"Little Eyes" by Samanta Schweblin

Most people of my generation remember Furbies, though I never had one and honestly can't remember having friends who did. Little Eyes plays off the basic premise of Furbies with an essential twist: what if a real human was controlling the Furby--or, in the novel's case, a kentucki? What if one could pay to own a kentucki or could pay to be the one controlling the kentucki? The reader is immediately made to ask the question--which would you choose?

At first, it seems like it would be far better to be a controller operating the kentucki, as they can act anonymously and without real-world consequences. After all, a keeper (one who owns the kentucki) opens him/herself open to all sorts of invasions of privacy as well as safety risks. Who would want some unknown person watching them anonymously any hour of the day?

Though there are obvious risks associated with being a keeper, they're also fairly ordinary risks (theft, burglary, pornographic material), and Schweblin mostly avoids focusing on them. Instead, her primary target seems to be what happens when we reduce one human being to another human being's pet.

Keepers continue to act as ordinary humans, reacting with their new "pet" as much or as little as they want. Controllers are at their keepers' mercy for physical and human access while operating the kentucki. Keepers can speak and interact with the world, whereas kentuckis are given only indiscriminate animal squeaks and motorized wheels. Kentuckis can be physically and emotionally abused with little recourse beyond squeaking angrily and ramming against objects.

By their very nature, kentuckis encourage the dehumanization of another, and Schweblin depicts the insidious results, even among relationships that at first appear benign. There's elderly Emilia, enamored and protective of her younger keeper, Eva. There's Alina, bored while on residence with her artist boyfriend, who at first appears friendly to her mole kentucki. Or the father who initially rejects the kentucki bought by his ex-wife for their son but eventually warms to the "friendship."

The book is organized not as a single narrative, but rather a collection of short stories, with some individual stories broken up into "chapters" throughout the book. Schweblin, an Argentine writer, situates her keepers and controllers throughout the world, for a variety of perspectives.

Ultimately the novel was far more harrowing than I expected (particularly the conclusion to Alina's story) but also fascinating.