Ishiguro's Klara and the Sun

Kazuo Ishiguro. Where does one begin? How do we evaluate a novel like “Klara and the Sun,” or any of his other most widely read novels, except for “The Buried Giant” which had me at my wit’s end? People have described Ishiguro’s latest work as unbearable and unsettling, and it is both. It can be read on so many levels, interpreted as a book about faith, about loneliness, memory, love, sacrifice, or even as an examination of the power of technology along with a fear or distrust of the same. In other words, perfect book discussion material.

In a not-too-distant future, in an unnamed city, an artificial friend, I dare not call her a robot, sits in a store front window waiting to be purchased as a companion for an unknown child. As she bides her time, Klara acutely observes her surroundings, often making logical deductions that are beyond the ken of her cohort. Klara is special, and because she is the narrator, we are privy to her innermost thoughts. Ishiguro has created an artificial being more human than any of the other characters we will meet, and it is this fact that renders his novel so painful to read.

Josie has had her eye on Klara for a long time. No other AF will do. Josie suffers from a mysterious illness that keeps her mother constantly on guard. The mother worries that Klara will not be up to the special care that Josie needs but she needn’t concern herself. Klara is programmed to do what ever is in her power to protect her charge. As a solar powered “device” she is keenly aware of her relationship with the Sun, capitalized because in Ishiguro’s imagining the Sun seems to be a symbol for God or at least a higher power, one that can, perhaps, be bargained with.

Ishiguro is a master at depicting the foibles of human nature and the complicated relationship we humans have with each other and with ourselves. Josie, for instance, like a typical teenage girl can run hot and cold. Loving and generous one moment, dismissive and disdainful the next. We learn through her friendship with her neighbor Rick that there is a hierarchy at work that pits family against family, not unlike what we see today, in which children who are “lifted” (think, cognitively enhanced) have an advantage in terms of college and careers. Families who choose not to lift their children for ethical or monetary reasons find themselves sidelined. And children, Klara notes, can be very fickle.

I found myself dreading the ending of this novel. After all, what do we do with items that have outlived their usefulness? But then I realized that an AF’s “slow fade” is no different from what we humans face. In fact, what can be more human than understanding that, when we are born, we are limited to a finite amount of time. And if we are very fortunate, we will make memories over our years that will sustain us in our own slow fade.