I take it back

Never Let Me Go by Ishiguro Kazuo (author of The Remains of the Day) isn't that good. In fact, now that I've finished it, even though I'm relieved it's over, I'm sorry I didn't stop reading it earlier. A great great story lie somewhere under the vapour, but I couldn't find it. I hate seeing all that potential go to waste. The story mainly follows the lives of three kids, Kathy, Ruth and Tommy, starting from their early years at an exclusive school called Hailsham where they studied nothing but art and poetry and music and theatre and literature. In England, of course. There they studied art, played sports and lived together in prep-school styled dormitories. No mention of parents, ever. The teachers were called Guardians, and the kids never went to the outside world of Hailsham, instead the outside world came to them. After they "graduated" Hailsham, they went to The Cottages, which were like dorms without college. Cabins in the country where other graduates of other similar schools lived and lounged about. All they did was hang out there at the Cottages for years, until they were ready for "carer training", when they would learn about the next phase of their lives. That being, to care for donors. Donors, never referred to as anything else, were clones grown specifically to serve their "possibles" (sic), the folks they were cloned from. Unknowingly, though they get clues all the time and progressively throughout the story, Kathy Ruth and Tommy will become donors when they are called. After two three or sometimes four donations, the donors are said to "complete"--or die. Though neither the word death or die are used in the book. I thought there would be something far more interesting in a story like that--something profound--but it turns out to be silly, predictable, and tiresome. All this is taking place in what seems like the 60's or 70's or 80's I don't know, and there is never mention of such detail that might clarify the time period. Sigh...I don't even have the energy to say how disappointed I am now. Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake was much more satisfying. What now?