Klara—the AF narrator and protagonist of the novel—writes with uninflected, unemotional poise. Her simple sentences carefully appraise her own emotions while breaking down the world into similarly simple pieces. With her balanced, clinical narration, no personal feeling and no detail seems too trivial for her observant eye. She captures the slant of shadows along the chair in Mr. McBain’s farm, the reflections in the RPO building, and even the appearance of Rick’s house:
The walls had been constructed from carefully overlapping boards which had all been painted a near-white. The house itself was three separate boxes that connected into a single complex shape.
This understated, literal precision comes off alternately as impersonal and innocently wholesome. Klara’s linguistic simplicity enables her to pinpoint every emotion in a way that seems at once limiting and childishly earnest. She admits her “sadness” at the sight of the Beggar Man lying on the street, that she is “happy” upon hearing the Manager’s praise, and nothing more. She impartially evaluates herself in the same way she takes note of her surroundings, with minimal vocabulary and even less elaboration. This narrative treatment allows for a double reading. On the one hand, the simplicity of her narration emphasizes Klara’s un-humanness—the novel seems to measure the distance between the AF and human through this failure to articulate emotion. The reverse, though, is a sincerity that comes through in her actions and words. The absence of figurative language translates into an earnestness that moves the reader. Klara means what she says, praying to the Sun for Josie’s recovery and sacrificing herself in the attempt to save her owner. The same neutral prose that might alienate the reader ends up affirming something special, and perhaps even human, within Klara herself.