Tits, Tricks, and Terrors

In South Bend, three teenage girls—Robin, Katia, and Amy—experiment with their kentuki, a plush, camera-eyed robot controlled by a stranger. Their games, initially playful and sexual, quickly turn dark as the kentuki's operator reveals he's been recording and collecting blackmail material on them and their families. The girls' sense of control shatters, and Robin, the most vulnerable, is left alone with the device, terrified and powerless. The kentuki's relentless presence exposes the dangers of digital intimacy and the illusion of safety in private spaces, leaving Robin to confront her own complicity and the impossibility of turning the device off. The chapter sets the tone for the novel's exploration of surveillance, shame, and the loss of innocence in a hyperconnected world.

Across the World, Connected

Emilia, a lonely retiree in Lima, receives a kentuki connection from her son in Hong Kong. She becomes the "dweller" inside a bunny kentuki in a young woman's messy European apartment. Their initial interactions are awkward but tinged with curiosity and hope. Emilia, struggling with technology and isolation, finds unexpected joy in this new form of companionship, even as she remains uncertain about the rules and boundaries. The kentuki's ability to see but not speak creates a strange intimacy, blurring the lines between pet, voyeur, and friend. This chapter introduces the global reach of kentukis, the randomness of their connections, and the longing for connection that drives people to embrace such ambiguous relationships.

The Crow and the Artist

Alina, adrift in Oaxaca with her artist boyfriend Sven, buys a crow kentuki on a whim. She hopes the device will distract her from jealousy and existential boredom. As she waits for it to connect, she contemplates the power imbalance: the dweller can see everything, but she knows nothing about them. Alina resolves to treat the kentuki as a pet, refusing to communicate or ask questions, believing this will keep her safe. Yet, the device's silent gaze unsettles her, and she senses the trap of one-sided transparency. The crow becomes a symbol of her own vulnerability and the impossibility of true privacy, even in the most mundane moments.

Voyeurs and Keepers

In Antigua, Marvin, a lonely boy, becomes a kentuki dweller, hoping for adventure. He finds himself trapped in a shop window in a snowy town, unable to interact with the world beyond the glass. Meanwhile, in Umbertide, Enzo, a divorced father, keeps a mole kentuki for his son Luca, hoping it will help the boy's social integration. The device becomes a surrogate companion, but also a source of tension and misunderstanding. Both Marvin and Enzo grapple with the limitations and frustrations of their roles—one as a powerless observer, the other as a keeper trying to connect with both his son and the mysterious dweller. The chapter explores the emotional costs of mediated relationships and the yearning for genuine contact.

The Marketplace of Eyes

Grigor, in Zagreb, turns kentuki connections into a business, selling access to devices around the world. He meticulously manages dozens of tablets, tracking the lives of strangers for profit. The market for voyeurism grows, with buyers seeking specific experiences—poverty tourism, legal gray areas, or even criminal opportunities. Grigor's detachment is challenged when he stumbles upon a kidnapping in Brazil, forcing him to confront the ethical implications of his trade. The commodification of intimacy and the ease of exploitation reveal the dark underbelly of the kentuki phenomenon, where every boundary can be bought, sold, or crossed.

The Old and the Lonely

At a Barcelona nursing home, administrators introduce kentukis as companions for residents. The experiment quickly falters: one device disconnects, the other is destroyed in a panic. The elderly, already vulnerable, become objects of scrutiny and pity, their dignity further eroded by the presence of anonymous watchers. The chapter highlights the generational divide in attitudes toward technology and the ways in which loneliness can be both alleviated and exacerbated by artificial intimacy. The kentuki's failure to provide real comfort underscores the limits of technological solutions to human needs.

Games of Power and Play

Across various households, kentukis become tools for manipulation and control. Children torment their devices, adults use them for surveillance or sexual gratification, and some dwellers rebel, seeking liberation from their keepers. The Liberation Club emerges, a network of users dedicated to freeing kentukis from abusive or exploitative situations. Marvin, with the help of a Norwegian hacker, escapes his shop window prison and joins a community of liberated kentukis, experiencing a fleeting sense of agency and belonging. The chapter explores the shifting dynamics of power, the desire for autonomy, and the ways in which technology can both oppress and empower.

The Liberation Club

Marvin's journey as a liberated kentuki in Norway becomes a quest for meaning and connection. He navigates a world of secret codes, safe zones, and mutual aid, forming friendships with other dwellers. The club's ethos of solidarity is tested by the ever-present risks of battery failure, capture, and betrayal. Marvin's longing to touch snow—a symbol of unattainable desire—drives him to take greater risks, even as he becomes increasingly aware of the fragility of his new freedom. The chapter reflects on the paradox of liberation: the more one seeks autonomy, the more one depends on the goodwill and infrastructure of others.

Love, Longing, and Loss

Cheng Shi-Xu in Beijing falls in love with another dweller, Kong Taolin, through their kentuki avatars in Lyon. Their secret romance unfolds through coded messages and stolen moments, but is ultimately destroyed by jealousy, cultural barriers, and the intervention of Taolin's husband. The kentuki, once a conduit for intimacy, becomes a weapon of exclusion and punishment. The story exposes the limits of mediated love, the dangers of projection, and the pain of disconnection. The kentuki's abrupt "death" leaves both dwellers bereft, mourning not just each other but the possibilities the device once represented.

Boundaries Crossed

Emilia's relationship with Eva, her keeper in Erfurt, is threatened by the arrival of Klaus, a predatory boyfriend. Emilia's attempts to protect Eva are thwarted by the limitations of the kentuki and the indifference of those around her. The boundaries between watcher and watched blur, as Klaus turns the device's gaze back on Emilia, exposing her own vulnerabilities and desires. The chapter culminates in a confrontation that leaves Emilia traumatized and disillusioned, forced to reckon with the consequences of her own voyeurism and the impossibility of true safety in a world without walls.

The Dark Side of Watching

Grigor and Nikolina's business brings them face-to-face with the horrors enabled by kentukis: a kidnapped girl in Brazil, trafficked and imprisoned, uses a kentuki to plead for rescue. The pair's efforts to help are stymied by bureaucracy, corruption, and the limitations of technology. Even when the girl is returned home, the cycle of exploitation continues, and Grigor is left questioning the morality of his enterprise. The chapter exposes the ways in which surveillance can both reveal and perpetuate suffering, implicating everyone in a web of complicity.

The Boy and the Dragon

Marvin's odyssey as SnowDragon reaches its climax as he finally approaches the snow he has longed to touch. His journey is fraught with obstacles—hostile children, malfunctioning alarms, and the indifference of adults. The dream of freedom proves elusive, as Marvin's kentuki is battered and broken, his real-life troubles (a failing report card, a distant father) mirroring the disappointments of his virtual adventure. The chapter is a poignant meditation on childhood, hope, and the inevitability of loss.

The Business of Intimacy

As the kentuki market reaches saturation, Grigor and Nikolina face burnout and moral exhaustion. The novelty of voyeurism fades, replaced by a sense of emptiness and regret. The business of selling access to other people's lives becomes unsustainable, both financially and emotionally. Grigor's decision to quit is both an act of self-preservation and an acknowledgment of the damage he has caused. The chapter serves as a critique of the gig economy, the illusion of connection, and the costs of treating intimacy as a commodity.

The Price of Freedom

The Liberation Club's ideals are tested as more kentukis are freed, only to face new dangers—neglect, violence, or simple indifference. The movement's successes are bittersweet, as the freed devices often end up discarded, destroyed, or forgotten. Marvin's own liberation leads to his kentuki's destruction, a casualty of random violence and the limits of care. The chapter interrogates the meaning of freedom in a world where every choice is constrained by the actions of others.

The Collapse of Trust

Public scandals erupt as stories of kentuki abuse, pedophilia, and exploitation come to light. Families are torn apart, friendships dissolve, and the devices are increasingly seen as threats rather than companions. Enzo loses custody of his son after a series of misunderstandings and accusations, forced to bury the kentuki that once brought him comfort. The collective loss of trust signals the end of the kentuki era, as society recoils from the dangers it once embraced.

The End of Innocence

Alina attends Sven's art exhibition, only to discover that her own life with the kentuki has been exposed and commodified. The installation reveals the intimate, often cruel interactions between keepers and dwellers, forcing Alina to confront her own actions and the pain she has caused. The experience is shattering, leaving her paralyzed by guilt and unable to escape the consequences of her choices. The chapter is a powerful indictment of the ways in which technology amplifies both our best and worst impulses.

The World Watches Back

As kentukis proliferate, the boundaries between public and private, watcher and watched, dissolve entirely. The devices become ubiquitous, their presence inescapable. People perform for the cameras, seeking validation, attention, or profit, while others retreat into paranoia and isolation. The world becomes a stage, every action subject to scrutiny and judgment. The chapter captures the exhaustion and alienation of a society that has surrendered its secrets for the illusion of connection.

Disconnection and Aftermath

In the aftermath of scandal and betrayal, characters sever their ties to their kentukis—some violently, others with resignation. Emilia drowns her bunny in the sink, Enzo buries the mole in his greenhouse, and Alina prepares to leave Oaxaca, haunted by the damage she has done. The novel ends with a sense of unresolved tension: the world has been changed by the kentukis, but the fundamental human needs for connection, understanding, and love remain unmet. The story closes on the image of a world where escape is impossible, and every attempt at intimacy carries the risk of exposure and harm.

Characters

Alina

Alina is a woman adrift, accompanying her artist boyfriend Sven to Oaxaca in search of purpose and escape from jealousy. She buys a crow kentuki, hoping for distraction, but quickly becomes unsettled by its silent gaze and the power imbalance it represents. Alina's refusal to communicate with her kentuki is both an act of self-protection and a denial of vulnerability. Her journey is marked by ambivalence—she craves connection but fears exposure, oscillating between cruelty and tenderness. Alina's arc culminates in a devastating reckoning with her own complicity, as she realizes the pain she has inflicted on both her kentuki's dweller and herself. Her story embodies the novel's central questions about intimacy, control, and the costs of mediated relationships.

Emilia

Emilia, a widowed Peruvian woman, becomes a dweller in a bunny kentuki in Germany, finding unexpected joy and purpose in her virtual companionship with Eva. Her initial innocence gives way to anxiety and protectiveness as she witnesses Eva's relationship with the predatory Klaus. Emilia's attempts to intervene are hampered by technological and linguistic barriers, leaving her feeling powerless and exposed. Her eventual disillusionment and violent disconnection from both her kentuki and Eva reflect the dangers of blurred boundaries and the pain of unreciprocated care. Emilia's arc is a poignant exploration of aging, loneliness, and the search for meaning in a world that often renders the elderly invisible.

Marvin

Marvin, a lonely child in Antigua, becomes obsessed with the idea of living as a kentuki. Trapped in a shop window, he longs for adventure and connection, eventually joining the Liberation Club and experiencing a brief, exhilarating taste of autonomy. Marvin's journey is marked by hope, disappointment, and the harsh realities of both virtual and real worlds. His quest to touch snow becomes a metaphor for unattainable desires, and his ultimate failure—his kentuki battered and broken—mirrors his struggles at home. Marvin's story is a meditation on childhood, resilience, and the bittersweet nature of dreams.

Grigor

Grigor is a pragmatic, opportunistic man in Zagreb who turns kentuki connections into a profitable business. His detachment is challenged when he and his assistant Nikolina become involved in the rescue of a kidnapped girl in Brazil. Grigor's journey from indifference to reluctant activism exposes the ethical ambiguities of surveillance capitalism. His eventual burnout and decision to quit the business reflect a growing awareness of the harm he has enabled. Grigor's arc is a critique of the commodification of intimacy and the ease with which technology can be weaponized for both good and ill.

Enzo

Enzo, a middle-aged man in Umbertide, keeps a mole kentuki for his son Luca, hoping it will help the boy's social integration. The device becomes a surrogate companion and co-parent, but also a source of tension and misunderstanding. Enzo's attempts to communicate with the kentuki's dweller are met with silence, fueling his frustration and sense of isolation. The collapse of trust—spurred by public scandals and his ex-wife's fears—leads to the loss of custody and the burial of the kentuki. Enzo's story is a tragic exploration of loneliness, parental love, and the limits of technology as a substitute for genuine human connection.

Sven

Sven is Alina's boyfriend, an artist whose work and emotional distance drive much of her insecurity. His fascination with the kentuki becomes the basis for a controversial art installation that exposes the private lives of keepers and dwellers alike. Sven's actions force Alina to confront her own complicity and the pain she has caused, serving as a mirror for the novel's broader themes of surveillance, spectacle, and the commodification of intimacy. Sven is both a creator and a destroyer, embodying the double-edged nature of technological innovation.

Eva

Eva is the German keeper of Emilia's bunny kentuki. She is vibrant, affectionate, and initially oblivious to the dangers posed by her openness. Her relationship with Klaus, a predatory boyfriend, brings tension and risk into her life, ultimately leading to betrayal and exposure. Eva's interactions with Emilia highlight the generational and cultural divides in attitudes toward privacy and vulnerability. Her arc is a cautionary tale about the perils of trust in a world where every gesture can be recorded, misinterpreted, or weaponized.

Klaus

Klaus is Eva's boyfriend, whose presence in the apartment transforms the kentuki from a source of comfort into an instrument of menace. His aggression, voyeurism, and eventual retaliation against Emilia expose the dangers of unchecked access and the ease with which technology can be turned against its users. Klaus's actions catalyze the unraveling of trust and the collapse of boundaries, serving as a stark reminder of the risks inherent in mediated intimacy.

Nikolina

Nikolina is Grigor's assistant, whose curiosity and empathy drive her to take risks in the pursuit of justice. Her involvement in the rescue of the kidnapped girl in Brazil is both heroic and fraught with unintended consequences. Nikolina's presence challenges Grigor's detachment and forces him to confront the ethical dimensions of their work. She represents the possibility of agency and resistance within systems of exploitation, even as her actions reveal the limits of good intentions.

Luca

Luca is Enzo's son, caught in the crossfire of his parents' divorce and the controversies surrounding the kentuki. His discomfort with the device and his mother's fears lead to a series of misunderstandings and interventions that ultimately result in the loss of his home and the destruction of the kentuki. Luca's story is a poignant reminder of the collateral damage inflicted on the most vulnerable by adult anxieties, technological change, and the erosion of trust.

Plot Devices

Kentukis as Liminal Objects

The kentuki—a plush, mobile, camera-equipped robot controlled remotely by a stranger—serves as the novel's central plot device and metaphor. It enables a vast array of narrative possibilities: voyeurism, intimacy, manipulation, and rebellion. The kentuki's design—cute yet uncanny, powerless yet omnipresent—allows Schweblin to explore the shifting dynamics of power, trust, and agency in a hyperconnected world. The randomness of connections, the inability to choose or know the other, and the device's one-way gaze create a sense of both possibility and peril. The kentuki becomes a vessel for projection, desire, and fear, its presence both comforting and menacing. Through the kentuki, the novel interrogates the nature of surveillance, the commodification of privacy, and the fragility of human relationships in the digital age.

Multiperspectival Structure

Schweblin employs a fragmented, multiperspectival narrative, shifting between characters, countries, and social strata. This structure mirrors the global reach of the kentuki phenomenon and allows for a kaleidoscopic exploration of its effects. The interlocking stories—some intersecting, others parallel—create a sense of simultaneity and interconnectedness, emphasizing the universality of the novel's themes. The structure also enables foreshadowing and dramatic irony, as the reader witnesses the consequences of actions across different contexts. The multiplicity of voices and experiences underscores the novel's central argument: technology may connect us, but it cannot erase the fundamental loneliness and unpredictability of human life.

Foreshadowing and Irony

Throughout the novel, Schweblin uses foreshadowing to build tension and highlight the risks inherent in the kentuki system. Early episodes of blackmail, manipulation, and discomfort presage later acts of violence, betrayal, and disconnection. The irony of seeking intimacy through surveillance—only to find oneself exposed, exploited, or abandoned—pervades the narrative. The devices meant to alleviate loneliness become sources of pain, the relationships forged through them are fraught with misunderstanding and harm. The novel's ending, with its unresolved tensions and lingering sense of unease, reinforces the idea that technology cannot solve the deepest problems of the human heart.

Analysis

Little Eyes is a masterful, unsettling meditation on the costs and consequences of mediated connection in the digital age. Through the device of the kentuki, Schweblin exposes the paradoxes of modern intimacy: our longing to be seen and known, our fear of exposure, and our willingness to trade privacy for the illusion of companionship. The novel's global scope and multiplicity of voices reveal the universality of these anxieties, while its fragmented structure mirrors the fractured, unpredictable nature of online life. Schweblin's characters are by turns sympathetic and culpable, their actions shaped by loneliness, curiosity, and the desire for control. The kentuki becomes a symbol of both hope and danger—a pet, a spy, a friend, a threat. Ultimately, Little Eyes warns that technology, for all its promise, cannot bridge the fundamental gaps between us; it can only magnify our vulnerabilities and force us to confront the monsters within. The novel's lesson is both timely and timeless: in a world where everyone is watching, true connection remains as elusive—and as necessary—as ever.

Last updated: December 18, 2025