Little Eyes is a creepy book of stories about people who purchase kentukis, electronic surveillance pets dressed as furry animals, and other people who purchase connections to those kentukis and “dwell” within them.

There are many perspectives from many diverse areas of the world - elderly people enjoying the virtual company, kentuki liberationists who set the pets free, a child living in a warm region vicariously experiencing snow through a kentuki’s eyes and an avant-garde artist who treats the whole thing as a giant art installation.

The book was definitely well written and interesting as a thought experiment, but at the end of the book I still couldn’t work out why people would pay to keep or dwell in these expensive electronic creatures that seemed to be very prone to running out of charge or getting damaged and dying. So, a thought provoking read, but ultimately slightly unfulfilling for me.

Thanks to the author, publisher and NetGalley for providing a review copy in exchange for honest feedback.

This is a book with many perspectives and quite addictive. I found it unsettling, creepy and unusual to read. Liked Emily a lot and it's really an interesting book overall.

Thanks a lot to NG and the publisher for this copy.

Argentinian author Samanta Schweblin is often lauded as one of the best contemporary authors of literary horror. I confess that I have neither read Fever Dream nor her short-story collection Mouthful of Birds. So I was excited at the opportunity of reviewing her latest novel – Little Eyes, particularly after Megan McDowell’s English translation made it to the longlist of the Man Booker International Prize.

Little Eyes is the literary equivalent of a musical “concept album” whose different songs are linked by a one overarching subject. In this case, the “concept” is that of the “kentukis”. (Incidentally, “Kentukis” is the title of the original, Spanish-language version of the novel).

Schweblin describes kentukis as small soft-toy-like robots which move on wheels, quite similar to the ‘interactive pets’ which actually exist and are popular with younger children. The fictional “kentukis”, however, have a defining characteristic – they are remotely operated by anonymous, untraceable users or “dwellers” who connect to and control the robots via an internet connection. Cameras installed in the gadget’s “little eyes” allow the dwellers to watch the kentuki’s surroundings. Buying a kentuki, therefore, is tantamount to letting a stranger into your home, whilst buying a connection literally provides you with an insight into a different life.

As the book progresses, we learn more about the way the robots operate. It’s immediately evident, for instance, that the gadgets cannot speak and can only make ‘pet noises’. Their batteries need to be charged regularly, and they are a single-use product – if the battery falls flat, or if the “dweller” unilaterally decides to terminate the connection, a kentuki will no longer work and its owner or “keeper” can do nothing to revive it.

Schweblin’s novel is made up of several distinct stories, all of which feature a keeper, a dweller or both. Some of the stories consist of a self-contained chapter. Others are spread out over several recurring chapters: an old woman in Lima who becomes the dweller of a kentuki in Erfurt and develops maternal, protective feelings towards the robot’s owner; an Italian man buys a kentuki for his son at the insistence of his ex-wife, with sinister consequences; a young boy in Antigua discovers that he is controlling a kentuki in Norway and dreams of “virtually” touching the snow. There are other tales which range from the scary, to the harrowing, to the unexpectedly moving. Indeed, the premise of the book presents several interesting possibilities. It also feels very plausible – the technology allowing such gadgets does exist and we are already used to the idea of social media making “exhibitionists” of some whilst turning others into “voyeurs”.

The book is engrossing, the translation by Megan McDowell smooth and highly readable. And yet, this novel didn’t fully satisfy me. Perhaps the problem is that it starts with one of its strongest chapters. Three teenage girls strip for their kentuki, then try to make it communicate with them by asking it to trace out words on the letters of a Ouija board. They realise to their dismay that the anonymous ‘dweller’ of their innocent-looking pet is a pervert and a blackmailer. In a few hard-hitting pages Schweblin creates an atmosphere of fear and unease. The contrast between the Ouija board (suggesting traditional supernatural horror) and the kentuki (a state-of-the-art technological device) is brilliant, implying that conventional horror tropes will be given a contemporary twist. This chilling start creates expectations that are never fully realised. The different stories, interesting as they are, reach their endings without really gelling with each other. I certainly enjoyed the ride, but anticipated a more impressive destination.

As the book progresses, we learn more about the way the robots operate. It’s immediately evident, for instance, that the gadgets cannot speak and can only make ‘pet noises’. Their batteries need to be charged regularly, and they are a single-use product – if the battery falls flat, or if the “dweller” unilaterally decides to terminate the connection, the kentuki will no longer work.

Schweblin’s novel is made up of several distinct stories, all of which feature a keeper, a dweller or both. Some of the stories consist of a self-contained chapter. Others are developed over several chapters: an old woman in Lima who becomes the dweller of a kentuki in Erfurt and develops maternal, protective feelings towards the robot’s owner; an Italian man buys a kentuki for his son at the insistence of his ex-wife, with sinister consequences; a young boy in Antigua discovers that he is controlling a kentuki in Norway and dreams of “virtually” touching the snow. There are other tales which range from the scary, to the harrowing, to the unexpectedly moving. Indeed, the premise of the book presents several interesting possibilities. It also feels very plausible – the technology allowing such gadgets does exist and we are already used to the idea of social media making “exhibitionists” of some whilst turning others into “voyeurs”.

The book is engrossing, the translation by Megan McDowell smooth and highly readable. And yet, this novel didn’t fully satisfy me. Perhaps the problem is that it starts with one of its strongest chapters. Three teenage girls strip for their kentuki, then try to make it communicate with them by asking it to trace out words on the letters of a Ouija board. They realise to their dismay that the anonymous ‘dweller’ of their innocent-looking pet is a pervert and a blackmailer. In a few hard-hitting pages Schweblin creates an atmosphere of fear and unease. The contrast between the Ouija board (suggesting traditional supernatural horror) and the kentuki (a state-of-the-art technological device) is brilliant, implying that conventional horror tropes will be given a contemporary twist. This chilling start creates expectations that are never fully realised. The different stories, interesting as they are, reach their endings without really gelling with each other. I certainly enjoyed the ride, but hope for a more impressive destination.

'If being anonymous online was the maximum freedom for any user - and, what's more, almost impossible - how would it feel, then, to be an anonymous actor in someone else's life?'

Get yourself a kentuki, a cute animal-shaped robot that will follow you around and basically be your pet. Thing is, they are remotely controlled by a 'dweller', someone online who you don't know, and with a camera behind its eyes your furry 'friend' might be something more sinister....

In our modern age of 5G and inter-connectivity this isn't so much sci-fi as sci-fact, and lays the basis for an intriguing novel from Argentinian-born Samanta Schweblin (also now longlisted for the Booker International). In a series of inter-connected chapters that criss-cross the globe we see a wide cast of characters who choose to be either a 'keeper' or a 'dweller', each with their own reasons for their choice. The novel poses some very deep questions about how we see ourselves, and how we want others to see us; about how we are all somehow connected, even if we live on different continents; and about how the lines between reality, virtual reality and our online presence are becoming ever more eroded.

As the book progresses we see characters who use the kentuki as a means to communicate with the individual at the other end, or use it to experience things that they may otherwise not be able to do. As unease grows with some of those involved, there are those who want to liberate the kentukis, and those who, literally, want to smash them to pieces or bury them in the garden. Whilst the ideas behind the book seem to grab the headlines this is, above all, a book about the characters involved, and it draws you in as you start to care for them. It is, ultimately, why the book seems to abruptly stop and leaves the whole question about the ethics of this new technology dangling - which may have been Schweblin's intention.

There are some fundamental questions at play here, and those characters who are more fleshed-out do draw the sympathy of the reader. It is well-written and weaves an interesting story but overall it just felt a little underwhelming. It could have had a stronger message. So, 3.5 stars.

(With thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for an ARC of this title.)

A very odd story. A furry device that lets the controller see what is going on with the owners of the device. I found the plot quite strange and didn't fully understand why you would buy one of these odd devices so that someone can spy on you! Some of it was interesting though as we see how such a device can connect people, but also how it can be a bad thing. If you want an original story very different from other books, you should give this one a go. Thanks to the publisher and NetGalley for providing a copy of the book.

Fascinating and unsettlingly plausible, I couldn't put "Little Eyes" down. I enjoyed the many different perspectives and particularly loved Emilia and wee Marvin. Samanta Schweblin has created a creepy yet compulsive read.

There's a bold concept at the heart of this book: kentukis are furry surveillance devices that randomly connect the owner with someone somewhere who controls the device, sees through its eyes, and hears what the owner says, though it can't speak back (why not?). It's a shame, then, that such a suggestive scenario doesn't go beyond the easily expected. Like internet devices everywhere, kentukis allow some people to make connections, enable fraud, bullying and sexploitation - all things we're familiar with even if not dressed up in a cute, furry way.

The concerns about interacting with and through technology, privacy, and surveillance are up-to-the minute but the treatment merely skims the surface. We don't even really know why anyone would buy an expensive device that costs $279 when its only function is to let a random stranger from anywhere in the world have eyes and ears in one's home: puzzling, and a limitation that the book doesn't really tackle this as it made me resistant to the set-up.

So great concept but it doesn't really go anywhere - I wanted, and expected, so much more than I got. How great is that cover, though?