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.”