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Klara and the Sun

The Loneliness of Love

Though it does explore the differences between human and AI, Ishiguro’s new novel is more concerned with what it means to be human.

Review by Whitney Rio-Ross

When I heard that Kazuo Ishiguro’s latest novel was about a humanoid robot, I sighed with disappointment. I didn’t doubt Ishiguro’s abilities; the man won the world over through the glacially-paced reminiscences of an aging butler. Perhaps that kind of surprising masterpiece should have told me Klara and the Sun wouldn’t stick to one of the robot fiction formulas. Still, the words “artificial intelligence” didn’t entice me.

Klara, the narrator, is an AF (Artificial Friend). We meet her in a department store, where she is chosen as a companion for the sickly fourteen-year-old Josie. Living with Josie’s family, Klara learns more about human relational dynamics and applies these lessons to her friendship with Josie, always striving to be a better AF. As Josie’s health continues to decline, Klara is the picture of devotion not only to Josie but also to her family and friends. Klara is willing to do whatever can help, though Josie’s circle is divided about what that might ultimately mean. Like The Remains of the Day, it’s a slow novel that quietly deepens into an emotional force. Klara and the Sun is a messier force for a number of reasons; the topic of grieving a child necessitates it.

The novel is set in a future America. Artificial intelligence has taken on many roles previously performed by humans, factions are forming in the cities, parents may choose to have their children genetically modified, and pollution is still a serious crisis. It’s a fascinating world that we learn about only in fragments as the novel unfolds, and we never receive a history lesson or detailed explanation of the narrative’s larger context. With Klara as the narrator, our view is necessarily narrowed. She is a “young” machine made to care for a human companion. For Klara, Josie is the center of the world; the rest of it matters in relation to Josie. Readers hoping for a thorough, grand-scale social commentary should find another book.

Of course, Ishiguro still addresses technology-related themes. A central one is humans’ reliance on technology to avoid the most difficult parts of the human experience, namely loneliness and grief. AFs exist to keep children from being lonely. Because of this purpose and other observations, Klara begins the novel thinking there are no human desires “more powerful than the wish to avoid loneliness.” This belief is bolstered by Josie’s mother, who prepares herself for her daughter’s death by calculating how to minimize the pain. She looks to Klara as her likeliest aide. Interestingly, Klara is the one who puts the least faith in herself. She is repeatedly referred to as a particularly remarkable AF and is confident in her abilities. Yet when Josie’s illness worsens, Klara does not look to herself as the solution. She looks to the Sun.

Klara is solar-powered, and though she does not require a large amount of sunlight to function, she loves to bathe in it and even watch the Sun sink into the distance. We see early on that Klara believes the Sun possesses divine powers, especially “special healing powers.” It’s unclear if Klara has a source for her beliefs or if they result from her own inferences. Either way, she is the only character who deifies the Sun. In fact, no other characters reference believing in any kind of deity.

Klara’s faith in the Sun becomes more important as she realizes the severity of Josie’s condition. Her general adoration and trust in the Sun becomes more complex. She takes on a posture of pleading, even going to a temple of sorts where she believes the Sun resides and can hear her. There she makes her petitions silently, addressing the Sun with reverential fear. These prayerful experiences are at times painfully realistic. She not only addresses the Sun but believes she hears from him as well. When she first tries to bargain with the Sun and comes to believe that she understands what she must do to please him, I winced. What even vaguely religious person hasn’t bargained with a god to no avail? Later, when she resorts to inarticulate begging without making promises, she leaves with her faith still strong. Again, I winced and wanted to hold Klara. I wanted to tell her that the Sun is not Santa, that her faith was misplaced and her theology unoriginally dubious.

Klara keeps her Sun religion quiet, not explaining why she thinks she must perform some odd tasks or allowing anyone to come with her when she goes to speak with the Sun. Some of this is superstition that the Sun will not answer her petitions if she reveals her knowledge, but I believe Klara also understands that the humans will scoff at her religion. When they scoff, they might discourage or even stop her from practicing it. My own reaction to Klara’s piety proves as much. It’s safer to be a holy fool in secret and not risk losing the opportunity to pray for Josie.

Klara’s faith causes her to approach Josie’s illness in a way the other characters can’t. As Josie’s loved ones prepare to grieve her, Klara refuses to think about Josie as if she were on her deathbed. When Josie’s parents talk to Klara about Josie’s impending death, she corrects their language, changing “when” to “if.” She’s always reminding them that Josie is in fact still alive and that they are not certain of when she will die. This position alternately annoys and strengthens Josie’s family and friends. “Hope,” the father says to Klara. “Damn thing never leaves you alone.”

Like Klara, the novel doesn’t focus on the differences between humans and AFs but on an existence of relationships.

Any artificial intelligence narrative worth a read should make us think about what it means to be human. Usually that means the author focuses on the differences between humans and an AI character. Religious or not, we’re all trying to pinpoint an imago Dei. It comes about in a variety of ways, but the question at the end is essentially the same: What makes humans special? We aren’t simply looking for a statement about what we are—we want an antithesis as well.

Ishiguro nods to this question, sprinkling in different people’s views on what AI is capable of or whether it’s done more damage than good. It even becomes the focus when Josie’s parents are arguing about whether they can somehow still have Josie in their lives after she dies. Josie’s dad tells Klara that he fears “that science has now proved beyond doubt there’s nothing so unique about my daughter, nothing there our modern tools can’t excavate, copy, transfer. That people have been living with one another all this time, centuries, loving and hating each other, and all on a mistaken premise.” Klara doesn’t offer any philosophies of her own on the topic. After listening to his monologue with waning patience, she reminds him that her primary objective is to heal the Josie, who is still alive. Perhaps by design, Klara does not care about what makes her different from Josie; she simply cares about Josie.

Klara fits the human bill in so many important ways: she experiences emotions, practices a kind of religion, and exists to be in relationship. She acts lovingly, and she makes some mistakes. Even many of her more “robotic” features could be described as humorously childlike. She isn’t interested in an existential crisis (perhaps the most non-human thing about her). Like Klara, the novel doesn’t focus on the differences between humans and AFs but on an existence of relationships, therefore avoiding the AI tropes I had feared.

Some loose threads, unanswered contextual questions, and the slow pace will disappoint some readers, especially those who hope to use the novel as a vehicle for thinking about AI. For me, those things made the novel realistic in tone. Grief is a mess that can eclipse any world in which it happens. Being in or by a sick bed for months on end is repetitive and boring. This isn’t a book about robots. It’s a book about hope, despair, loneliness, and faith. Like any worthwhile novel, it’s a book about love.

I know saying that Klara loves Josie or the Sun is a philosophical and theological boobytrap. But Klara can still teach us how to love both neighbor and God. Love a person as they are, even while trying to make them better. Play the holy fool and be thankful for whatever prayers others offer, useless as they may seem. Don’t spend your life looking for tools to avoid the most devastating disappointments and loss. Rather, hope and love in a way that gives you something to lose. As Klara learns, those who love best “desire so much a path that would leave [them] in loneliness.”

Whitney Rio-Ross holds a Master’s in Religion and Literature from Yale Divinity School. Her writing has appeared in Sojourners, Reflections, America Magazine, LETTERS Journal, The Cresset, St. Katherine Review, The Other Journal, and elsewhere. She is the author of the poetry chapbook Birthmarks and lives in Nashville, Tennessee, with her husband.

 

Klara and the Sun was published by Knopf on March 2, 2021. Fare Forward appreciates their provision of an advance copy for our reviewer. You can purchase a copy on their website here.