Klara and the Change of Mind.

I mentioned some time ago that my latest reading matter was Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. I usually offer some thoughts on my latest books and their authors (especially when they’re ripe for lampooning as was the case with such novels as Dracula, Frankenstein and The Duh Vinci Code) but I’ve said nothing about Klara, and the reason is simple: from the outset I was disappointed with it. But now I’ve finished it and I’ve changed my mind. I have, and here’s the reason.

At first I was discomfited by the writing style. It was too simple, too prosaic, utterly lacking any fragment of richness or lyricism. I’ve long made it known that a book’s writing style is of pre-eminent importance to me. I love richness and lyricism because I love the power of words for their own sake, and there was nothing here to whet my appetite.

And then there was the fact that the story is told by the eponymous Klara. Every aspect of the plot is seen through her observations and her limited knowledge of the world, and it may simply be stated that for the first two thirds of the book, seemingly very little of note happens. Klara, you see, is an advanced form of android who begins the story sitting in a shop window waiting to be bought as an AF (artificial friend) to a 14-year-old girl with an unspecified illness. Once the sale is made, it continues in a mostly domestic vein which only just managed to keep me turning the page.

But then, at about the two thirds mark, we’re given the big revelation: the real reason for purchasing Klara in the first place. And so the story grows suddenly darker – in a sad rather than sordid way – and my interest was taken to a higher level. My nightly readings even became shorter because I didn’t want the book to end. Eventually it did end, of course, and the final scene is high on understated poignancy. And for the next few days my mind kept coming back to it, which is surely a major sign of quality.

At that point I came to realise what should have been obvious from the beginning: the writing style had to be the way it was because it was being expressed by an android who would have limited knowledge of language and would lack the mental faculty to understand the concept of lyricism. To write it any other way would have been irrational.

And so I finished the book happy with the whole work, if a little saddened by what is an appropriate ending. Good endings are very important, and this is a good one. Accordingly, I’m more than content to rate the book highly and recommend it with one proviso: be prepared to persevere through the gentle, seemingly inconsequential stuff. It’s all worth it in the end.