acquiesce to her fate. This dramatic irony is a hallmark of the book. In the film, Kathy is less callous and the viewer tends to feel her quiet suffering more.
In the movie Ruth is a flatter character pitted against the love between Tommy and Kathy, whereas in the novel she has more complex, relatable motives having to do with feeling important while simultaneously upholding the status quo. We also feel more pity surrounding her dream life, working at a fancy office, which we know will never come true. In the film, her nastier sides are likewise toned down.
Also omitted from the film is the sub plot and tension around Tommy’s paintings, which Ruth finds laughable yet Kathy finds beautiful. In one of the novel’s several cringe-worthy moments, Kathy awkwardly sides with Ruth when confronted by Tommy, “agreeing” how funny they are against her true feelings. Not only does this pit Tommy against Kathy in stinging dramatic irony, it points to the dilemma of fearing the loss of a friendship in a circumstance where you have very few. Because Hailsham students are unique and their fates given a blind eye by society, their memories will die when they do. Their friendships are all they have to remember their special lives.
After the period where he finally gets together with Kathy, the film leaves out the painful ending chapters where Tommy, who has come to relate more to the donors than to Kathy, who’s technically a Carer as well as his lover, distances himself from her while bracing for his inevitable last donation.
Being shorter, the film does not portray these more complex themes as well as the novel. But the themes it does choose to explore make an outsize impact.
Reviewer’s Personal Opinion
I read the book without any preconceptions, without reading reviews or watching the movie. I think this helped me enjoy the book and reach my own criticisms while avoiding what I later discovered was disappointment among readers who had bought the title expecting a science fiction. When read more as a universal musing on the human condition, the book is a thought provoking and cohesive work.
I personally grew to dislike Ruth even if I could surmise her motivations, but I think we’re meant to. I also felt Kathy to be a disappointment in how casually she took (spoiler) Ruth’s betrayal and how easily she was able to let Tommy go. For some this dramatic irony made its mark; it was up to the reader to feel the anguish. But I sometimes wished the author could find some words to truly capture that feeling of devastation. I also thought, for all its cliffhangers, that the climax would hit harder.
Even though I read it ages ago, I think The Giver, a similar Plato’s cave allegory, will sit in my memory banks longer. I still think back on it when facing troubling existential scenarios.
While it was a great book, was “Never Let Me Go” so much better than other books that did not receive awards? I’m not as widely read as I’d like, so it’s not for me to say.
‘Never Let Me Go’: A Cohesive Artistic Endeavor
In terms of our unique star rating philosophy at Rauch Reviews, I give this book 4.5 stars — not because it was nearly perfect in every way — it wasn’t — nor due to my personal enjoyment, but because it is a cohesive work of art with great pacing, story arc, readability and structure. There is no chapter that feels unnecessary. I knocked off half a star for its characters, which while duplicitous, are a bit flat and so apathetic as to be hard to relate to. Other readers may have knocked off another half a star due to its lack of hard-hitting climax, but I believe reticent works like this can work if they pull off their themes, which “Never Let Me Go” does deftly.
Buying and Rental Options
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Physical Location Purchase and Rental Options
You can find a copy in stock at most Barnes & Noble, Target and Walmart locations, and will likely have no trouble finding it at your local independent bookstore. It’s also widely available in most public libraries. Call ahead or check online to double check.
Digital Rental Options
WorldCat, a directory and search engine of libraries across the globe, lists “Never Let Me Go” available as an ebook rental in thousands of libraries.
“Never Let Me Go,” published in 2005, remains a well-loved contemporary classic, quite widely distributed at corporate and independent bookstores alike. Its brooding plot, focused on the idyllic boarding school childhood of three friends who come of age to confront a horrible shared fate, has mesmerized critics and casual readers alike. But its plain language, minimal world building and lackluster plot resolution will leave readers conflicted. Whether they enjoy the tension between what is said and what is not said will determine how they enjoy the book overall.
‘Never Let Me Go’ Summary: Three Friends Await Death in a Toxic Relationship Triangle
“Never Let Me Go” by Kazuo Ishiguro is a dystopian novel that follows three friends coming of age in an idyllic boarding school for “donors.” Writing in clear, controlled and understated prose, protagonist Kathy H narrates in hindsight, reminiscing on a childhood centered around the Hailsham school where students enjoy a life as carefree as it is predictable and sheltered. Teachers emphasize how special the students are and the importance of the art they’re to produce for the “Gallery.”
Inept at art and more comfortable playing ball, when Tommy begins to fall behind, he starts having tantrums that show the first crack in the placid façade of Hailsham life. Kathy takes pity where others do not, beginning a lifelong friendship that promises to become something more.
In the meantime, her budding friendship with Ruth complicates matters. Ruth, an imaginative manipulator who more-or-less represents the status quo, continually tests Kathy’s allegiance and ensures a third-wheel dynamic with Tommy that follows them throughout the novel. Using this tension, Kazuo Ishiguro explores the nature of love and the strengths, and drawbacks, of unconditional friendship. The book also brings up themes related to the nature of memory in hindsight, fate versus free will, and the tension between innate morality versus complicity for the sake of social bonds.
Often-subtle, always strange, the encounters in which the characters discover, accept or contest their fate will provoke controversy among readers. This narrative tests our ability to empathize with individuals whose worldview and morality are so influenced from a young age by a reality unfamiliar to us. We’ll be left to question the human spirit’s ability to fight for what is right, regardless of upbringing and circumstance.
At The Rauch Review, we care deeply about being transparent and earning your trust. These articles explain why and how we created our unique methodology for reviewing books and other storytelling mediums.
Audience and Genre: Appeals to Fans of Dystopian Allegory
“Never Let Me Go” is no science fiction. You could argue that genre is more concerned with the technology underpinning the characters’ world. In science fiction, there’s a greater emphasis on building a world that’s as believable as it is audacious or otherworldly. There is often a more global emphasis, following more than one character, often taking on the third-person omniscient perspective. Many science fictions also tend to play out political dramas and ethics surrounding a controversial technology.
“Never Let Me Go” differs in each regard. (Spoilers) It is not very concerned with the nuts and bolts of cloning, organ removal and transplant; which organs are never mentioned. Nor does it focus on the receivers of these treatments, their complex motives and the ethical ramifications. Finally, it’s equally unconcerned with the political factions for and against these procedures.
Instead, the book makes itself at home in the long tradition of Plato’s cave allegories such as “The Giver” or even “The Matrix.” By making its setting less specific and its premise scientifically vague, Ishiguro is better able to explore more universal themes.
As to whom this novel will appeal, a survey of Goodreads is very telling. Those who came to the book with the most preconceptions were most disappointed, especially if they thought they were reading science fiction. Reviewer Henk sums it up well:
“When I was 16 I focused on the parse, plain prose, on world building and implausibilities; now I cried repeatedly because deep down, in a sense I feel our lives are how main character Kathy H. describes hers: In the end, we can’t stay together forever.”
Perspective: A Reliable Narrator Draws Us In, But Leaves Us in Doubt
Protagonist and narrator Kathy H describes her past in hindsight many years later while addressing us, the reader, as if we were not only part of her world but also a donor. While this unique device could easily be overdone, Ishiguro uses it sparingly in occasional asides like, “I don’t know how it was where you were, but…” These asides also reinforce her casual tone and narrative style that departs on natural tangents, and then carries on with something like, ‘Anyways, what I was getting at was…’ This all serves to lend the narrator our trust.
However, some readings might argue the narrator is a little too reliable. Her calm and plain mode of address lends credibility to character development, who said what to whom and the nature of their circumstances, all while glossing over the horror awaiting Hailsham graduates and its moral implications. Readers will come away with more questions than answers, and come to focus less on what Kathy says than how she says it, and — more importantly — what she omits. Many will find this tension an appealing part of the novel.
While we never understand Kathy’s motives for writing us, this mystery only adds to the allure, reinforcing the deceptive innocence of a narrator late in life “merely” recollecting her past, as if in reverie, to an acquaintance, (spoiler) without outright raging against lost years of love and the horror of her fate.
Three Cs: Compelling, Clear, Concise
Compelling: It Depends on Your Expectations
There is no doubt that “Never Let Me Go” is a compelling tale, but whether or not that’s true for you depends on your expectations. If you were expecting deeply detailed world building with answers to all of your scientific hunches and moral dilemmas, you will be left disappointed. If instead, you are drawn to its brooding, understated nature that leaves most of the outside world— including the nuts and bolts and justification for (spoiler) cloning and organ donation — up to your imagination.
At times I found myself craving more answers, but would more world building have made for a better reading experience? After all, there’s a line between science fiction and speculative fiction. This novel was likely meant to read more as an allegory.
Nevertheless, each main character and their admittedly small worlds are compelling. You may pine for more questioning characters, (spoiler) some rebellion or dramatic reckoning of their shared fate, but perhaps that’s exactly what Ishiguro was aiming for.
Clear: To a Fault?
Ishiguro’s — or we could say Kathy’s — writing in “Never Let Me Go” is clear, perhaps to a fault. Her sentences are rarely long. The storytelling style is casual, addressed as if to an acquaintance. Her tangents feel natural the way our brains might follow a thread, yet never go on too long. Then she course corrects with an aside like, “Anyways, what I meant to say was.”
Chapters and subchapters are well paced and often end with a gentle cliffhanger of what’s to come. Ironically, you come to learn that it’s more about what she omits than what she says. It’s this very leading-you-by-the-hand style that lends to the tension and brings out the novel’s themes.
Concise: The Right Length
At 288 pages, the paperback took two reading sessions over two days and flowed naturally. It also wasn’t difficult to pick up where I left off. The plot unfolded naturally, following the progression and fate of the students and their lives after Hailsham, and is peppered with curious incidents that threaten to reveal more of what’s really going on. If an incident or a feature of life at the school is introduced, like the “Gallery” where students’ art goes, it’s well explained, even if not fully, and then expanded upon later. Each incident seems well placed and is generally tied up with a neat bow — sometimes too neat.
I don’t think the novel would have benefitted from being longer, unless it was structured as a struggle and vindication with a second part. I think this type of plot would have been too ambitious and would likely have thrown off the novel’s cohesive atmosphere.
Character Development: Not Flat, But Lacking Outrage
“Never Let Me Go” features moderately developed characters with relatable, rich relationships yet somewhat dim inner lives that will leave some readers wanting. While they don’t fall into tropes, they’re also not fully fleshed out — intentionally so. Many readers will come to sympathize with Kathy, Tommy and Ruth as products of their circumstances, characters in a relatable allegory. Still, they’re rarely mere set-pieces to string together a plot.
Where Ishiguro shines is in portraying social dynamics, awkward encounters and subtle hierarchies. He deftly describes the way Ruth, Kathy’s bossy friend, uses her imagination throughout the novel in increasingly sophisticated ways to manipulate others into looking to her as a leader. He potently describes cringeworthy situations, whether petty or significant, where both Kathy and Tommy sacrifice their happiness, or their sense of right or wrong, to enable their relationships with Ruth. But Ishiguro does so in a way that helps us relate to both sides of the equation: We imagine Ruth’s behavior likely comes from a need to feel special, and important, in the face of a shared, identical fate. And we all know too well that the best friendships are often marked by enabling your friends’ worst behaviors. The thought of losing them is too much, hence the title of the book.
Nevertheless, no character has a true breakthrough. (Spoilers ahead) While they’re fully aware of the horror that lies ahead, they don’t seem to possess the moral compass that us readers do. There’s never outrage or deep investigation into the workings and justifications of organ donation, let alone a reckoning or outright rebellion. Their biggest aspiration in the novel is to get a deferral, which merely delays the inevitable by 3-4 years in which they’d live in the same sheltered circumstances they’re used to. Even though they’re fully aware of their fate, they never fail to use euphemisms like ‘complete’ (which means to die). You get the sense that they know, but do not understand. The consequences of their fate are only feared in how they affect each character’s social standing, friendship or ability to love. Some may find this quietly brave — a consequence of their circumstance — while others will find this naive, hard to believe and deplorable.
The characters certainly come of age and grow in maturity: the way they handle social dynamics, the rich friendships they do all sorts of things for. However, they hardly develop their sense of right and wrong.
Besides some outings to nearby towns during their college years (called the ‘Cottages’), they never truly meet normal people besides their teachers, nor tempt an escape to live a normal life. Neither are they expressly forbidden to do so; there are no fences, no threats and no punishments mentioned. While this gives the novel a distinct dystopian mood and mode of discourse, readers may pound their desks and ask how the characters’ lack, or fail to develop, an innate outrage at their situation. It’s not like they don’t have access to popular culture. They even find porn magazines at “the Cottages”.
Yet, these dynamics propel the main theme of the book that calls into question how easily an environment and upbringing, when it’s as engrossing as life at Hailsham, can dim our worldview and cause moral apathy.
Story: Ample on Tension, But May Leave You Out in the Cold
The plot of “Never Let Me Go” hums along at a gentle, consistent pace, which makes it easy to read and compelling, without being a total page-turning drama. In essence, it’s a casual retelling of Kathy’s life more concerned with nostalgia and the meaning of friendship and love than the horrors of their shared fate and the procedures, politics and justifications for (spoiler) organ donation.
Of course, this dramatic irony is the main draw of the novel. While there’s definitely an arc with a few major crises, I believe Ishiguro intentionally dials down the resolution to these incidents. Regardless, I found each incident to be memorable, usually associated with a landscape, object or imagery and easy to picture in my mind’s eye.
These elements give the book its quiet, understated mood, but some readers will be left pining for more. More emotional catharsis? More humanity, perhaps?
In the novel, if something were totally devastating to us readers, to its characters it’s mildly unsettling, moderately troubling at worst. Whether you enjoy this reticence is a matter of taste.
Prose Style: Quiet and Understated, with Rare Sublime Moments
Throughout this review, I’ve touched on the quiet, clear and understated prose of “Never Let Me Go,” and Ishiguro’s talent for social situations, tension and buried anguish. There’s possibly a distinction to be made between talented story building and the actual language itself. While I believe the clear prose was intentional and works well to set the mood and convey the themes, others readers may finish the book pining for richer, more elegiac passages that rise above the ordinary, something like a movie vignette.
No sentence is merely meant to be a pleasure to read for its own sake. Instead, if the language is compelling, or rarely beautiful or contains a powerful image, it does make an outsize impact. Ishiguro doesn’t use figurative language all that often, but when he does, it feels appropriate to the narrator’s nature:
“We could see hills in the distance that reminded us of the ones in the distance at Hailsham, but they seemed to us oddly crooked, like when you draw a picture of a friend and it’s almost right but not quite, and the face on the sheet gives you the creeps.”
In describing a donation center’s commons in which resident donors lounge on deck chairs around a pool now drained of its water, Kathy writes, “It was only when I saw the photo it occurred to me what the frame was and why it was there, and today, each time I see it, I can’t help picturing a swimmer taking a dive off the top only to crash into the cement.”
Descriptions are crisp but rarely flowery. Look elsewhere if you’re after super saturated imagery, poetic turns of phrase or brilliant sublime passages. Ultimately, Ishiguro’s restrained approach seems to fit with what the book is trying to convey, an approach that would likely have sagged under the weight of more esoteric or figurative language.
Dialogue: Similar to the Other Prose
The dialogue in “Never Let Me Go” is equally understated. Conversations don’t dominate the prose in any way, and remain human, believable, yet surface level. However, there are often undertones of tension or dramatic irony beneath the surface. While the dialogue is perfectly aligned with Ishiguro’s overall style in this novel, it’s prey to the same critiques readers may have with other elements. Readers may struggle to believe characters don’t go deeper with each other. Perhaps they’re a product of their environment, yet with their access to any popular media during their Cottage years, you’d think they’d have a bigger awakening. Readers will either praise the cohesive aesthetic of the novel or balk at its implausibility.
Setting: Memorable Places, One Step Removed from Reality
“Never Let Me Go” is set in a fictional 1990s England. Its first half is dedicated to life at the Hailsham boarding school where, as students come to learn, each student is (spoiler) a clone and a donor.
But rather than leaning on the horrors of the latter, Kathy’s narration emphasizes the former: the idyllic childhood she enjoyed, even if it was peppered with troubling incidents. Much of this nostalgia is infused in spontaneous sunny strolls with friends around its well-manicured sports pavilion which, she elaborates, “We loved…maybe because it reminded us of those sweet little cottages people always had in picture books when we were young…by the time we were in Senior the pavilion had become the place to hide out with your friends when you wanted to get away from the rest of Hailsham.” If the school is only featured in the first half of the book, its impact lingers throughout the whole novel as the narrator strives to cling to cherished memories of her childhood.
After Hailsham, it’s off to the Cottages, a cross between college and vacation, set in a poorly maintained old farmstead, a pseudo intellectual haven akin to some Wes Anderson film where students lounge around making art, reading and debating the merits of this or that author while outlining the “essays” they’re neither required to — nor do — finish. (Spoiler) In reality, it’s more of a waiting grounds before becoming “Veterans” who go off to “courses” to become “carers,” a waiting grounds that affords much freedom and little oversight, and yet where the biggest transgressions are finding and hoarding porn magazines and casual sex. They’re permitted to come and go, seemingly at will, and occasionally go on road trips to nearby towns, once they muster up the nerve.
One such trip is to the mysterious town of Norfolk. Unlike other towns they were taught about back at Hailsham, it’s a place for which their former teacher somehow lacked photos to showcase it. She ends up calling it “something of a lost corner,” which the students misinterpret and come to think of Norwalk as the place where all their lost property went, a sort of lost and found. (Spoiler) This idea gains significance when Kathy loses a tape at school and finds (what’s surely a copy) many years later. Being a coastal town with an unforgiving cliff-lined shore makes it a memorable setting, both idyllic yet foreboding, where the most heart-tugging incidents happen — (spoiler) where Tommy proves his love for Kathy, and Ruth discovers that her “possible,” from which she was cloned, isn’t really her possible, yet glimpses the very life she had discovered in magazine ads and pined for ever since.
I’ve already touched on world building, but I’ll reemphasize the fact that though its setting is allegorically rich, some readers will scratch their heads at how we never really feel in touch with “the real world.” Even when the characters finally go on an outing, and they face a tear in their version of reality, you still feel as if they’re somehow insulated. I think so much of this aura comes down to the characters never really meeting normal people, ever having to go to the DMV or mail a letter or even go out to eat. This eerie uncanny feeling will truly bother some readers, while others will relish its dramatic effect and moral impact. My conclusion is that while Ishiguro could have brought in more of these elements, it would have posed more questions than there are answers, leading to a bloated novel.
Rhetoric: Concerned with the Human Condition, Not Biotech Ethics
Ishiguro’s motive or angle in “Never Let Me Go” is not overt. He doesn’t make a case against a specific movement within science, ethics or politics rooted in the real world. Instead, like a haunting thriller, the novel leaves you with a general sense of foreboding and general desire to hug your nearest loved one. If that idea immediately turns you off, this might not be the book you’d hoped to read.
It is not a discourse on a near future (in this case, a plausible past) in which (spoiler) genetic cloning is not only possible, not only normalized, but even cheapened to the point where ‘humane’ schools like Hailsham are closed in favor of treating clones as subhuman. Yes, these are all integral facts of the world Kathy inhabits, but we’re not privy to the details. Like all “students,” they essentially know what’s in store for them without questioning how, let alone why. This knowledge gap works to create an uncertain mood, but does little to wade into the real and murky ethical waters around cloning, how and if humanity would achieve it, and what unintended consequences we’d allow in the process. It doesn’t ask tough questions like: Would life be better if it were devoid of suffering and we all simply died of old age? Is our current corrupt system for procuring and awarding highly demanded organs much better than some alternative?
But the book is no science fiction nor moral treatise. I believe it’s to be read as an allegory to remind us of our humanity while its characters struggle to show much beyond a trace of doubt and a polite pushback at a fate we hopelessly watch unfold. It’s to be read as a meditation on the nature, power and pitfalls of friendship and love. It also gets us brooding on the effect of groupthink, the way institutions can manipulate their subjects to be practically apathetic.
You may disagree, like me, and say you simply cannot believe humans have no innate moral backbone, regardless of their upbringing and circumstances; that (spoiler) no one would stand up in a Hailsham class and shout, “This is wrong! Let me out of here!” or run off into the fabled “woods” just outside, reach the nearest normal household and ask for help—something like we get in a comparable book, “The Giver,” that memorable scene where everything goes from black and white into color. And then you can imagine Part Two where Kathy comes out with a scathing exposé on the organ donation industry, etc.
But then, I’d counter, the book wouldn’t be the self-contained reading experience it is. (Even the Giver ends once the “real world” is reached.) It would double in size and break into another genre or several.
Whether you agree or disagree with its warnings, the novel stirs debate.
Cultural and Political Significance: According to the Author, None?
Does “Never Let Me Go” fit into a greater political or cultural debate? If it does, it’s important to note that was never the author’s intention. In interviews, Ishiguro himself admits the book is more of a comment on the human condition, of the nature of love and friendship in the face of inevitable mortality — something readers, while not donors themselves, could relate to: This feeling that our time alive together is never enough. He then mentions how the sci fi element was more of an intriguing way to explore these themes.
If the book were to enter a discussion on the ethics of organ donation, it wouldn’t make that big of a splash. Firstly, full human cloning is far from being achieved. The true ethical dilemmas lie elsewhere: In the black market we already have where people, usually in dire poverty, elect to — or are deceived or coerced into — donating organs; In growing organs from stem cells; And a not so far off future in which brainless embryos could be cloned for certain organs. And the layers on top of that problem when it comes to who gets to, or can afford to have these transplants. There is even a plausible reality in which impoverished parents sell their children off to be donors in some black market. However, if you read the book to weigh in on any of this, it wouldn’t have much to say, because creating living, conscious human clones for the sake of organ donation is the least plausible in the face of more plausible and pressing possibilities.
Critiquing the Critics
Mainstream reviews from major publications tend to be quite praiseworthy of” Never Let Me Go,” emphasizing an allegorical reading and putting its tight, understated prose on a shelf along with Samuel Beckett, Vladimir Nabakov and even Franz Kafka. Consumer reviews, like those found on Goodreads, reveal a majority of favorable reviews, with praise centered around how heartbreaking and thought-provoking the book was. Negative sentiment usually focuses on its lack of believability, somewhat stagnant plot and characters who don’t outrage at their situation.
I think the discrepancy between casual reader reviews and critics is more that the latter are widely read and also do more research on an author’s motives. When you add those up, it’s hard to misread the book as a boring and failed sci-fi experiment. Many readers missed the fact that we’re meant to ponder our own mortality, that our own lives aren’t that much different, that our society also uses euphemisms for death and generally covers up its sheer reality as much as possible.
On the other hand, would I personally put “Never Let Me Go” on the same shelf as the aforementioned authors? I can see how the book borrows elements of each, yet it’s not cruelly hilarious like Kafka, nor daring and elaborate like Nabakov, nor as painfully minimalistic as Beckett.
Mainstream critics gave Ishiguro too much lenience when it came to his apathetic characters. If we were to read the book as an allegory of our own too-short lives, then we’d have to relate more to the characters. Few reviewers noted the complex duplicity of the characters: How Ruth is manipulative yet for understandable motives; and how Kathy H, upon finally getting with Tommy at the end, so unceremoniously lets him go on to “complete.”
Cover Aesthetic
“Never Let Me Go” has been released several times, featuring varied cover art. The most widely distributed edition is published by Vintage (International Edition, March 2016) and features a close up portrait of a young woman looking slightly out of frame, perhaps mildly troubled. Her blue eyes, round face and alabaster skin suggest Victorian English beauty standards. In contrast, a previous edition featured a racially ambiguous brown haired woman, face blurred, swaying in a teal dress.
The latter may have better fit the universal appeal of the allegory: While the novel takes place in England, it’s hardly rooted to English identity beyond some landscapes and a history of boarding schools. This previous edition also hinted at a particularly touching scene when Kathy dances to a tape she found, holding an imaginary baby. What’s more, the blur effect evokes the transient lives these students have, whose memory of their rich inner and outer lives will die with them. The Vintage edition cover was likely a commercial choice, as a close up face is more striking and may tempt a reach up to the bookstore shelf.
‘Never Let Me Go’: Book vs Movie
Released five years later, the film adaptation of “Never Let Me Go” captures the buried anguish and understated tone of the novel while leaving out some of the two-sided complexity of its characters. With a screenplay written by Alex Garland and directed by Mark Romanek, the film treats the characters with a generous empathy that many readers may not have found in the book. Understandably, the shorter format cuts to the chase sooner and leans most heavily on the love triangle, as well as the theme of mortality.
The effect of a musical score can also not be understated. Rachel Portman’s score elegantly shades the emotional underpinnings of the implied horror unfolding. The music infuses the film with a richness that makes up for its brevity.
Whether viewers who’ve read the book will enjoy the simpler characters is a matter of taste. The novel more painfully shows the double-sided nature of Kathy, Tommy and especially Ruth. Kathy does good but seems to feel less than the reader when faced with horrible circumstances. After every incident, she seems to carry on and acquiesce to her fate. This dramatic irony is a hallmark of the book. In the film, Kathy is less callous and the viewer tends to feel her quiet suffering more.
In the movie Ruth is a flatter character pitted against the love between Tommy and Kathy, whereas in the novel she has more complex, relatable motives having to do with feeling important while simultaneously upholding the status quo. We also feel more pity surrounding her dream life, working at a fancy office, which we know will never come true. In the film, her nastier sides are likewise toned down.
Also omitted from the film is the sub plot and tension around Tommy’s paintings, which Ruth finds laughable yet Kathy finds beautiful. In one of the novel’s several cringe-worthy moments, Kathy awkwardly sides with Ruth when confronted by Tommy, “agreeing” how funny they are against her true feelings. Not only does this pit Tommy against Kathy in stinging dramatic irony, it points to the dilemma of fearing the loss of a friendship in a circumstance where you have very few. Because Hailsham students are unique and their fates given a blind eye by society, their memories will die when they do. Their friendships are all they have to remember their special lives.
After the period where he finally gets together with Kathy, the film leaves out the painful ending chapters where Tommy, who has come to relate more to the donors than to Kathy, who’s technically a Carer as well as his lover, distances himself from her while bracing for his inevitable last donation.
Being shorter, the film does not portray these more complex themes as well as the novel. But the themes it does choose to explore make an outsize impact.
Reviewer’s Personal Opinion
I read the book without any preconceptions, without reading reviews or watching the movie. I think this helped me enjoy the book and reach my own criticisms while avoiding what I later discovered was disappointment among readers who had bought the title expecting a science fiction. When read more as a universal musing on the human condition, the book is a thought provoking and cohesive work.
I personally grew to dislike Ruth even if I could surmise her motivations, but I think we’re meant to. I also felt Kathy to be a disappointment in how casually she took (spoiler) Ruth’s betrayal and how easily she was able to let Tommy go. For some this dramatic irony made its mark; it was up to the reader to feel the anguish. But I sometimes wished the author could find some words to truly capture that feeling of devastation. I also thought, for all its cliffhangers, that the climax would hit harder.
Even though I read it ages ago, I think The Giver, a similar Plato’s cave allegory, will sit in my memory banks longer. I still think back on it when facing troubling existential scenarios.
While it was a great book, was “Never Let Me Go” so much better than other books that did not receive awards? I’m not as widely read as I’d like, so it’s not for me to say.
‘Never Let Me Go’: A Cohesive Artistic Endeavor
In terms of our unique star rating philosophy at Rauch Reviews, I give this book 4.5 stars — not because it was nearly perfect in every way — it wasn’t — nor due to my personal enjoyment, but because it is a cohesive work of art with great pacing, story arc, readability and structure. There is no chapter that feels unnecessary. I knocked off half a star for its characters, which while duplicitous, are a bit flat and so apathetic as to be hard to relate to. Other readers may have knocked off another half a star due to its lack of hard-hitting climax, but I believe reticent works like this can work if they pull off their themes, which “Never Let Me Go” does deftly.
Buying and Rental Options
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Physical Location Purchase and Rental Options
You can find a copy in stock at most Barnes & Noble, Target and Walmart locations, and will likely have no trouble finding it at your local independent bookstore. It’s also widely available in most public libraries. Call ahead or check online to double check.
Digital Rental Options
WorldCat, a directory and search engine of libraries across the globe, lists “Never Let Me Go” available as an ebook rental in thousands of libraries.
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