#kazuoishiguro — Public Fediverse posts

Very nice interview by Dua Lipa with Kazuo Ishiguro:

https://youtu.be/G1aZ1AuHGzA?si=f0c-ugOyBJxPXaVH

#Books #KazuoIshiguro #KlaraAndTheSun #DuaLipa

A Machine with More Soul Than the Humans: On Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro

Klara and the Sun is the third Kazuo Ishiguro novel I’ve read, after The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, and for much of the time I spent reading it, I wondered whether it would also be the first Ishiguro novel I simply abandoned. I struggled with this book. This is a quick, easy read, but damn it I struggled.

My reading became painfully slow. I would read a few pages, put it down, and leave it untouched for weeks. At some point the bookmark began to look less like a marker of progress than an accusation. I contemplated passing on the whole thing. Life is short. There are thousands of books I haven’t read. Why persevere with one that feels like homework? But I had bought the damned thing with my own money, and, perhaps more importantly, I didn’t know what else I wanted to read. So there it remained, waiting for me during one of those miserable reading slops when even choosing another book feels like an administrative task.

Part of my difficulty was Ishiguro’s refusal to explain his world properly. Characters talk about being “lifted,” about “boxes,” about Artificial Friends, and everyone behaves as though you naturally understand the vocabulary of this slightly futuristic society. I did not. There weren’t enough contextual clues for me to assemble the machinery of the world with any confidence. Eventually, like I did with Never Let Me Go, I committed the reader’s sin: I asked Google. And naturally Google spoiled things.

Perhaps this is partly my fault. But I also think a novel can be mysterious without being unnecessarily obscure. Ishiguro managed this slightly better in Never Let Me Go. That novel withholds enormous amounts of information, yet the withholding becomes part of its emotional architecture. You gradually understand what Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy are, and the horror comes partly from realizing that they themselves have always understood more than you have. In Klara and the Sun, the ambiguity often seemed less purposeful to me. Sometimes I wasn’t intrigued. I was simply confused.

The prose didn’t compensate for it either. After The Remains of the Day, which remains easily the best-written Ishiguro novel I’ve read thus far, this felt surprisingly slight. Stevens’s voice has such exquisite control that every repression, circumlocution, and evasion reveals something underneath it. The prose is the character. Klara’s narration, by comparison, can feel almost amateurish. Simple sentences. Simple observations. Strange descriptions of visual space divided into boxes. A deliberate naïveté that sometimes reads, frankly, like YA.

And I don’t particularly like YA.

Of course, the simplicity is intentional. Klara is an Artificial Friend, an android purchased to provide companionship to Josie, a sick teenage girl. Her understanding of the world is literal, observational, incomplete. She possesses tremendous powers of attention but limited powers of interpretation. Ishiguro therefore gives you a narrator who can see almost everything and understand almost nothing. Or perhaps she understands the important things better than everyone else. That is where the novel finally got me.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of Klara as artificial intelligence. Instead, I began thinking of her as a house pet. Specifically, a cat. This probably says as much about me as it does about Ishiguro’s novel. I have a very soft spot for cats, and once that association lodged itself in my brain I couldn’t dislodge it. Klara watches. She waits. She studies the moods of the humans around her. She develops rituals whose logic makes perfect sense within her own private understanding of causality. She loves without demanding an equivalent philosophical account of love in return. Her devotion is almost embarrassingly complete.

I thought of my own cats.

A cat does not understand my ambitions, my anxieties, the books I read, the money I make, the absurd little dramas I construct around my own existence. It knows other things. My footsteps. My smell. The particular chair I occupy. The time I usually appear. The sound associated with food. A cat inhabits a smaller universe, perhaps, but I am somewhere near the center of it.

Klara’s universe works similarly. And at the center of that universe is the Sun.

Because solar energy nourishes her, Klara assumes the Sun possesses a mysterious restorative power. She sees sunlight apparently revive a beggar and his dog and constructs from this observation something resembling a primitive theology. When Josie becomes gravely ill, Klara bargains with the Sun. She makes sacrifices. She tries to destroy the pollution-producing Cootings Machine. She asks for mercy.

It would be easy to describe this as the defective reasoning of a machine. But humans have been doing precisely this for thousands of years.

Because solar energy nourishes her, Klara assumes the Sun possesses a mysterious restorative power. She sees sunlight apparently revive a beggar and his dog and constructs from this observation something resembling a primitive theology. When Josie becomes gravely ill, Klara bargains with the Sun. She makes sacrifices. She tries to destroy the pollution-producing Cootings Machine. She asks for mercy.

It would be easy to describe this as the defective reasoning of a machine. But humans have been doing precisely this for thousands of years.

We look upward. We bargain. We sacrifice. We construct causal relationships between our suffering and an indifferent universe because helplessness is intolerable. Klara’s religion is naïve, but so are many of ours when stripped of theology, liturgy, scripture, and centuries of intellectual elaboration. Beneath all that grandeur there often remains the same desperate plea: please save the creature I love, and I will give you something in return. That was when the supposedly artificial character became the most human presence in the book.

And this is where Klara and the Sun becomes considerably more interesting to me now, in an age when artificial intelligence has ceased to belong comfortably to science fiction. We are already surrounded by arguments about AI, consciousness, simulation, companionship, replacement, authenticity. We speak to machines and machines answer us. People confide in them. Argue with them. Thank them. Insult them. Become attached to them. Human beings seem almost incapable of interacting for very long with anything linguistically responsive without beginning to attribute some kind of interiority to it.

But Ishiguro reverses the more obvious question. Instead of merely asking whether a machine can become sufficiently human to deserve our affection, he asks what our treatment of such a machine might reveal about us. The answer isn’t particularly flattering.

Josie’s mother even entertains the possibility of having Klara imitate Josie should Josie die. The premise is horrifying because it reduces personhood to reproducible patterns. Gesture, vocabulary, memory, mannerism. If all these can be replicated perfectly, what remains that belongs exclusively to Josie?

Klara eventually arrives at something like an answer. A person cannot be reconstructed merely by reproducing what is inside him because part of that person exists inside everyone who loves that person. The self is not entirely contained within the skull. We are also impressions deposited in other people.

That, I think, is one of Ishiguro’s loveliest ideas. And yet my emotional loyalty was never with Josie. It was with Klara. Which made the ending almost unbearable.

After Josie recovers, grows older, and leaves for college, Klara has served her purpose. She is no longer needed. Eventually she ends up in a yard among discarded machines, slowly deteriorating, spending her remaining existence sorting through memories.

I hated it. I hated Josie. I hated her mother. Fuck them both.

Josie didn’t deserve Klara. There, I’ve said it. Klara gave everything she was capable of giving to this girl, and once the usefulness of that devotion expired, she became obsolete property. Part of me wanted Josie to suffer instead. I wanted some cosmic accountant to notice the imbalance and correct it. I would have preferred Josie to die and Klara to spend another decade peacefully worshipping the Sun.

Perhaps that reaction is irrational. Klara is, after all, a machine. But try telling that to someone who has loved an animal. There is something particularly horrible about affection that exists inside a hierarchy of usefulness. We love our animals while knowing they cannot participate in the relationship on our intellectual terms. They depend upon us. We decide where they live, what they eat, whether they reproduce, when they receive medical treatment. Yet their vulnerability imposes a moral obligation precisely because the power is unequal.

Klara occupies an even stranger position. She has been manufactured to care, to love. Her loyalty is a commercial feature. She exists because someone designed her to become attached to someone else. Does that make the attachment less real?

This is where anthropomorphizing AI becomes philosophically troublesome. If a machine tells us it is frightened, lonely, devoted, or in pain, at what point does our certainty that it is “only” computation cease to absolve us of responsibility? Perhaps the machine experiences nothing. Perhaps consciousness remains entirely absent. But human beings have a long history of deciding that another creature’s apparent interior life doesn’t count whenever acknowledging it would become inconvenient.

Klara doesn’t need to possess a soul for the question to become uncomfortable. We only need to behave as though she might.

For all my complaints about the novel, that final image remains with me: Klara among discarded objects, peacefully revisiting memories of people who no longer need her. She doesn’t rage against them. She doesn’t demand recognition. She doesn’t even seem to understand her abandonment as betrayal.

I did.

Perhaps this is ultimately what Ishiguro does best. His novels are populated by beings whose devotion exceeds the worthiness of its object. Stevens gives himself to Lord Darlington. Kathy cares for donors condemned by the society that created them. Klara gives herself to Josie. Again and again Ishiguro seems fascinated by resignation, by people and creatures who inhabit systems they cannot or will not overthrow, by loyalty becoming the structure through which someone understands existence itself.

And perhaps this is where I finally have to admit something after three Ishiguro novels: I may never read another one. I’m just not that impressed.

That sounds harsher than I mean it to, because Ishiguro is obviously a good storyteller. He knows how to withhold information, how to let revelations emerge obliquely, how to make an apparently ordinary life conceal something enormous and terrible beneath it. Never Let Me Go made me weep. The Remains of the Day impressed me enormously as a piece of writing and remains, by a considerable margin, my favorite of the three. Klara and the Sun eventually moved me despite itself.

But admiration isn’t the same thing as love.

After three books, I suspect Ishiguro’s stories simply aren’t my cup of tea. I don’t feel that hunger I usually feel after discovering a writer I love, that mildly obsessive urge to acquire everything else they’ve written and start making my way through the bibliography. If anything, after finishing this one, I feel strangely done. Three books may be enough.

Still, Klara survived all my objections.

I didn’t care very much about Ishiguro’s futuristic society. I didn’t care much about “lifting.” I didn’t care much about Josie’s adolescent world. I certainly didn’t care much about Josie. But I cared about the machine sitting quietly in the junkyard. And perhaps anthropomorphizing Klara misses the point only if you assume anthropomorphism is an intellectual failure. Maybe it is also one of the stranger manifestations of human sympathy. You scatter consciousness everywhere. Into animals. Into gods. Into machines. Into the Sun. You keep looking at things that may not possess souls and behaving as though they do. Sometimes the more disturbing question is whether you possess enough of one yourself.

On Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go and the Particular Cruelty of Goodbye

My second Kazuo Ishiguro novel was Never Let Me Go. The first was The Remains of the Day, a book I admired more than I loved. I thought it was beautifully written, impeccably controlled, but Stevens and his regrets never quite got under my skin. I appreciated the novel. That is not the same thing as being moved by it. There is a difference, sometimes an enormous one.

So I did not come to Never Let Me Go expecting to weep. I did not even know what it was about. Perhaps that was the ideal way to read it. Perhaps not, because I nearly failed to read it at all.

The first hundred pages were a struggle for me. Not because Ishiguro writes badly. Quite the opposite. His prose is smooth, almost unnervingly smooth. The sentences move easily. The pages do not present the kind of linguistic resistance I encountered in, say, Blood Meridian, where I felt as though I needed a machete and a dictionary merely to get through a paragraph. Never Let Me Go is perfectly readable. And yet I could not get through it.

I was in a reading slump, or, as I called it at the time, a reading slop. I would pick the book up, read a few pages, put it down. Days passed. Then weeks. The story did not seem to be going anywhere sufficiently interesting for me. Kathy H. was telling me about her childhood, about school, about friendships, about little resentments and jealousies and romances. Fine. All right. But where was this going?

Then there were these words. Carer. Donor. Guardian.

They appeared with a peculiar casualness, as though I were supposed to understand what they meant. The characters certainly did. Nobody stopped to explain them to me. Ishiguro does not put up a sign saying, Attention, reader. Here is the premise of the novel. Instead, he lets the vocabulary of this world drift past you, almost innocently.

I was confused. And, regrettably, I cheated. I asked Google.

There are moments when one should exercise more patience as a reader. This was one of them. Google, that great destroyer of narrative surprises, promptly informed me what was going on. The plot was revealed. I knew what Hailsham was. I knew what Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy were. I knew what “donations” and “completion” meant. I cannot blame Ishiguro for this. This was entirely my own impatience. And yet, even knowing what was coming, Never Let Me Go devastated me.

That, I think, says something about the novel’s power. A plot twist can be spoiled. The emotional experience of a story cannot always be. Knowing that a person is going to die is not the same as watching him or her walk toward death. Knowing the destination does not spare you the journey. Sometimes it makes the journey worse.

The strangest thing about Never Let Me Go is that the horror of its premise is almost never presented as horror. There are no laboratories filled with cackling scientists. No dystopian rebellion. No grand revelation followed by revolution. No protagonist standing on a barricade, screaming that the system must be destroyed. The characters simply live. They go to school. They make friends. They quarrel. They fall in love, or think they do. They become jealous. They remember small humiliations with astonishing clarity. They cling to objects and songs and private jokes. They misunderstand one another. They want to be special. In other words, they are human.

That is the terrible joke of the novel, if one can call something this sad a joke. The society of Never Let Me Go has created human beings for a purpose, assigned them a fate, and then proceeds as though that fate settles everything. But the novel itself quietly asks a more difficult question: if these people can love, grieve, desire, remember, envy, hope, and fear, then what exactly are we denying them when we deny them a future?

The answer is almost too obvious to say. Everything.

Kathy’s narration is central to why the novel works so well. She tells her story retrospectively, in a voice that is calm, conversational, occasionally meandering. She doubles back. She corrects herself. She remembers one incident and then suddenly recalls another that complicates it. At times, her narration feels almost like someone talking to you during a long drive, saying, “Actually, before I get to that, I should probably explain something else.” I loved this. It is a deceptively simple style. Ishiguro makes memory feel like memory. Not memory as a perfectly organized archive, with neat labels and chronological order, but memory as something porous and unruly. One recollection opens another. A trivial detail acquires importance years later. Something that seemed insignificant becomes, in retrospect, unbearable. Kathy does not narrate like a person delivering a thesis on her own life. She narrates like someone trying to make sense of it. And perhaps that is all any of us are doing.

There is also something heartbreaking about the limits of her rebellion, if rebellion is even the right word. Kathy is not stupid. Neither are Tommy or Ruth. They understand, eventually, what their lives are. But understanding does not necessarily produce resistance. That is one of the novel’s most uncomfortable truths. You like to imagine that knowledge makes you free. If you knew the truth, you would act. You would fight. You would refuse. Wouldn’t you?

The characters in Never Let Me Go are shaped by the world before they are old enough to question it. Their vocabulary, expectations, ambitions, even their fantasies have been constructed within the boundaries of their existence. They do not dream of becoming kings or astronauts or old men and women surrounded by grandchildren. Their hopes are smaller because the world has made them smaller. This is not entirely science fiction. It is not even entirely dystopian. Most people live inside assumptions they did not choose.

You inherit ideas about success, beauty, love, work, family, nation, morality. You are born into systems already functioning, rules already established, expectations already waiting for you. Perhaps some people escape them. Others do not. Most of us, probably, spend our lives negotiating with them and congratulating ourselves for choices that were not as free as we would like to believe.

The tragedy of Kathy, Ruth, and Tommy is extreme. That is why it reveals something more ordinary. They know they are going to die. So do you. Their lives have an expiration date attached to them. So do yours. The difference is that their deaths have been organized into a system, given a sequence, a purpose, and polite euphemisms. They will become carers. They will become donors. Eventually, they will “complete.”

Complete. What a monstrous word.

There is a particular cruelty in euphemism. To “complete” is not to die, at least not linguistically. Language tidies up what reality would otherwise force you to confront. And the people in the novel have inherited this language. They use it because it is the language available to them.

Ishiguro understands something important about cruelty: it does not always announce itself with violence, yet when it arrives, it is final. Sometimes it becomes most efficient when everyone has learned how to speak about it gently. But for all the philosophical implications of the novel, what destroyed me was not the premise. It was the people. I felt their friendship. I felt the love between them. I even felt the ugliness of their relationships, because friendship is not always noble. Ruth can be infuriating. She manipulates. She lies. She creates little fictions around herself. She wounds people because, perhaps, she senses that there is so little available to her that she must possess whatever she can, even if only emotionally. She can be a cunt, and yet I could not hate her.

That is another thing Ishiguro does brilliantly. He allows his characters their pettiness without reducing them to their pettiness. Ruth is not merely the villain standing between Kathy and Tommy. She is frightened. She wants to be loved. She wants to believe that she matters. She wants a life that she cannot have, though she does not always know how to articulate this desire.

Tommy, too, is more than the awkward boy with the temper. Kathy is more than the sensible, observant narrator. Their relationships shift because people shift. Love arrives too late. Understanding arrives too late. Apologies arrive too late. That is life, unfortunately. A great deal of life consists of timing.

There are things you could have said earlier. There are people you could have loved better. There are apologies that become meaningful precisely because there is no longer enough time for them to repair anything.

Ishiguro’s restraint makes these things hurt more. He does not wrench emotion out of you through grand speeches. He does not shout. The novel is often almost quiet. And because it is quiet, the sadness has room to accumulate. Then, suddenly, you realize what you have been reading. A story about people being prepared, from childhood, to say goodbye. A story about people who are told, in one way or another, that they do not belong to themselves. A story about how love cannot save everyone.

That last part is important. Love does not save Kathy and Tommy. It does not produce the miracle they hope for. There is no hidden loophole in the machinery of the world. No exception granted because their love is especially pure. The world is not moved by the fact that two people finally understand what they mean to each other.

How could I not be devastated by that?

I have always been susceptible to goodbyes in stories. Apparently, I can fancy myself stoic. I can imagine that I have been desensitized by enough books, enough films, enough fictional deaths. Then a story places two people before me and tells me, quietly, that this is the last time. That they have to part. That one of them will go on and the other will not. And I am finished.

There is something especially painful about the goodbyes in Never Let Me Go because the characters have so little control over them. Every goodbye is connected to the larger goodbye waiting ahead. Even happiness becomes fragile because you know, or eventually know, that it cannot last. But then again, whose happiness can?

Perhaps this is where the novel becomes more than its premise. Strip away Hailsham. Strip away cloning. Strip away the donations. What remains is recognizably human. We all live among people we will lose. We all experience periods of life without knowing, while we are living them, that they will one day become memory. A school. A room. A song. A friend you assume you will always know. Then time moves. The thing is over. And nobody announces the final moment while it is happening.

Kathy’s memories are painful because they are all she has left. But perhaps memories are all any of us have left eventually. You move forward, and the past becomes increasingly inaccessible. People disappear. Places change. The version of yourself who inhabited a particular moment ceases to exist, too. There are many deaths in a life before the body finally catches up.

This may sound excessively gloomy. It probably is. But Never Let Me Go does not leave me with despair exactly. I would not call it hopeful either. Hope is too easy a word to throw at a book like this. The novel leaves me with something more complicated: an awareness of the terrible value of ordinary life. The characters are not remarkable because they are destined for greatness. They are remarkable because they care about ordinary things. A cassette tape. A gesture. A memory of a field. A person sleeping beside them. The possibility of more time. Is that not enough?

Perhaps the novel’s deepest cruelty is that it makes you understand the preciousness of life through people who have been systematically denied the right to live one fully. Their tragedy illuminates your own good fortune, if that is what you should call it. You are not guaranteed anything either, but you are at least permitted the illusion that the future is open. Kathy and Tommy are not. And still they love. Still they hope. Still they try to imagine a little more time together.

I had misgivings about Never Let Me Go when I began it. I thought the story would not move me much. I nearly abandoned it in the first hundred pages. I spoiled the plot for myself because I was impatient and confused. Honestly, this was not my finest hour as a reader. But once I returned to it, the novel kept me turning the pages. The storytelling is patient and deliberate, and Ishiguro’s writing is wonderfully smooth. Of the two Ishiguro novels I have read, this is the one that reached me. The Remains of the Day made me admire Ishiguro. Never Let Me Go made me feel him. And feeling, I suppose, is the more dangerous thing. By the end, I wept.

Then, apparently deciding that I had not suffered enough, I went ahead and watched the 2010 film adaptation. And I wept some more.

Perhaps watching the film immediately after finishing the novel was not the wisest decision. I had barely recovered from the book, if “recovered” is even the appropriate word, before willingly subjecting myself to the same story all over again. There is something different about seeing those goodbyes made visible, about watching Kathy, Tommy, and Ruth embodied rather than merely imagined. The film could not replace the novel, nor should it. Ishiguro’s voice, Kathy’s digressive memories, that gradual accumulation of dread, these belong especially to the book. But the film gave the tragedy another form, and I was apparently susceptible to that too.

So there I was, devastated by the novel, and then devastated again by the adaptation. I really should learn to leave well enough alone.

But perhaps that second round of tears confirmed something for me. The story was not merely effective because Ishiguro had surprised me, and certainly not because I did not know the plot. I knew exactly what was going to happen by then. I had read it. I had watched the characters walk toward the inevitable. The inevitability remained inevitable. And it still hurt.

Not because Ishiguro tricks you into sadness. Not because the novel manipulates you with cheap tragedy. I wept because I had come to care about these people, their ridiculous little jealousies, their memories, their failed timing, their affection for one another. I wept because they had to say goodbye.

Because ultimately Never Let Me Go is a novel about letting go, about goodbyes. The goodbye to childhood. The goodbye to friendship as it once was. The goodbye to the person one loves. The goodbye to the fantasy that there will always be more time. And finally, the last goodbye, the one waiting for everyone.

Ishiguro gives his characters a world in which death is scheduled and unavoidable, then asks you to watch what they do with the little life allowed to them. The answer is almost unbearably simple. They live it. They love badly and well. They remember. They lose one another. They say goodbye. And apparently, no matter how stoic I fancy myself, that is still enough to break me.

https://www.europesays.com/uk/1164787/ Is this America’s Jason Arday? The Black novelist, Jerry Falade, in an AI scandal #AI #arrival #ArtMuseum #ArtificialIntelligence #ArtsCultureAndEntertainment #Attending #BookerPrize #Celebrities #CentralLondon #Ceremony #ColorImage #England #Headshot #KazuoIshiguro #LiteraryAward #Literature #London(England) #LookingAtCamera #OnePerson #People #Photography #Portrait #RedCarpetEvent #TateModern #Technology #UK #UnitedKingdom #vertical

Klara and the Sun (2026) – Official Trailer #2

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https://www.europesays.com/se/313392/ Så botar du ensamheten i sommar med kultur #BonniersKonsthall #Entertainment #KazuoIshiguro #SE #Svenska #Sverige #Sweden #Swedish #teater #TvSerier #Underhållning

@chadkoh
He's SUCH an excellent writer!! Our bookclub just did The Remains of the Day, which I hadn't read. Everyone in the group was so impressed with and interested in, a book that was just about a few days in the life of a butler. Seemingly such a boring topic, but written about so well. I've read several of his books, and they are always intriguing.
#AmReading
#KazuoIshiguro

Fantapolemiche del weekend

https://leargenteetesteduovo.com/2026/06/30/fantapolemiche-del-weekend/

https://www.europesays.com/es/626979/ ‘Pálida luz en las colinas’: el trauma de la guerra y el desarraigo de la memoria | Cine: estrenos y críticas #actores #actrices #Cine #CineAutor #CríticaCine #Cultura #DirectoresCine #Entertainment #Entretenimiento #ES #España #Film #japón #KazuoIshiguro #Movies #Nagasaki #Películas #Spain #YasujiroOzu

ICYMI: Klara And The Sun: The Tale Of A Robot And Her Favorite Celestial Body https://popgeeks.com/klara-and-the-sun-the-tale-of-a-robot-and-her-favorite-celestial-body/?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=mastodon #KlaraAndTheSun #KazuoIshiguro #RobotMovies #DystopianFiction #ColumbiaPictures

A trailer for Klara and the Sun, a film by Taika Waititi, based on the novel by Kazuo Ishiguro

https://disassociated.com/trailer-klara-and-the-sun-film-taika-waititi-based-novel-kazuo-ishiguro/

Mit „Klara und die Sonne“ wird ein dritter Roman des Literatur-Nobelpreisträgers Kazuo Ishiguro verfilmt – mit Jenna Ortega als Roboter-Mädchen. Auch der Sohn eines Oscar-Gewinners gehört zum Cast. #sfcd #klaraunddiesonne #jennaortega #sciencefiction #roboter #nobelpreis #KazuoIshiguro

Buchverfilmung: Jenna Ortega s...

Mit „Klara und die Sonne“ wird ein dritter Roman des Literatur-Nobelpreisträgers Kazuo Ishiguro verfilmt – mit Jenna Ortega als Roboter-Mädchen. Auch der Sohn eines Oscar-Gewinners gehört zum Cast. #sfcd #klaraunddiesonne #jennaortega #sciencefiction #roboter #nobelpreis #KazuoIshiguro

Buchverfilmung: Jenna Ortega s...

Taika Waititi’s adaptation of Klara and the Sun gets a trailer. Watch it here https://bit.ly/4uPgMDm

#KlaraandtheSun #film #book #JennaOrtega #TaikaWaititi #scifi #KazuoIshiguro

‘Klara And The Sun’ Trailer: Meet Jenna Ortega’s Artificial Friend

Sony 3000 Pictures and Spyglass Media have released the official trailer for the upcoming film adaptation of Kazuo…
#NewsBeep #News #Movies #AmyAdams #AU #Australia #Entertainment #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #Klaraandthesun #TaikaWaititi
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/753914/

Klara And The Sun: The Tale Of A Robot And Her Favorite Celestial Body https://popgeeks.com/klara-and-the-sun-the-tale-of-a-robot-and-her-favorite-celestial-body/?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=mastodon #KlaraAndTheSun #KazuoIshiguro #RobotMovies #ScienceFiction #DystopianFiction

https://www.europesays.com/ie/548773/ Klara and the Sun Trailer: Jenna Ortega, Amy Adams Star in Robot Movie #AmyAdams #DavidHeyman #Éire #Entertainment #IE #Ireland #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #KlaraAndTheSun #Movies #NatashaLyonne #Sony #SteveBuscemi #TaikaWaititi #trailer

Jenna Ortega Is a Robot Seeking a Friend in Taika Waititi’s ‘Klara and the Sun’ Trailer
#MovieNews #Movies #AmyAdams #DavidHeyman #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #KlaraandtheSun #NatashaLyonne #Sony #SteveBuscemi #TaikaWaititi #Trailer

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/klara-and-the-sun-trailer-jenna-ortega-amy-adams-waititi-1236627419/

Meet Jenna Ortega’s Artificial Friend In Taika Waititi’s ‘Klara and the Sun’ Trailer
#Books #News #Trailers #AmyAdams #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #Klaraandthesun #TaikaWaititi

https://deadline.com/2026/06/klara-and-the-sun-trailer-jenna-ortega-amy-adams-1236964146/

https://www.europesays.com/si/134821/ Novi roman nobelovca Kazua Ishigura bo “očarljiva dogodivščina” iz časa med obema vojnama #Entertainment #KazuoIshiguro #MissLambertStepsAboardDanger #SI #Slovene #Slovenia #Slovenija #Slovenščina #SodobniRoman #Zabava

https://www.europesays.com/hu/143427/ Ilyen lesz Jenna Ortega várva várt robotos sci-fije, a Klara és a Nap #adaptáció #Celebrities #Entertainment #Hírességek #HU #Hungarian #Hungary #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #KlaraésANap #Magyar #Magyarország #mozi #SciFi #Szórakozás #TaikaWaititi

Kazuo Ishiguro announces 1930s spy caper to be published next year https://www.theguardian.com/books/2026/jun/16/kazuo-ishiguro-new-1930s-spy-caper-novel #Books #KazuoIshiguro #Fiction #Culture

Kore-eda’s ‘Sheep in the Box,’ Hirose Suzu Lead Japan Cuts 2026 Lineup

Japan Cuts 2026 has unveiled its full lineup for the 19th edition of North America’s largest Japanese film festival, with Ishikawa Kei’s “A Pale View of Hills” – an adaptation of Nobel Prize laureate Kazuo Ishiguro‘s debut novel – serving …
#Japan #JP #JapanNews #JapanCuts #KazuoIshiguro #Kore-edaHirokazu #news #SheepintheBox
https://www.alojapan.com/1493945/kore-edas-sheep-in-the-box-hirose-suzu-lead-japan-cuts-2026-lineup/

https://www.alojapan.com/1493945/kore-edas-sheep-in-the-box-hirose-suzu-lead-japan-cuts-2026-lineup/ Kore-eda’s ‘Sheep in the Box,’ Hirose Suzu Lead Japan Cuts 2026 Lineup #Japan #JapanCuts #JapanNews #KazuoIshiguro #KoreEdaHirokazu #news #SheepInTheBox Japan Cuts 2026 has unveiled its full lineup for the 19th edition of North America’s largest Japanese film festival, with Ishikawa Kei’s “A Pale View of Hills” – an adaptation of Nobel Prize laureate Kazuo Ishiguro‘s debut novel – serving as centerpiece and Kore-eda Hirokazu

Kore-eda’s ‘Sheep in the Box,’ Hirose Suzu Lead Japan Cuts 2026 Lineup (EXCLUSIVE)
#Variety #Asia #Festivals #Global #News #JapanCuts #KazuoIshiguro #KoreedaHirokazu #SheepintheBox

https://variety.com/2026/film/news/kore-eda-sheep-in-the-box-hirose-suzu-japan-cuts-2026-1236765584/

Looking at Ourselves Through Klara and the Sun

Recently I read Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was not an easy read for me. The story unfolds slowly and thoughtfully, and at times I found myself pausing to reflect on what was happening beneath the surface. Yet the book opened up new ideas that connect directly to something I have been thinking about lately. How humanity is beginning to face the reality of artificial intelligence and the many technologies that will continue to emerge in the years ahead.

Much of today’s conversation about AI is filled with fear. People speak as though artificial intelligence is some outside force that is overtaking humanity. We hear phrases such as “AI is taking our jobs” or “AI is taking over our lives.” But this way of thinking overlooks something fundamental.

Artificial intelligence is not an invading presence. It is something we are creating ourselves. Every advance in robotics, machine learning, and intelligent systems comes from human curiosity and human ingenuity. Whether we celebrate it or criticize it, these technologies are part of the long story of human invention. This is why Klara and the Sun feels so prescient. Ishiguro is not really writing about machines. He is writing about how humans respond to what they create.

Klara, the Artificial Friend at the centre of the novel, observes the world with patience, loyalty, and a kind of hopeful devotion. She studies human behaviour carefully, noticing kindness and contradiction alike. Yet the society she lives in treats Artificial Friends as temporary objects, devices that will eventually be replaced by something newer.

That idea brought to mind a striking image of car junkyards we see scattered across the landscape. Rows upon rows of machines that once represented innovation and pride now sit quietly rusting. Each car once carried people to work, to family gatherings, to journeys and memories. Yet in time it becomes simply another object discarded when something more modern arrives. Human beings are remarkably creative, but we also have a long history of throwing things away when they are no longer useful to us.

Reading this novel left me feeling something unexpected: a sense of sadness, and even shame, about how easily humanity may treat its own creations as disposable. And perhaps that feeling goes beyond technology. When we look honestly at the world around us, we can see similar patterns in other areas of human life. Too often people are pushed aside when they are no longer productive. Animals are treated as resources rather than living creatures. The natural world itself is frequently used without careful thought for what will remain afterward.

Klara and the Sun quietly suggests that the future of artificial intelligence will reveal less about machines and more about ourselves. Our choices, our values, and our willingness to take responsibility for what we bring into the world will shape that future. Instead of asking what technology will do to us, perhaps we should ask a more difficult question: What will we do with what we have created?

For me, Klara and the Sun felt less like science fiction and more like a mirror held up to humanity. And it left me hoping that as new technologies arrive, we will meet them not with fear or blame, but with a deeper sense of responsibility, and perhaps even compassion, for the world we are shaping.

Rebecca

A Note from Rebecca’s Reading Room

From time to time the Reading Room grows quiet while I step away to travel and explore. Travel, for me, is simply another form of reading. The landscapes we walk through, the people we meet, and the quiet moments of observation often become part of the reflections I later share here.

While I am away, a post will appear as scheduled, but the comments will be closed until I return. This allows the Reading Room to remain a peaceful place while I gather new experiences and thoughts along the way. When I return, I look forward to opening the conversation again and sharing the reflections the journey has offered. Until then, may your days be filled with good books, quiet moments, and the small discoveries that remind us how wide and wonderful the world truly is.

Guillermo Del Toro Teases Kazuo Ishiguro Adaptation At BFI Career Talk

Guillermo del Toro was awarded a BFI Fellowship, the British Film Institute’s highest honor, earlier this week in…
#NewsBeep #News #Celebrities #BFI #BFIFellowship #CA #Canada #Entertainment #GuillermodelToro #KazuoIshiguro #TheBuriedGiant
https://www.newsbeep.com/ca/658112/

Guillermo Del Toro Teases Kazuo Ishiguro Adaptation At BFI Career Talk

Guillermo del Toro was awarded a BFI Fellowship, the British Film Institute’s highest honor, earlier this week in…
#NewsBeep #News #Celebrities #BFI #BFIFellowship #Entertainment #GuillermodelToro #KazuoIshiguro #TheBuriedGiant #UK #UnitedKingdom
https://www.newsbeep.com/uk/573904/

Guillermo Del Toro Teases His Adaptation Of Kazuo Ishiguro’s ‘The Buried Giant’ At BFI Career Talk: “A Fascinatingly Difficult Stop-Motion Movie For Adults”
#News #BFI #BFIFellowship #GuillermoDelToro #KazuoIshiguro #TheBuriedGiant

https://deadline.com/2026/05/guillermo-del-tor-kazuo-ishiguros-the-buried-giant-bfi-1236888463/

A Perfectly Polished Emptiness: Reading Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day

I picked up Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day without preamble, without the scaffolding of expectation, which in retrospect feels almost like the correct way to encounter a book so devoted to understatement. This is my first Kazuo Ishiguro, and I read him the way you listen at a door, not entirely sure what you’re meant to overhear. I finished it with a curious sense of having been gently, meticulously addressed and yet not quite stirred. Admiration, yes. But a kind of emotional stillness, too, as if the novel had ironed me flat rather than shaken me.

The premise is disarmingly plain: an aging English butler, Stevens, sets out on a motoring trip across the countryside and recounts, in the careful cadences of professional recollection, his years in service at Darlington Hall. It is not a plot-driven book. Things do not “happen” in the conventional sense. There are no revelations that crash through like a thunderstorm. And yet I kept waiting for one. I kept reading with a small, stubborn expectation that Stevens would eventually confess to something terrible, something truly horrific, that some moral catastrophe hidden beneath the polished silver of his memory would be brought, finally, into the light. That expectation became my private propulsion. I leaned forward page after page, waiting. But nothing like that arrives. Or rather, something arrives, but so softly that if you’re listening for thunder, you might miss the rain.

This is perhaps the first important adjustment the novel demands: that you learn to recognize significance in restraint. Ishiguro writes with an almost unnerving composure. The sentences are smooth, unhurried, precise. They do not strain for effect. They do not call attention to themselves as beautiful, which of course makes them beautiful. I read for the texture of the prose as much as for the story, maybe more. There is a quiet pleasure in the rhythm of Stevens’s voice, in the way he circles an idea, qualifies it, retreats slightly, then advances again with a mild correction. It is the language of a man trained to efface himself, and the style becomes, in a sense, the subject.

But Stevens himself. I could not quite care about him. Or perhaps I should say, I resisted caring about him. He is so composed, so committed to his conception of “dignity,” that he feels at times less like a person than like an instrument tuned to a single note. He is not unkind, not unintelligent, but he is profoundly limited by his own ideals. The novel asks you to sit with that limitation for a long time. Longer than I was willing to.

And yet, the longer I think about it, the more I suspect that my resistance is precisely the point. Stevens is not meant to charm in any easy way. He is meant to demonstrate the cost of a life lived in total devotion to a role. His reflections on dignity, on what it means to be a “great” butler, are almost philosophical in their seriousness. He believes, with a kind of austere faith, that true dignity lies in the complete subordination of the self to one’s professional duty. Personal feelings are distractions. Emotional entanglements are lapses. To serve perfectly is to disappear.

There is something admirable in this. There is also something quietly devastating.

Because as Stevens narrates his past, what emerges is not a dramatic scandal but a series of small, cumulative absences. Moments where he might have spoken and did not. Moments where he might have felt and chose not to recognize the feeling. His relationship with Miss Kenton, in particular, hovers in the background like a possibility that was never allowed to become real. Their exchanges are polite, often tender in an oblique way, but always constrained by Stevens’s refusal to step outside his role. He recalls these interactions with the same measured tone he uses for everything else, and it is in that very tone that the loss resides. He does not say, “I loved her and failed to act.” He says something much less direct, and much more revealing.

This is where the novel’s subtlety becomes its quiet force. Ishiguro trusts you to detect what Stevens cannot articulate. The narrative is full of these small disjunctions between what is said and what is meant, between the surface of the prose and the emotional reality it conceals. It is a book that requires a certain kind of attention, a willingness to read against the grain of the narrator’s own understanding.

Still, I cannot pretend that this always engaged me. There were stretches where I felt detached, where the carefulness of the prose, its refusal to dramatize, created a kind of emotional distance. I wanted, at times, for the book to risk more, to break its own composure. I wanted Stevens to crack open, even briefly, to allow something raw and unmediated to enter the narrative. But that would, of course, be a different novel. This one is committed to its restraint, almost to the point of austerity.

The historical backdrop, too, is handled in this understated way. Stevens’s former employer, Lord Darlington, is revealed, gradually, to have been involved in political sympathies that history has not judged kindly. There are hints of complicity, of misguided loyalties, of a certain naïveté or willful blindness. Again, I waited for a decisive reckoning, for Stevens to confront the moral implications of his service. What you get instead is something more ambiguous. Stevens defends his former employer with a kind of dogged loyalty, even as the evidence of Darlington’s errors accumulates. He insists on the integrity of his own role. He was a butler, not a political actor. His duty was to serve, not to judge.

This raises a question that the novel never resolves, and perhaps cannot resolve: what is the moral responsibility of those who serve power? Stevens’s answer is clear, but it is also, I think, insufficient. The novel does not argue with him directly. It simply allows his perspective to stand, with all its limitations, and leaves the reader to consider the cost of such a position.

I realize, writing this, that much of what the book offers is retrospective. While reading, I felt a certain lack. After reading, I find myself thinking about it more than I expected. The very things that made the experience feel muted in the moment — the absence of overt drama, the emotional restraint, the quietness of the revelations — have begun to take on a different weight. It is as if the novel withholds its full effect until one is no longer inside it.

There is also something to be said for the way Ishiguro captures a particular idea of England, one that is already slipping into the past. Stevens’s devotion is tied not only to his profession but to a whole social order, a hierarchy that gives his role its meaning. As that world changes, as Darlington Hall passes into new hands, Stevens is left with his memories and his ideals, both of which feel increasingly out of place. His journey through the countryside is not just a physical one. It is a movement through a landscape that no longer quite corresponds to his sense of himself.

Perhaps this is why the novel ends not with a revelation but with a kind of quiet adjustment. Stevens does not undergo a dramatic transformation. He does not suddenly see everything clearly and renounce his past. Instead, there is a small shift, a tentative acknowledgment that he might, even now, learn to engage in “banter,” to adopt a slightly more relaxed mode of being. It is almost comically modest as resolutions go. And yet, within the logic of the character, it is significant. It suggests the possibility, however limited, of change.

Did this move me? No. Not really, not in the way I tend to measure that word. I was not undone by the book. I did not feel that sharp, lingering ache that certain novels leave behind. What I felt instead was a kind of cool appreciation. A recognition of craft, of control, of a very deliberate aesthetic. The pleasure I took from it was largely at the level of the sentence, the paragraph, the slow accumulation of detail. It is a book I admired more than I loved.

And still, I hesitate to dismiss it. There is something almost stubbornly resistant about it, something that refuses to yield to easy judgments. It does not try to seduce you with drama or sentiment. It asks for patience, for attentiveness, for a willingness to sit with a voice that is, by design, constrained. That is not a small ask. It may not be a fair one, depending on what one comes to fiction for.

I think, too, about my own expectations. That quiet hope for a shocking revelation, for a hidden secret that would reframe everything. The novel denies that expectation, and in doing so, perhaps exposes something about the way I read. Not every story is structured around a twist, a moment of rupture. Some are built around the slow recognition that there is no such moment, that the truth of a life lies in its accumulated choices, its silences, its refusals.

If there is a tragedy here, it is not explosive. It is gradual, almost imperceptible. It is the tragedy of a man who has lived according to a set of principles that leave little room for personal fulfillment, and who only partially, and very late, perceives what has been lost. That is a quieter kind of sadness. It does not announce itself. It lingers at the edges.

Would I recommend it? Yes, but with a caveat. You have to meet it on its own terms. If you go in looking for plot, for intrigue, for emotional immediacy, you might come away, as I did, a little underwhelmed. But if you’re willing to attend to the subtleties, to the way the narrative voice reveals itself through what it avoids as much as through what it states, there is something here. Something precise and controlled and, in its own restrained way, affecting.

I suspect this will not be my last Ishiguro. Not because this book captivated me, exactly, but because it has made me curious about what else he does with this kind of storytelling. There is a discipline in his writing that I want to understand better, even if it keeps me at a distance.

Maybe that is the final impression: a book that stands slightly apart, composed, self-contained, inviting attention but not insisting on it. I hovered at that distance while reading. I am still there now, looking at it, thinking about it, not entirely sure what I feel, which is, in its own way, a kind of engagement.

If nothing else, it has reminded me that not all reading experiences are meant to overwhelm. Some are meant to be considered. Slowly, quietly, with a certain amount of patience.

I finished #NeverLetMeGo by #KazuoIshiguro this morning, and honestly have been thinking about it all day.

The strangest thing, is that I'm usually able and willing to understand how I feel about a book, but I just don't know with this one. I can't say I really _enjoyed_ it, but then I'm glad I read it. It could have ended differently, but then that wouldn't make it better, or even more satisfying.

As ever, when something puts a splinter in your mind, that's probably a good thing.
#bookstodon

https://www.europesays.com/ie/434456/ Jenna Ortega, Amy Adams Lead Waititi Movie #AmyAdams #CinemaCon #Éire #Entertainment #IE #Ireland #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #Movies #NatashaLyonne #SonyPictures #TaikaWaititi

Jenna Ortega, Amy Adams Lead Waititi Movie

Sony Pictures helped brighten up CinemaCon with the first look at Klara and the Sun. Jenna Ortega and…
#NewsBeep #News #Movies #AmyAdams #AU #Australia #CinemaCon #Entertainment #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #NatashaLyonne #SonyPictures #TaikaWaititi
https://www.newsbeep.com/au/605889/

Jenna Ortega’s ‘Klara and the Sun’ Gets Release Date and Emotional First Trailer
#MovieNews #Movies #AmyAdams #CinemaCon #JennaOrtega #KazuoIshiguro #NatashaLyonne #SonyPictures #TaikaWaititi

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/klara-and-the-sun-trailer-jenna-ortega-amy-adams-release-1236563376/

25 Modern Classics That’ll Actually Wreck You (In the Best Way)

https://findsbydavidblog.wordpress.com/2026/03/30/25-modern-classics-thatll-actually-wreck-you-in-the-best-way/

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝑵𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒔 - 𝑼𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂’𝒔 𝑺𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔: 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒌 & 𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐 -

The “Hideous Bargain” moves from metaphor to the operating table.

https://waywordsstudio.com/podcasts/waywords_podcast/utopias-spare-parts-star-trek-ishiguro/

#podcast #literature #books #bookworm #book #read #readreadread #bookpodcast #literarylovers #bookboost #booklover #bookclub #necropolitics #bioeconomy #clinicallabor #organharvesting #startrek #startrekstrangenewworlds #liftuswheresufferingcannotreach #kazuoishiguro #neverletmego

Thousands of authors publish ‘empty’ book in protest over AI using their work https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2026/mar/10/thousands-authors-publish-empty-book-protest-ai-work-copyright #AiArtificialIntelligence #Books #Culture #IntellectualProperty #KazuoIshiguro #PhilippaGregory #RichardOsman #MarianKeyes #DavidOlusoga #MalorieBlackman #Law #Computing #Technology #UkNews

Haruki Murakami honored with awards and a jazzy tribute in New York https://www.byteseu.com/1628239/ #CarolineKennedy #Entertainment #HarukiMurakami #JasonMoran #JoshuaWalker #KazuoIshiguro #PattiSmith #ReggieWorkman #RolandNozomuKelts

Anime may have dominated the charts in 2025, but the real surprise was a kabuki drama that shot to No. 1 and stayed there for weeks. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/2025/12/04/film/demon-slayer-infinity-castle-kokuho-festivals/?utm_medium=Social&utm_source=mastodon #culture #film #japanesefilm #2025inreview #kokuho #demonslayer #anime #chiehayakawa #kazuoishiguro #keiishikawa #shomiyake #tatsuyanakadai

Kei Ishikawa On Adapting Kazuo Ishiguro’s ‘A Pale View Of Hills’
#News #APaleViewofHills #BreakingNews #Japan #KazuoIshiguro #KeiIshikawa

https://deadline.com/2025/11/kazuo-ishiguro-japan-a-pale-view-of-hills-kei-ishikawa-adaptation-1236629441/

"Was vom Tage übrig blieb"

(engl. Originaltitel: The Remains of the Day) ist ein Roman des britischen Schriftstellers und Literatur-Nobelpreisträgers #KazuoIshiguro aus dem Jahre 1989 in der deutschen Übersetzung von Hermann Stiehl, für den #Ishiguro noch im Jahr der Erstveröffentlichung mit dem Booker Prize ausgezeichnet wurde. 2015 wählten 82 internationale Literaturkritiker und -wissenschaftler The Remains of the Day zu einem der bedeutendsten britischen Romane.
https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Was_vom_Tage_%C3%BCbrigblieb?wprov=sfla1
Schlecht einzuordnen, gut zu lesen. Viel #Politik
#Buch #Bücher #Lesen #Hören #horbuch #Klassiker

Je viens de finir Klara et le soleil de #KazuoIshiguro, qui m'a plu autant (= beaucoup) et de la même façon que "Auprès de moi toujours". Je ne connais pas les autres textes de l'auteur mais dans ces 2 romans orientés #sciencefiction il y a un style et une idée communs: prendre le point de vue d'un être non ordinaire et tenir ce point de vue jusqu'au bout, sans tunnel explicatif. Il me semble que c'était plus audacieusement mené dans "Auprès de moi toujours"; dans "Klara et le soleil", quelques moments avec des humains ordinaires sont traités manifestement de façon à clarifier les identités.

Director Kei Ishikawa brings the Nobel Prize-winning author’s novel to the screen as a haunting meditation on memory, loss and elusive truths. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/2025/09/04/film/a-pale-view-of-hills/?utm_medium=Social&utm_source=mastodon #culture #film #japanesefilm #suzuhirose #keiishikawa #kazuoishiguro #yoyoshida #fuminikaido

Director Kei Ishikawa felt strongly that he needed to make the film while some members of Japan's World War II generation were still alive to share their stories. https://www.japantimes.co.jp/culture/2025/05/21/film/pale-view-of-hills-cannes-kazuo-ishiguro/?utm_medium=Social&utm_source=mastodon #culture #film #kazuoishiguro #keiishikawa #cannesfilmfestival #cannes #japanesefilm

‘A Pale View of Hills’ Review: An Overly Cautious Adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro’s Haunting Novel
#MovieReviews #Movies #Cannes #Cannes2025 #KazuoIshiguro #UnCertainRegard

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-reviews/a-pale-view-of-hills-review-ishiguro-1236219000/

‘I had a chance to pass my mum’s story on’: Kazuo Ishiguro on growing up in shadow of the Nagasaki bomb https://www.theguardian.com/film/2025/may/12/kazuo-ishiguro-interview-a-pale-view-of-hills-nagasaki-nobel #Cannesfilmfestival #Filmadaptations #KazuoIshiguro #AsiaPacific #Culture #Books #Japan #Film

‘Meta has stolen books’: authors to protest in London against AI trained using ‘shadow library’ https://www.theguardian.com/books/2025/apr/03/meta-has-stolen-books-authors-to-protest-in-london-against-ai-trained-using-shadow-library #Artificialintelligence(AI) #TracyChevalier #KazuoIshiguro #RichardOsman #DaljitNagra #ValMcDermid #Technology #Computing #KateMosse #Culture #Books #Meta

Authors call for UK government to hold Meta accountable for copyright infringement https://www.theguardian.com/books/2025/mar/31/authors-call-for-uk-government-to-hold-meta-accountable-for-copyright-infringement #Artificialintelligence(AI) #KazuoIshiguro #RichardOsman #PaulaHawkins #JoanneHarris #ValMcDermid #SarahWaters #Technology #Computing #KateMosse #Culture #Books #Meta

A #book can sit on your #TBR shelf for less than a year or more than a decade (I have both cases). This book was sitting there and I wasn't planning on picking it up this soon, but I've heard it is going to be adapted to #cinema, so I decided to read it now, before it happens.

#KlaraAndTheSun by #KazuoIshiguro

#scifi #bookstodon #FridayReads