eave it to Ishiguro to effectively imbue clones with a human sense of purpose and superhuman sadness. This is a clone coming-of-age novel, a surreal genre that shares a ledge with Calvin and Phillip K. Dick.
Kathy H. of Hailsham (a clone “school”) exists to grow her organs for harvest. But Ishiguro substitutes contemplation for urgency. The questions posed by Hailsham’s students are doubly compelling because they know they’re little more than old ships headed to the breakers. Ishiguro is simply too good a novelist and too precise an observer not to redeem his cast. The condemned are those who dream best about what might be.
