Monday, November 09, 2009
BOOK CORNER: NOCTURNES BY KAZUO ISHIGURO
On my first reading of Nocturnes, Ishiguro's recently published short story collection, its contents appeared to adhere to the template of what is sometimes called "the New Yorker short story": stories about unhappy people in unhappy relationships, in which nothing much happens, ending with a carefully calibrated "epiphany." Such stories are certainly not necessarily bad, and I enjoyed reading Nocturnes, but it seemed disappointingly conventional compared with Ishiguro's novels.
More than this, though, as I read I began to get the sense that something was off. I felt it most strongly in the first two stories, but to some extent in all of them except perhaps the third, "Malvern Hills": a growing feeling people don't actually act or speak like Ishiguro's characters do. In the first story, "Crooner," I put it down to Ishiguro being unable to convincingly portray Americans, but in the second story, "Come Rain or Come Shine," all of whose characters were British, I heard the same wrong notes (no pun intended). To put it another way, whereas the characters in Never Let Me Go were heartbreakingly real even though the society depicted in that book never existed, the characters in Nocturnes felt unreal despite supposedly living in real societies.
It seemed puzzling that the skill at characterization so visible in Ishiguro's novels should have deserted him when he turned to short stories. While trying to work out what was going on, it occurred to me that it was as if the stories were proceeding according to unfamiliar rules hidden from the reader. Of course, this description also fits The Unconsoled, which, like the stories in Nocturnes, is about a musician. Then a light bulb went on above my head: what if Ishiguro was following the same strategy here that he did in When We Were Orphans: under a superficially realist facade presenting stories that weren't realist at all?
Alas, I have no triumph of interpretation to announce. Whatever depths I missed on the first reading I also missed on the second. Nor can I say whether there are hidden rules or not. I did realize that several of the narrators were unreliable, or probably so; but this didn't help me much. Nor were the characterizations any more convincing on second reading. Sometimes they were less convincing. This was particularly true of Lindy Gardner in "Nocturne," who now seemed like a caricature, and not a very skillful one. In fact, that story was a chore to reread.
One thing Nocturnes did make me realize is how the theme of specialness or greatness, and the lengths people go to attain it or to assure themselves they have it, permeates Ishiguro's work. I've written about this theme in Never Let Me Go. In The Remains of the Day, of course, we have Stevens' ambition to be a "great" butler, and his belief that in Lord Darlington he has found a great employer. In The Unconsoled and When We Were Orphans, the protagonists struggle to live up to the expectations others have of them because of their "greatness." And in An Artist of the Floating World, Ishiguro's second novel, even after the protagonist recognizes that he was morally wrong to support the Japanese dictatorial regime of the 1930s, he still can't face the truth that his actions didn't matter all that much.
(0) comments
On my first reading of Nocturnes, Ishiguro's recently published short story collection, its contents appeared to adhere to the template of what is sometimes called "the New Yorker short story": stories about unhappy people in unhappy relationships, in which nothing much happens, ending with a carefully calibrated "epiphany." Such stories are certainly not necessarily bad, and I enjoyed reading Nocturnes, but it seemed disappointingly conventional compared with Ishiguro's novels.
More than this, though, as I read I began to get the sense that something was off. I felt it most strongly in the first two stories, but to some extent in all of them except perhaps the third, "Malvern Hills": a growing feeling people don't actually act or speak like Ishiguro's characters do. In the first story, "Crooner," I put it down to Ishiguro being unable to convincingly portray Americans, but in the second story, "Come Rain or Come Shine," all of whose characters were British, I heard the same wrong notes (no pun intended). To put it another way, whereas the characters in Never Let Me Go were heartbreakingly real even though the society depicted in that book never existed, the characters in Nocturnes felt unreal despite supposedly living in real societies.
It seemed puzzling that the skill at characterization so visible in Ishiguro's novels should have deserted him when he turned to short stories. While trying to work out what was going on, it occurred to me that it was as if the stories were proceeding according to unfamiliar rules hidden from the reader. Of course, this description also fits The Unconsoled, which, like the stories in Nocturnes, is about a musician. Then a light bulb went on above my head: what if Ishiguro was following the same strategy here that he did in When We Were Orphans: under a superficially realist facade presenting stories that weren't realist at all?
Alas, I have no triumph of interpretation to announce. Whatever depths I missed on the first reading I also missed on the second. Nor can I say whether there are hidden rules or not. I did realize that several of the narrators were unreliable, or probably so; but this didn't help me much. Nor were the characterizations any more convincing on second reading. Sometimes they were less convincing. This was particularly true of Lindy Gardner in "Nocturne," who now seemed like a caricature, and not a very skillful one. In fact, that story was a chore to reread.
One thing Nocturnes did make me realize is how the theme of specialness or greatness, and the lengths people go to attain it or to assure themselves they have it, permeates Ishiguro's work. I've written about this theme in Never Let Me Go. In The Remains of the Day, of course, we have Stevens' ambition to be a "great" butler, and his belief that in Lord Darlington he has found a great employer. In The Unconsoled and When We Were Orphans, the protagonists struggle to live up to the expectations others have of them because of their "greatness." And in An Artist of the Floating World, Ishiguro's second novel, even after the protagonist recognizes that he was morally wrong to support the Japanese dictatorial regime of the 1930s, he still can't face the truth that his actions didn't matter all that much.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
BOOK CORNER: FRAGMENTS FROM SLOVENE LITERATURE
Fragments of Slovene Literature is, as its title suggests, an anthology of Slovene literature. Slovene is a language spoken by about two million people, mainly in Slovenia, a former Yugoslav republic which is now independent. A few translated works of Slovene literature have been published in the U.S., but none of them have entered into the consciousness of the American reading public. Hence, I had never read any Slovene literature before, and you probably haven't either.
I picked the book up out of curiosity, but somewhat to my surprise there was quite a bit of good writing inside. Some novelists, short story writers and/or playwrights whose contributions particularly struck me were Vladimir Bartol, Dominik Smole, Evald Flisar, Berta Bojetu Boeta, Milan Klec', Maja Novak, Andre Morovic' and Igor S'kamperle. (The apostrophes should be carons, like ^ but upside down, above the preceding letter.) There's also a lot of poetry, but I don't pretend to be any judge of poetry.
The anthology works on the principle of breadth rather than depth: there are 132 writers represented (most with a single work or excerpt) in 432 pages. While the earliest works included are from the 16th century, over two-thirds of the pages are devoted to post-World War II literature.
The editorial apparatus, if one can call it that, is stunningly unhelpful. The introduction is devoted mainly to listing writers who are not represented in the anthology. No information is given about the works included or excerpted from, not even whether they're short stories or novels. (Sometimes you can't even tell whether you're reading an excerpt or a completel work.) Nor is there any information about the authors other than their dates of birth and death. There isn't an index, so if you're looking for an author you have to hunt through the six-page table of contents. And the table of contents doesn't include titles, so if you're looking for a specific work you're really out of luck.
According to the link above, Amazon has one used copy for sale for thirty-two bucks. If the linked page disappears, or you want to try your luck searching elsewhere, the ISBN is 961-6547-01-1.
(4) comments
Fragments of Slovene Literature is, as its title suggests, an anthology of Slovene literature. Slovene is a language spoken by about two million people, mainly in Slovenia, a former Yugoslav republic which is now independent. A few translated works of Slovene literature have been published in the U.S., but none of them have entered into the consciousness of the American reading public. Hence, I had never read any Slovene literature before, and you probably haven't either.
I picked the book up out of curiosity, but somewhat to my surprise there was quite a bit of good writing inside. Some novelists, short story writers and/or playwrights whose contributions particularly struck me were Vladimir Bartol, Dominik Smole, Evald Flisar, Berta Bojetu Boeta, Milan Klec', Maja Novak, Andre Morovic' and Igor S'kamperle. (The apostrophes should be carons, like ^ but upside down, above the preceding letter.) There's also a lot of poetry, but I don't pretend to be any judge of poetry.
The anthology works on the principle of breadth rather than depth: there are 132 writers represented (most with a single work or excerpt) in 432 pages. While the earliest works included are from the 16th century, over two-thirds of the pages are devoted to post-World War II literature.
The editorial apparatus, if one can call it that, is stunningly unhelpful. The introduction is devoted mainly to listing writers who are not represented in the anthology. No information is given about the works included or excerpted from, not even whether they're short stories or novels. (Sometimes you can't even tell whether you're reading an excerpt or a completel work.) Nor is there any information about the authors other than their dates of birth and death. There isn't an index, so if you're looking for an author you have to hunt through the six-page table of contents. And the table of contents doesn't include titles, so if you're looking for a specific work you're really out of luck.
According to the link above, Amazon has one used copy for sale for thirty-two bucks. If the linked page disappears, or you want to try your luck searching elsewhere, the ISBN is 961-6547-01-1.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND: AN EMBARRASSING UPDATE
It's embarrassing to have to admit, but when I wrote that Coyote "would be a standout [track] on Loaded," it had slipped my mind that Sweet Jane and Rock and Roll were on Loaded.
I do have mitigating circumstances to plead, though. I first heard Sweet Jane and Rock and Roll on 1969, and listened to that album many times before hearing the studio versions on Loaded. In fact, I don't recall ever hearing Loaded until the Fully Loaded two-CD set was released, which would have been over a decade after I heard 1969. So to me, the versions on 1969 were the real versions, and I associated the songs with that album rather than with Loaded. (In fact, I still prefer Sweet Jane without the "heavenly wine and roses" bit.)
Coyote isn't as good as either of those two songs, so instead of being a "standout," I'd have to say merely that it could hold its own on Loaded.
(0) comments
It's embarrassing to have to admit, but when I wrote that Coyote "would be a standout [track] on Loaded," it had slipped my mind that Sweet Jane and Rock and Roll were on Loaded.
I do have mitigating circumstances to plead, though. I first heard Sweet Jane and Rock and Roll on 1969, and listened to that album many times before hearing the studio versions on Loaded. In fact, I don't recall ever hearing Loaded until the Fully Loaded two-CD set was released, which would have been over a decade after I heard 1969. So to me, the versions on 1969 were the real versions, and I associated the songs with that album rather than with Loaded. (In fact, I still prefer Sweet Jane without the "heavenly wine and roses" bit.)
Coyote isn't as good as either of those two songs, so instead of being a "standout," I'd have to say merely that it could hold its own on Loaded.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
CD CORNER: VARIOUS VELVET UNDERGROUND REUNION CDS
I've been re-listening to my CDs of the Velvet Underground's 1993 reunion tour, both Live MCMXCIII -- the legitimate 2CD set -- and a bunch of bootlegs. I'm not done, but here are some generalizations:
The parts that reward repeated listening are the guitar or guitar/viola workouts. These occur in the places you'd expect; and also, surprisingly, in Some Kinda Love. The Velvets didn't play Sister Ray on the tour, alas. But Hey Mister Rain filled the "controlled chaos" spot more than adequately, though there was a lot less variation between different performances of Hey Mister Rain than there had been for Sister Ray back in the day.
On the other hand, the new versions of the songs whose main interest was the vocals are mainly dispensible. Reed's vocals are different from before -- and, frankly, bizarre -- but the difference is not to the newer stuff's advantage. An exception to this is Pale Blue Eyes: not that Reed's vocals are any better, but the addition of Cale's viola improves the song enormously.
Coyote is a good song, not a great song. It would be a standout on Loaded and would hold its own on VU or Another View (as you can probably tell, I'm not a fan of Loaded).
The synthesizer intro to I'm Waiting for the Man is just strange. Unless it's supposed to be a parody of stadium rock (something that just occurred to me), I don't see the point.
(0) comments
I've been re-listening to my CDs of the Velvet Underground's 1993 reunion tour, both Live MCMXCIII -- the legitimate 2CD set -- and a bunch of bootlegs. I'm not done, but here are some generalizations:
The parts that reward repeated listening are the guitar or guitar/viola workouts. These occur in the places you'd expect; and also, surprisingly, in Some Kinda Love. The Velvets didn't play Sister Ray on the tour, alas. But Hey Mister Rain filled the "controlled chaos" spot more than adequately, though there was a lot less variation between different performances of Hey Mister Rain than there had been for Sister Ray back in the day.
On the other hand, the new versions of the songs whose main interest was the vocals are mainly dispensible. Reed's vocals are different from before -- and, frankly, bizarre -- but the difference is not to the newer stuff's advantage. An exception to this is Pale Blue Eyes: not that Reed's vocals are any better, but the addition of Cale's viola improves the song enormously.
Coyote is a good song, not a great song. It would be a standout on Loaded and would hold its own on VU or Another View (as you can probably tell, I'm not a fan of Loaded).
The synthesizer intro to I'm Waiting for the Man is just strange. Unless it's supposed to be a parody of stadium rock (something that just occurred to me), I don't see the point.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
MANGA CORNER: BILLY BAT VOL. 1, BY NAOKI URASAWA
Billy Bat is the latest manga by Naoki Urasawa, best known for Monster, 20th Century Boys and Pluto. (Takashi Nagasaki is collaborating on the story, as he did on 20th Century Boys and Pluto.) It's ongoing in Japan, and the first tankoubon (paperback collection) recently came out there. Billy Bat is almost certain to eventually be licensed in the U.S. (probably by Viz, who licensed the three other series listed above), but I was curious enough that I jumped the gun and bought the tankoubon.
Billy Bat takes place in 1949, and its protagonist is Kevin Yamagata, a Japanese-American cartoonist who writes and draws a popular comic called Billy Bat. In fact, the book begins as if it were Yamagata's comic, a funny-animal hard-boiled detective story starring an anthropomorphic bat named Billy Bat.
After twenty-four pages of Yamagata's Billy Bat, the camera "pulls back" to show Kevin drawing, and we are in the real world. Two policemen enter Kevin's studio, and one of them happens to remark that he's seen Kevin's "Billy Bat" character in Japan. In accordance with his father's dying request that he never steal, Kevin goes to Japan to discover if he has unconsciously plagiarized the character (he was stationed in Japan after the war), and, if so, to ask permission to continue to use it.
In Japan, Kevin realizes that he had indeed seen the character there, and also that there are mysteries surrounding it. He also gets embroiled in a murder case, and before you can say "Friend, meet Johann. Johann, meet Friend" we're in Monster/20th Century Boys territory. But this doesn't mean that the comics connection is abandoned. While we don't see any more of Kevin's strip, his real-life adventures become linked to manga in a surprising way.
Monster gets off to a notoriously slow start, and 20th Century Boys reportedly also picks up steam in later volumes. So it would be unwise to try to judge Billy Bat as a whole by its first volume. That said, its first volume moves faster, and does a better job of hooking the reader, than the first volumes of those series. At the end of the first volume, Billy Bat is also more obscure than were the other two series at that point: we don't know who or what Kevin's primary antagonist is, nor how it relates to the mysterious bat. In the last chapter Urasawa throws a curve ball which makes things even more enigmatic.
Judging by Monster and by those volumes of Urasawa's other series that have appeared in the U.S., characteriztion is not one of Urasawa's strong points. So far, Billy Bat is no exception. None of the characters yet encountered are memorable, including Kevin. Several are stock characters or cliches, a prostitute with a heart of gold being the most egregious example.
Urasawa's art is one of his strong points, and again Billy Bat is no exception. In fact, his art here may be his best yet. The facial expressions and the panel-to-panel flow in Billy Bat seem to be advances over his earlier works, although I haven't studied the matter closely.
The most obvious new element in the art, of course, is the twenty-four pages of Yamagata's full-color funny-animal strip. But though this is a funny-animal strip, it's in Urasawa's style. You've probably never wondered what the characters from Monster would look like as anthropomorphic bats and dogs, but if you have, now's your chance. In fact, they look very good: the use of anthropomorphized animals brings out Urasawa's gift for caricature. Urasawa (or his studio) also uses color well.
My biggest gripe about this volume is the lack of authenticity in the American section. Most obviously, most of the actual English text we see is wrong in some way, most blatantly the title of Kevin's first chapter, "Drealy Night Murders." The writing in Kevin's comic is aimed more at adults than any actual American comic from the 1940s, including Eisner's (which is not to say it's particularly good writing -- but then, it's clearly not supposed to be), and the visual storytelling is more like contemporary manga than any 1940s American comic I've seen. The color palette is also far richer than in American comics of the period. Urasawa appears to believe that the post-WWII American comics industry was structured the same way as the manga industry of that period, when in fact they were quite different. And, father's dying request or no, the idea that a 1940s comics creator would be so scrupulous that at the mere suggestion of accidental plagiarism he would go to Japan to investigate is only less farfetched than the idea that his publisher would let him.* To be sure, none of this matters much for the quality of the series as a whole. But one of the things that impressed me about Monster was that it seemed authentically rooted in its German setting, as opposed to many manga and anime which seem to take place in a generic "Europe." Now I'm wondering if I was had.
On the back cover are these words, in English: "The character of the bat was popular in United States after 1940's. It is the mystery bat which continues affecting the darkness of the human history." Make of this what you will.
Billy Bat vol. 1 is 200 pp. and costs 600 yen. It's published by Koudansha in their Morning line (the title is in English, so you can't miss it), and its ISBN is 978-4-06-372812-5.
*If Kevin is really so anxious not to infringe on anyone else's intellectual property, he should be worrying about the stylized bat-symbol in his series' logo: it's not identical to Batman's Bat-symbol, but it's close enough that DC's lawyers would be on him like a ton of bricks. The same symbol is a prominent feature of the real Billy Bat's actual logo, and it will be interesting to see how Viz (or whoever) deals with this when the series is published in the U.S.
(4) comments
Billy Bat is the latest manga by Naoki Urasawa, best known for Monster, 20th Century Boys and Pluto. (Takashi Nagasaki is collaborating on the story, as he did on 20th Century Boys and Pluto.) It's ongoing in Japan, and the first tankoubon (paperback collection) recently came out there. Billy Bat is almost certain to eventually be licensed in the U.S. (probably by Viz, who licensed the three other series listed above), but I was curious enough that I jumped the gun and bought the tankoubon.
Billy Bat takes place in 1949, and its protagonist is Kevin Yamagata, a Japanese-American cartoonist who writes and draws a popular comic called Billy Bat. In fact, the book begins as if it were Yamagata's comic, a funny-animal hard-boiled detective story starring an anthropomorphic bat named Billy Bat.
After twenty-four pages of Yamagata's Billy Bat, the camera "pulls back" to show Kevin drawing, and we are in the real world. Two policemen enter Kevin's studio, and one of them happens to remark that he's seen Kevin's "Billy Bat" character in Japan. In accordance with his father's dying request that he never steal, Kevin goes to Japan to discover if he has unconsciously plagiarized the character (he was stationed in Japan after the war), and, if so, to ask permission to continue to use it.
In Japan, Kevin realizes that he had indeed seen the character there, and also that there are mysteries surrounding it. He also gets embroiled in a murder case, and before you can say "Friend, meet Johann. Johann, meet Friend" we're in Monster/20th Century Boys territory. But this doesn't mean that the comics connection is abandoned. While we don't see any more of Kevin's strip, his real-life adventures become linked to manga in a surprising way.
Monster gets off to a notoriously slow start, and 20th Century Boys reportedly also picks up steam in later volumes. So it would be unwise to try to judge Billy Bat as a whole by its first volume. That said, its first volume moves faster, and does a better job of hooking the reader, than the first volumes of those series. At the end of the first volume, Billy Bat is also more obscure than were the other two series at that point: we don't know who or what Kevin's primary antagonist is, nor how it relates to the mysterious bat. In the last chapter Urasawa throws a curve ball which makes things even more enigmatic.
Judging by Monster and by those volumes of Urasawa's other series that have appeared in the U.S., characteriztion is not one of Urasawa's strong points. So far, Billy Bat is no exception. None of the characters yet encountered are memorable, including Kevin. Several are stock characters or cliches, a prostitute with a heart of gold being the most egregious example.
Urasawa's art is one of his strong points, and again Billy Bat is no exception. In fact, his art here may be his best yet. The facial expressions and the panel-to-panel flow in Billy Bat seem to be advances over his earlier works, although I haven't studied the matter closely.
The most obvious new element in the art, of course, is the twenty-four pages of Yamagata's full-color funny-animal strip. But though this is a funny-animal strip, it's in Urasawa's style. You've probably never wondered what the characters from Monster would look like as anthropomorphic bats and dogs, but if you have, now's your chance. In fact, they look very good: the use of anthropomorphized animals brings out Urasawa's gift for caricature. Urasawa (or his studio) also uses color well.
My biggest gripe about this volume is the lack of authenticity in the American section. Most obviously, most of the actual English text we see is wrong in some way, most blatantly the title of Kevin's first chapter, "Drealy Night Murders." The writing in Kevin's comic is aimed more at adults than any actual American comic from the 1940s, including Eisner's (which is not to say it's particularly good writing -- but then, it's clearly not supposed to be), and the visual storytelling is more like contemporary manga than any 1940s American comic I've seen. The color palette is also far richer than in American comics of the period. Urasawa appears to believe that the post-WWII American comics industry was structured the same way as the manga industry of that period, when in fact they were quite different. And, father's dying request or no, the idea that a 1940s comics creator would be so scrupulous that at the mere suggestion of accidental plagiarism he would go to Japan to investigate is only less farfetched than the idea that his publisher would let him.* To be sure, none of this matters much for the quality of the series as a whole. But one of the things that impressed me about Monster was that it seemed authentically rooted in its German setting, as opposed to many manga and anime which seem to take place in a generic "Europe." Now I'm wondering if I was had.
On the back cover are these words, in English: "The character of the bat was popular in United States after 1940's. It is the mystery bat which continues affecting the darkness of the human history." Make of this what you will.
Billy Bat vol. 1 is 200 pp. and costs 600 yen. It's published by Koudansha in their Morning line (the title is in English, so you can't miss it), and its ISBN is 978-4-06-372812-5.
*If Kevin is really so anxious not to infringe on anyone else's intellectual property, he should be worrying about the stylized bat-symbol in his series' logo: it's not identical to Batman's Bat-symbol, but it's close enough that DC's lawyers would be on him like a ton of bricks. The same symbol is a prominent feature of the real Billy Bat's actual logo, and it will be interesting to see how Viz (or whoever) deals with this when the series is published in the U.S.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
USAMARU FURUYA SERIES LICENSED
At the just-concluded SDCC, CMX announced (via MangaBlog) that they had licensed Usamaru Furuya's disaster manga 51 Ways to Protect Her, which I once discussed briefly (under the title 51 Ways to Protect Your Girlfriend). The protagonists of the first volume are Jin and Okano, a young man and woman respectively who are caught up in a magnitude 8 earthquake that strikes Tokyo, although they themselves are uninjured. (There's more on Jin and Okano in my earlier post,which was written when I had only read the manga's first chapter.) Most of the volume deals with Jin's efforts to protect Okano (not yet his girlfriend) and to help other victims. Furuya also progressively reveals more and more of the destruction caused by the earthquake, a process that presumably continues beyond the first volume.
In a comment to the ANN post linked to above, dormcat wrote that 51 Ways is more "accessible" than The Music of Marie. I never thought of Music as inaccessible, but there's no doubt that 51 Ways is more in line with the current U.S. market for shounen manga. And while, judging by this volume, 51 Ways isn't one of Furuya's major works, it's perfectly fine for what it is. The art is particularly striking. Don't get too excited yet, though: the first volume won't be released until September 2010.
(1) comments
At the just-concluded SDCC, CMX announced (via MangaBlog) that they had licensed Usamaru Furuya's disaster manga 51 Ways to Protect Her, which I once discussed briefly (under the title 51 Ways to Protect Your Girlfriend). The protagonists of the first volume are Jin and Okano, a young man and woman respectively who are caught up in a magnitude 8 earthquake that strikes Tokyo, although they themselves are uninjured. (There's more on Jin and Okano in my earlier post,which was written when I had only read the manga's first chapter.) Most of the volume deals with Jin's efforts to protect Okano (not yet his girlfriend) and to help other victims. Furuya also progressively reveals more and more of the destruction caused by the earthquake, a process that presumably continues beyond the first volume.
In a comment to the ANN post linked to above, dormcat wrote that 51 Ways is more "accessible" than The Music of Marie. I never thought of Music as inaccessible, but there's no doubt that 51 Ways is more in line with the current U.S. market for shounen manga. And while, judging by this volume, 51 Ways isn't one of Furuya's major works, it's perfectly fine for what it is. The art is particularly striking. Don't get too excited yet, though: the first volume won't be released until September 2010.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
ON WALTON ON NEVER LET ME GO
I recently came across an interesting discussion of Never Let Me Go on Crooked Timber, sparked off by this post by Jo Walton, and specifically by this quote:
"Some critics have suggested it’s implausible that a whole class of people could be created to donate and die and yet been permitted to drive around from centre to centre and go into shops and service stations. I have no problem with it. The worst tortures are the ones you do to yourself. They are a class, they know their place."
Walton goes on to assert that the clones are modelled after the English working class, which likewise passively accepts its lot.
I disagree with Walton. I was surprised that nobody picked up on OO's clearly true observation, in the Crooked Timber thread, that "the clones did find possibilities other than having their organs harvested very attractive. ... the Cottages are pervaded with the clones’ desperation for an alternative other than dying." I would add that the students at Hailsham were not given an education which emphasizes submissiveness and knowing one's place. In fact the education Hailsham provided, with its emphasis on art and creativity, greatly resembled an upper middle-class education (allowing for the material poverty of Hailsham itself). If Kathy appears to never think of escape, it's not because she "cheerful[ly] accept[s]" her fate, as Walton claims. Rather, it's because she has already ruled the idea out as hopeless, and therefore thinking about it would be too painful.
Something else that occurred to me after reading the Crooked Timber discussion: As far as I remember, until the final scene with Miss Emily, the "donations" are always talked about as something that just happens, almost as if they were a natural process. This is even true of Miss Lucy's revelation and of the discussion of "possibles." Emily, in her final scene, is the first to acknowledge that the clones die because society has chosen to have them die, and society could have chosen differently.
My earlier posts on Never Let Me Go are here, here, here and here.
(1) comments
I recently came across an interesting discussion of Never Let Me Go on Crooked Timber, sparked off by this post by Jo Walton, and specifically by this quote:
"Some critics have suggested it’s implausible that a whole class of people could be created to donate and die and yet been permitted to drive around from centre to centre and go into shops and service stations. I have no problem with it. The worst tortures are the ones you do to yourself. They are a class, they know their place."
Walton goes on to assert that the clones are modelled after the English working class, which likewise passively accepts its lot.
I disagree with Walton. I was surprised that nobody picked up on OO's clearly true observation, in the Crooked Timber thread, that "the clones did find possibilities other than having their organs harvested very attractive. ... the Cottages are pervaded with the clones’ desperation for an alternative other than dying." I would add that the students at Hailsham were not given an education which emphasizes submissiveness and knowing one's place. In fact the education Hailsham provided, with its emphasis on art and creativity, greatly resembled an upper middle-class education (allowing for the material poverty of Hailsham itself). If Kathy appears to never think of escape, it's not because she "cheerful[ly] accept[s]" her fate, as Walton claims. Rather, it's because she has already ruled the idea out as hopeless, and therefore thinking about it would be too painful.
Something else that occurred to me after reading the Crooked Timber discussion: As far as I remember, until the final scene with Miss Emily, the "donations" are always talked about as something that just happens, almost as if they were a natural process. This is even true of Miss Lucy's revelation and of the discussion of "possibles." Emily, in her final scene, is the first to acknowledge that the clones die because society has chosen to have them die, and society could have chosen differently.
My earlier posts on Never Let Me Go are here, here, here and here.
