Let’s Stop With The Cloning Around
STOP: SPOILER ALERTS for the following
Never Let Me Go
The Island
Moon
I, Robot
Oblivion
Frankenstein
Robocop
“Four legs real, fake legs baaaad.” image: nature.comWhat is this fascination with the humanity aspect of clones or artificial intelligence? Why do we want to inject a soul into something man has created? Or a more defined question is: why do we explore whether man-made creations have a soul?
Is it guilt? Afterall, creation is best handled by the Creator, the One who has the Master Plan. That statement could incite a whole firestorm of commentary in itself, which is fine, but I’m really after the literary and even film aspect of cloning/artificial intelligence.
For instance, having just finished Never Let Me Go by Ishiguro, I began thinking about other cloning works: The Island,Moon, Oblivion, and while there are other aspects attached to these films, the main takeaway: “cheated.” The clones are cheated because even though they look human, act human, they are not, which becomes a matter of concern because there is an investment of empathy for these characters, yet part of me says “Wait! They aren’t real.” I feel cheated because I am tricked (seemingly) into believing and caring about something I inherently don’t subscribe to: cloning.
Have you ever tasted imitation crab? Once–thank you very much. Looks like (mostly), tastes like it (kind of), smells like (a bit), same texture (not really). After being duped into eating it I came away with the same feeling: cheated.
Duplicating sheep, crab, humans–it’s not the same, and can never be. I believe in science; I do not subscribe to Luddite philosophies, but there are moral boundaries and these boundaries keep reappearing in novels and films as guilt and even revulsion. Why?
I think we try to justify the curiosity to recreate human life through the compassion for the Creature, as in the case of Frankenstein. The Wretch had initial goodness until it met up with repeated rejection. However, Shelley pointed out the disastrous results of man attempting to recreate man.
We root for Tom Cruise (Oblivion) and Sam Rockwell (Moon) as clones, only because we thought they were human. Upon realization they were clones I immediately reneged my emotional investment–I had been cheated, someone had switched in that imitation crab.
I have no problem with robots though. The A.I. component works for me. I liked R2D2, who didn’t? And Sonny, from I, Robot? A charmer. They were machines with heart; they did not have a soul. Machines are machines. On the other hand, that fuzzy line is not so warm and fuzzy when it comes to cloning: Humans with no soul? Are these simply sophisticated machines with feelings?
Which brings me to my latest Ishiguro read, Never Let Me Go. Having heard raves about it, and having read two other of his novels, I looked forward to this particular one. Ishiguro’s style of unreliable first person narrative and undercurrent, deceptively complex plot is very much evident. It wasn’t until about halfway through I realized I’d been cheated. Here I thought Ruth, Kathy, and Tommy were victims of a cruel government experiment, only to discover (oh so subtly) they are clones. Dissapointment. I finished the novel, although I felt a detached flatness. No joy in that one. I did feel a resonance with Robocop, but then has man trapped in a machine. And even though he was mostly machine I rooted for him because people I can relate to–fake crab, not.
Anyone else have thoughts on cloning in literature in regards to character empathy?














I must admit I am not a Cat in the Hat fan. He made me nervous and tense as a child with his edging towards the naughty side of spicing up a boring day, and as a grownup–he still makes me nervous. Nevertheless, how can I fault a cat that has championed the cause of reading?
Both impacted me differently. I think I cried when I read about the hardships of the animals as their love drove them on to find their owners. Any book that makes me cry is going to be notable. Truthfully, I don’t remember anything about Neville’s book except the title. It seemed odd to me that a teenage guy would turn to a cat for solace. Actually, that’s not too hard to believe since I dated a guy who owned four cats. I figured a man who owned four cats possessed understanding and compassion. (“Reader, I married him.”)
The Cheshire represents to me that cunning, sphinx-like knowing, but not telling aspect of cats. They blink and stare at you with their little paws tucked under them. They have secrets they aren’t sharing, that’s for sure. I imagine if they started talking to us they would be a little bit maddening in their logic, and perhaps a bit condenscending in tone. Last year I began a short story that’s growing into something larger, which is about a modern girl getting caught up into an Alice type world. I know, it’s been done. Remember, I love to write and now that I’m caught up into the story I have to keep going. I’m at the part where Alyce (yes, different spelling) has caught up with Chessy, a Cockney-speaking cat. We’ll see what happens.




