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| 0720611563
| 9780720611564
| 0720611563
| 3.77
| 4,921
| 1906
| 2011
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really liked it
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The Three-Cornered World [1906/65] – ★★★★1/2 “Thank heaven for all those who, in devious ways by their art, bring tranquillity to the world, and enrich The Three-Cornered World [1906/65] – ★★★★1/2 “Thank heaven for all those who, in devious ways by their art, bring tranquillity to the world, and enrich men’s hearts.” In this novel by Natsume Sōseki (1867 – 1916), a young painter travels the country in search of a source of true artistic inspiration, tying to be completely dispassionate about everything he sees. In his journey “to rise above emotions” and conquer his earthy desires he has the aim to reach the state of total objectivity so that his brush will be able to paint only the “truth” and “bare life”. However, when he stops briefly at a guesthouse of one Shioda in a hot-spring village of Nakoi, he encounters there a woman who may put a stop to all of his pretences to be an unemotional observer and a mere spectator of life. O-Nami is a beautiful and enigmatic young woman who has recently escaped her impoverished husband and may have had an affair with a local Buddhist priest. Intrigued by this woman and engulfed in the sheer beauty of the nature around him, our narrator plunges deep into the very heart of the meaning of art, poetry and life itself. The Three-Cornered World is a gentle novel of deep insights with intimate meditations on life and art, its secrets and manifestations. The original title of the novel is Kusa Makura, which is translated as The Grass Pillow, and which in its turn means “sleeping outside” or more symbolically still – “a poetic journey”. Our hero in the story is convinced that if one remains a detached observer and not get personally involved in what he sees, events will present themselves in a way which is poetically significant. With this frame of mind, he awaits inspiration to paint when he notices a beautiful divorcee O-Nami at his guest-house and becomes so intrigued by her that he decides to paint her. O-Nami is a perfect subject matter because she resembles the mythical Maid of Nagara who tragically died because she was unable to choose between her two suitors. However, he soon realises something is wrong – something is missing and he is unable to start. Sōseki did study English Literature in England at one point in his life, and there are some barely noticeable parallels between this story and Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White [1859] (such as an artist arriving to a new place, being enchanted by one young woman, and the touches of the supernatural). However, Sōseki’s story is much more introspective and defies Western categorisations. It is a journey of self-discovery and the destination is the depth of the protagonist’s heart and mind. “Life is an inescapable rat-race in which you are constantly being spurred on by materialistic values to wrangle and squabble with your neighbour. For us who live in this world with its East and West, and who have to walk the tight-rope of advantage and disadvantage, love which is free of self-interest is an enemy. And yet, visible wealth is as worthless as dust, and fame which has been avidly grasped is, it seems to be like stolen honey which looked sweet while in the making, but in which the cunning bee has left his sting. The so-called pleasures in life derive from material attachments, and thus inevitably contain the seeds of pain. The poet and the artist, however, come to know absolute purity by concerning themselves only with those things which constitute the innermost essence of this world of relativity. They dine on the summer haze, and drink the evening dew. They discuss purple, and weigh the merits of crimson, and when death comes they have no regrets. For them, pleasure does not lie in becoming attached to things, but in becoming a part of them by a process of assimilation. And when at last they succeed in this, they find there is no room to spare for their ego. Thus, having risen out of the quagmire of materialism, they are free to devote themselves to the real essentials of life, and thereby obtain boundless satisfaction[Sōseki Natsume/Alan Turney, Henry Regnery Company, 1906/1965: 87]. It is utterly fascinating to follow the musings of the protagonist, a highly observant and intelligent artist who also composes haiku from time to time. His mind is active, wondrous, full of ideas and, of course, in search of one objective “truth”. He is searching for that something that makes a piece of art a masterpiece, something ethereal: “you have to paint as though, in the instant when the right colours, shapes and mood all fell into place, your soul suddenly became aware of its own existence” [Natsume/Turney, Henry Regnery Company, 1906/65: 92], and he recognises that art brings the “world of graciousness” and anyone who comes in contact with it can “enter at will a world of undefiled purity…and throwing off the yoke of avarice and self interest…able to built up a peerless and unequalled universe. Thus in all this, they are happier than the rich and handsome; than any lord or prince that ever loved; happier indeed that all those on whom this vulgar world lavishes her affections”. He has opinions on joy and sorrow: “in the depths of joy dwells sorrow, and the greater the happiness the greater the pain. Try to tear joy and sorrow apart, and you lose your hold on life. Try to cast them to one side, and the world crumbles” [1906/65: 14], on art and literature: “placidity and simplicity both indicate the presence of that underlying depth which is an indispensable ingredient of art and literature” [1906/65: 107] and on nature: “this is the great charm of nature, that it can in an instant, discipline men’s hearts and minds, and removing all that is base, lead them into the pure unsullied world of poetry” [1906/65: 18]. ⛩️ Alan Turney’s translation of this novel does not always come out smooth, but I still recommend this partly autobiographical novel which was also influenced by the teachings of Zen Buddhism. It is both subtle and profound, a delightful fusion of the mysteries of life, poetry and art. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Feb 2022
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Feb 05, 2022
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Feb 01, 2022
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Paperback
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| 1616209771
| 9781616209773
| 1616209771
| 4.01
| 14,232
| 1937
| Oct 26, 2021
|
it was amazing
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How Do You Live? [1937/82/2021] – ★★★★★ Often compared to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince [1943], How Do You Live? is an unforgettable boo How Do You Live? [1937/82/2021] – ★★★★★ Often compared to Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince [1943], How Do You Live? is an unforgettable book with a heart and a soul. This classic Japanese YA book is now being adapted into an animation by Hayao Miyazaki (Spirited Away (2001)) since it was his favourite childhood book. This story focuses on naturally inquisitive high-school student Junichi Honda (nicknamed “Copper” ) and his three friends: quiet Mizutani, outspoken Kitami and kind Uragawa. With his uncle acting as a guide, Copper learns important life lessons and discovers things that would enable him to become a better human being in future. We are shown little episodes in Copper’s life as the boy starts to understand the importance of friendship, kindness, thankfulness and acceptance, and the wrongs of bullying, cowardice and discrimination. In an often typical Japanese literary style, there is hardly any “action” narrative in Yoshino’s book. Rather, the main “action” takes place inside Copper as he finds himself at “moral crossroads” in his life, forced to make decisions, and matures, learning certain things in life which can only be understood through experience. One such life lesson concerns the importance of humility and the need to be thankful for small things in one’s life. Copper’s uncle explains to our hero how there is a general human tendency to view oneself at the very centre of the world. This view is mistaken. We are all people who think, feel and dream, and are all connected to each other in a multitude of different ways, even if we do not see this directly. Only by thinking “globally” and from the point of view of other people, can we understand this life’s true nature, as well as become better human beings, making a positive impact on this world. Everything is inter-connected in nature and society, and no matter how small a thing or a person is, or how small their actions, its/their impact can still be felt on others/environment. There are incidents of bullying and injustice in Copper’s school, and the boy learns to develop integrity and remain true to himself and his true feelings: “we have to work to nurture that which is good and beautiful in our own hearts” [Yoshino/Navasky, Rider Publications, 1937/2021: 227]; “The most basic step in these matters is to start with the moments of real feeling in your life, when your heart is truly moved, and to think about the meaning of those. The things that you feel most deeply, from the very bottom of your heart, will never deceive you in the slightest. And so at all times, in all things, whatever feelings you may have, consider these carefully” [Yoshino/Navasky, 1937/2021: 48]. Having courage and never losing hope are some of the ingredients enabling one to persevere, as Mizutani’s sister explains: “…people can forget their fear if a heroic spirit burns within them. Courage grows in a person, higher than any barrier, and then even your precious life becomes less precious…when I think how sometimes people can be brave enough to overcome any fear, any hardship, it gives me a feeling I can hardly describe. To charge right at the things that are painful and difficult, break through to the other side, and take pleasure in that – don’t you think that’s truly fantastic? The greater the suffering, the greater the joy in overcoming it…I think that’s what a heroic spirit is all about” [Yoshino/Navasky, 1937/2021: 141]. Copper also learns much about poverty and the importance of not judging others by their clothes, houses and bank accounts as these do not translate how good, honest or even talented a person is, especially in a society that rewards boastfulness, unlimited confidence and self-promotion over integrity, kindness and simplicity: “the true worth of a person doesn’t depend on that person’s clothes or house or food”; “in today’s world, the people who will be in the most trouble if they get hurt are the people who are in the greatest danger of getting hurt” [Yoshino/Navasky, 1937/2021: 18, 221]. Copper’s friend Uragawa has little time for school-work since he is poor and has to work in his family’s business that sells tofu. Upon learning this, Copper feels pity for his friend, but also starts developing an enormous respect for him since Uragawa is already becoming a real man, helping his family. A related message is that we should not shun away from pain and suffering, but understand them so we can do better to avoid them in future since they form part and parcel of that thing called life: “it is thanks to sadness, hardship and pain that we come to know what a true human being is” [Yoshino/Navasky, 1937/2021: 231]. ...more |
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1
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not set
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not set
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Dec 20, 2021
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Hardcover
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| 0804813795
| 9780804813792
| 0804813795
| 3.99
| 1,627
| 1951
| 2001
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it was amazing
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Fires on the Plain [1951] – ★★★★1/2 One of the most important anti-war novels ever written. Winner of the prestigious Yomiuri Prize, Fires on the Plain Fires on the Plain [1951] – ★★★★1/2 One of the most important anti-war novels ever written. Winner of the prestigious Yomiuri Prize, Fires on the Plain details the experience of a Japanese soldier in the Philippines during the last months of the World War II (the Leyte island landing). This sometimes gruesome and traumatic, but vividly introspective and unputdowanable novel full of conviction is filled with psychological and philosophical insights. Drawing from his own experience of the WWII, Shōhei Ōoka wrote about the degradation, futility and meaninglessness of war through the experience of one injured and stranded soldier who gets suspended between complete despair, increasing apathy and little choice, but to commit war crimes, on the one hand, and glimpses of hope and religious visions, on the other. Plagued by contradictions and irrational thoughts, Private Tamura finds himself psychologically distancing from war horrors around him, as Ōoka makes a powerful statement on one situation where such concepts as morality or rationality no longer seem to have any meaning. Translated from the Japanese by Ivan Morris, the novel is a first-hand account of injured Private Tamura of the Japanese Imperial Army fighting in the Philippines. As a result of Tamura’s injury he is sent to a local army hospital, but he soon finds out that the hospital cannot accommodate him because he does not have sufficient food. In fact, this is a “hospital” “where the only concern of the doctors was how to get rid of their patients and save food” [Ōoka, 1951: 31]. A number of soldiers find themselves in a similar situation to Tamura through their injury and are caught in a seemingly absurd situation: they are no longer useful to the army, but they are not yet dead either. They are left to survive on their own, and their horrific injuries and the lack of food both presuppose they they will not be alive much longer. The whole regiment of Tamura is also pitiful: “our company had in fact become no more than a broken group of stragglers skulking in a small mountain village; for some time the Americans had no longer even bothered to bomb us” [Ōoka, 1951: 8], tells Tamura. When he joins a group of “rejects, the debris of a defeated army”, those that at “this stage of the campaign…could be of no possible military use” [1951: 34], he finds his hopelessness increases. At no point Shōhei Ōoka tries to actively elicit our sympathy for the narrator, who, in fact, remains an ordinary, “brutish” soldier and, essentially, a killer. The account is merely factual and soon becomes rather eye-opening in terms of dissecting the psychology of a soldier on the battlefield. Private Tamura, equipped with despair, growing apathy and nonsensical orders from the commanders to (maybe) “kill himself”, finds himself isolated, aimlessly drifting around the island. In fact, he grows more and more distant from his role on the battlefield, and, like so many soldiers before him, starts to put a psychological distance (barrier) between his intrinsic inner self and what he sees around him (his representation of himself and his actions) to protect his psyche. Thus, later in the novel, he seems to act as an automaton or as “an actor on stage”, dis-identifying himself from his actions and the trauma which surrounds him. Taken by all the natural beauty around him, facing his own imminent death, and torn between fears about food shortage and “it’s only the end of the world” apathy, Private Tamura starts to philosophise: “does not our entire life-feeling depend upon this inherent assumption that we can “repeat indefinitely” what we are doing at the moment?” [Ōoka, 1951: 18], asks Tamura, and “it was not because I was still alive that I clung to the notion of life, but because I was already dead” [1951: 67], he states. He starts to see symbols everywhere, and, burdened with his “Raskolnikov-type” guilt, his journey through Philippine forests sometimes takes a hallucinatory, metaphoric shape. In Fires on the Plain, Shōhei Ōoka tried to demonstrate theabsurdities of war,and what it may feel like to start seeking meaning in a completely meaningless and illogical set of situations. In the narrative of Tamura, self-interest is pitted against patriotism, especially that kind of patriotism that finds itself on another man’s territory and not the one that defends its own motherland: “It was my country that had forced this lethal weapon on me, and until recently my usefulness to my country had been in exact proportion to the amount of damage I could inflict with it on the enemy” [Ōoka, 1951: 119], says Tamura, and continues: “I felt not the slightest hatred for them (people of the Philippines); yet I knew only too well that since the country to which I belonged happened to be fighting the country to which they belonged, there could never be any human relationship between us” [1951: 79]. The final part of the book or the Epilogue is all about coming to terms with the horrors of the war, and is a bit over-explained and even needless, detracting from the insights already given in the novel. ...more |
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1
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Mar 14, 2021
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Mar 16, 2021
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Mar 14, 2021
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| 1593760329
| 9781593760328
| 1593760329
| 3.74
| 6,840
| Jan 31, 1962
| 2006
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it was amazing
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None
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1
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not set
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not set
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Aug 23, 2020
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Paperback
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| 3.98
| 184,087
| 1948
| Jan 17, 1958
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it was amazing
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None
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Notes are private!
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1
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Nov 12, 2020
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Nov 26, 2020
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Aug 19, 2020
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Paperback
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| 0802134637
| 9780802134639
| 0802134637
| 3.81
| 5,036
| 1958
| Jun 13, 1996
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it was amazing
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Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids [1958] – ★★★★1/2 Kenzaburo Oe’s debut should remind of Lord of the Flies [1954] by William Golding, but, undoubtedly, the Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids [1958] – ★★★★1/2 Kenzaburo Oe’s debut should remind of Lord of the Flies [1954] by William Golding, but, undoubtedly, the author had other inspirations too. In his first book, the Japanese Nobel Laureate tells of a group of boys from a reform school that get stranded high up in forested mountains and forced to confront hostile villagers, the possibility of a plague, starvation and inhumane conditions. As the boys take matters into their own hands, their boyish desire to play and youthful confidence/hopefulness clash violently with the necessities posed by the war and traumas experienced by the most desperate. The boys finally realise that they have to choose between truth, principle, loyalty and compassion, on the one hand, and their own lives, on the other. As Kenzaburo Oe’s The Silent Cry, there is the focus in this story on the mentality of one isolated village, on the relationship between two brothers, and on various situations where despair and hope, adulthood and immaturity, and corruption and innocence come face-to-face and collide. Also, as the author’s The Silent Cry, Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids paints a disturbingly grim universe that is particular to Kenzaburo Oe only – there is a war raging on in the background, the hostile environment is made even more so by the presence of unfriendly villagers, and dirt and panic are ever-present. Portrayed with brutal honesty, there emerges in this story one of a kind nightmarish scenario as we focus on fifteen undernourished boys. Our narrator is one of the boys who has a brother that has been smuggled reluctantly into these ranks of delinquents. The boys are being evacuated from their current place due to the ongoing war, but they are few other villages that want to take them. Finally, the boys are taken deep into the mountains, a place that can only be reached by a trolley. It is there they have to confront the terrifying and claustrophobic nature of their existence. “Surrounded by gigantic walls”, “buried beneath the heavy atmosphere” [1958: 65] in a place “harder to escape…than from jail” [1958: 25], the boys are soon put to a horrid task of disposing of animal carcasses and clearing the mountain fields. But, is there a more sinister reason behind their task? There is a talk of a plague, so there is a chance of death for the boys not only from the war, starvation and “savage” villagers, but also from a deadly disease. Confronted by hopelessness, the boys find their condition in the new place becoming curious: “time went really slowly and simply wouldn’t pass. Time doesn’t move at all…like a domestic animal, time doesn’t move without human beings’ strict supervision…time won’t move a step without grown-ups’ orders.” [Oe, 1958: 91]. The brutality of the boys’ new existence is still being sometimes softened by the compassion for the weak and a still strong sense of camaraderie among the boys, but how long will these last? This question becomes important when on the scene comes a soldier who escaped his army and our narrator finds “love” in the presence of an abandoned village girl. Kenzaburo Oe perceptively contrasts the mentality of adults and children when they are faced with unnatural and horrific conditions. On the one hand, the boys that are left stranded in the mountains are slowly turning into adults, assuming control over their lives and their new land, and imitating an adult lifestyle in other ways, such as hunting for their food and developing grown-up relationships. On the other hand, the boys still seem to be engaged in a childish play from time to time and, among all their seemingly “adult” decision-making, display boyish bravado, selfishness and fearlessness that could only come from ignorance. However, amazingly, it is precisely the children that seem to behave more rationally than the adults in certain critical situations, and, in that way, Kenzaburo Oe undoubtedly wanted to satirise the actions of adults in times of war, crisis and confusion: “in that time of killing, that time of madness, we children may have been the only ones to develop a close solidarity” [Oe, 1958: 27-28]. Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids is a strong debut that is short, disturbing and powerful. From Kenzaburo Oe’s pen spirals out brutal and unforgettable truth as the reader is taken on a slow-moving ride into the chaos and despair. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jun 27, 2020
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Jun 29, 2020
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Feb 23, 2020
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Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
| 477002889X
| 9784770028891
| 477002889X
| 3.96
| 2,564
| 1957
| Sep 13, 2002
|
it was amazing
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The Waiting Years [1957] - ★★★★★ I liked The Waiting Years much more than Masks [1958] by the same author. The Waiting Years is a powerful novel by a f The Waiting Years [1957] - ★★★★★ I liked The Waiting Years much more than Masks [1958] by the same author. The Waiting Years is a powerful novel by a female author that tells of Mrs. Shirakawa who is forced to seek a maid or rather a young concubine for her husband. Mrs. Shirakawa finally finds strikingly beautiful and innocent girl Suga who is about to be "sacrificed for the sake of her family's fortunes" [Fumiko Enchi, 1957: 34]. After Suga, another girl follows to please the increasingly despotic husband, and the first mistress is soon torn between duty, guilt, compassion, jealousy and fear. The situation grows out of Mrs Shirakawa's control, especially, since after some years, her husband sets his eyes on his son's seductive young wife. Fumiko Enchi had a talent for portraying complex inter-relationships, and demonstrates the resilience and loyalty of women living in the Japanese patriarchal society in the now bygone era. That was the time when women had little chance to escape from their obligations, and Enchi presents a unique portrayal of one woman with "a distinction acquired through suffering" whose character is as fascinating as it is unforgettable. With subtlety and unmatched observational powers, the author shows the internal struggles of the character labouring under internal moral obligations and human emotions that conflict violently: "feminine ethic...had...taught her to yield to her husband's wishes in every respect, no matter how unreasonable they might seem" [1957: 43]. It can now be said that Fumiko Enchi's novel has an ending to match any of the greatest finales of our contemporary author Kazuo Ishiguro (who must have been influenced by the author), and it must surely be one of the greatest Japanese novels. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Dec 28, 2020
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Dec 31, 2020
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Sep 30, 2019
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Paperback
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| 1852426020
| 9781852426026
| 1852426020
| 3.84
| 4,163
| 1967
| 1998
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it was amazing
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The Silent Cry [1967/88] – ★★★★★ Full of uneasiness and foreboding, The Silent Cy is a subtly powerful work that masterfully evokes the unsaid, the for The Silent Cry [1967/88] – ★★★★★ Full of uneasiness and foreboding, The Silent Cy is a subtly powerful work that masterfully evokes the unsaid, the forbidden and the terrifying, getting us close to the real Truth and to the final Hope. In The Silent Cry, we are presented with the early 1960s and Mitsu, a disillusioned husband to an alcoholic wife and a father to a child who is now in an institution. Mitsu sees his life changing when his estranged brother Takashi arrives from America and together they travel to their native village in Shikoku, one of the main islands in Japan. There, they find that there is a shift in local power and one rich Korean magnate is proposing to buy what remains of Mitsu and Takashi’s land inheritance – their storehouse. Reluctantly, Mitsu finds himself drawn into a complicated political situation of the village, while also realising that Takashi starts to wield the unprecedented power over the village inhabitants. The Silent Cry is a slow-paced descent into one kind of a nightmare where the violent history of the village is about to be re-enacted and other grim discoveries made as the relationship between the two brothers takes an unexpected turn. There is a curious narration coming from a pitiful, nearly blind husband Mitsu, whose wife Natsumi is suffering from alcoholism. Mitsu is a person stuck in his existential crisis and afraid to face reality. “Awakening in a predawn darkness, I grope among the anguished remnants of dreams that linger in my consciousness, in search of some ardent sense of expectation”, starts the book... “I’ve been sleeping with arms and legs askew, in the posture of a man reluctant to be reminded either of his nature or of the situation in which he finds himself” [Ōe/Bester, 1967/88: 1]. Recently, Mitsu and Natsumi put their only disabled child in an institution and are still in shock because of the recent death of Mitsu’s close friend who died after he painted his head red and hanged himself. When Mitsu’s brother Takashi arrives from America, the mood of Mitsu and Natsumi is momentarily lifted, and we witness a strange internal competition and tension between the brothers. The trio, together with Takashi’s “teenage bodyguards”, then travel to the home village of the brothers, populated by some eccentric characters. There, there is “a delicate balance of power between people and authorities” [Ōe/Bester, 1967/88: 263], and one rich businessman from Korea plans to buy the land of Takashi and Mitsu’s ancestors. Inspired by the history of the village, Takashi tries to rebel, gathering his followers around him. In turn, his brother Mitsu feigns indifference until he can no longer ignore the affairs of the village or his brother’s wild actions which are increasingly directed specifically at him. Perhaps one way to understand The Silent Cry would be to draw connections between – (i) one person (Mitsu) – (ii) a family unit (Mitsu’s family) – (iii) a village (the one in Shikoku) and – (iv) a nation (Japan). The history, experience, feelings and thoughts of each of those entities/units are reflected in all the rest. The brothers in the story appear opposites of each other: one – a passive, unpopular introvert, another – a dominant, popular extrovert; one – beautiful and another – ugly; one – repressed and wants to forget his family/village past, and another wants to face and “re-enact it”, while marching forward; one wants to deny his state of being human, and another wants to embrace his “creatureness”. So, these brothers and their polar opposite characteristics also represent two sides of Japan after the war. One side of Japan or a village in Shikoku is forward-looking and craves change, while another part wants to stick to tradition and inaction. The story becomes one where different people are trying to employ different means to come to terms and accept one’s past or seek justification for their previous actions (Japan tries to come to terms with its participation in the WWII; the village tries to acknowledge its past silent acceptance of brutal feudal regimes and violent revolts, and one family (that of Mitsu) tries to understand the deaths of its family members). People in the village are portrayed as so used to pain, that they are no longer realising or recognising this experience - “they fuss for ages over trivialities, with the irresponsible notion that when things finally get quite out of hand the situation will somehow change and solve their difficulties for them” [Ōe/Bester, 1967/88: 69]. In turn, Mitsu is trying to deal with his guilt and shame associated with his disabled son (and also with his brother). Alcohol, sex, sport, active re-enactments of past events, solitude and withdrawal – many means are employed to understand and come to terms with what was going on and still ongoing in the lives of the characters. In the village of Shikoku, history may just about to repeat itself as the Korean businessman’s supermarket becomes the object of awe and the person behind it is soon associated with some “foreign” evil. Since everyone in Mitsu’s immediate family is a societal outcast (Mitsu has a facial deformity, his wife is an alcoholic and his brother has ties with “foreign” America), they become unlikely “heroes” or central figures in the growing collective madness and depravity, as they see feelings of violence, anarchy and death descent onto the village. One village disaster or perversion follows another in a swift succession to unsettle everyone. It is at this point that Ōe brings the depressive, the ugly and the grotesque to the surface in his story and makes everyone acknowledge that it is also the humanity, and the denying of this truth for too long will have dire consequences. In that way, Ōe tries to heal the collective wounds through his narrative or at least to expose the wounds to the fullest so that they would have a chance of healing. There is much in the novel about death. There is a human tendency to obsess over those who have died and the dead are often accorded the reverence since they are perceived as being the people who already gained the “ultimate knowledge”, but paid the highest and ultimate price for it, too: “Death cuts abruptly the warp of understanding. There are things which the survivors are never told. And the survivors have a steadily deepening suspicion that it is precisely because of the things incapable of communication that the deceased has chosen death. The factors that remain ill defined may sometimes lead a survivor to the very site of the disaster, but even then the only thing clear to anyone concerned is that he has been brought up against something incomprehensible” [Ōe/Bester, 1967/88: 1]. The forest in the story possesses one dreamy atmosphere that helps to erase the line between the past and the present, sinking us deep into that memory, dream or past history which is often told through second-hand accounts ( “the power of the forest is growing” [1967/88: 55]). These second-hand accounts put a distance between us and what was or is happening, giving a strong impression of a now forgotten fable. Whether something is true/reality or false/a myth becomes hard to say. What really happened to the older brother of Takashi and Mitsu or to their sister? And, who started the uprising of 1860? How these events relate to the present? One cannot escape from something that has already become part of one, and all the characters experience this at some point. Japan, the village and the characters are still nursing the wounds of the past, which are bathed in shame. Unlike the western concept of “guilt”, the Japanese concept of “shame” cannot be just “cleansed through penance” or be “forgiven by the Lord”. Shame takes its root deep in the human psyche and often can only be dealt with by taking public, violent actions (self-annihilation). By and by, personal considerations and history in the novel necessarily and seamlessly fuse with a broader communal history and consciousness, and such elements as the forest and the storehouse start to stand for something else, such as consciousness or a safe-haven, making the novel rich with thinly-disguised symbolism. The way Kenzaburō Ōe writes, it seems that the full meaning is within our reach only to escape us at the very last second, leaving us bewildered but also intrigued. The same happens with the characters in this novel, who are always being just on the brink of realisation and understanding, but, at the very last moment, end up too preoccupied with trivialities, taking a step back. The Silent Cry probably has too “comfortable” of an ending, but Ōe must still be applauded for making the experience and the narrative so transformative. ⛰️ It is impossible not to fall under the haunting spell of Kenzaburo Ōe. The Silent Cry is a dark existential novel filled with unpleasantness and sorrow, but it is also an incredibly fulfilling and deep work with a spark of hope somewhere at its heart. While evoking unsettling and vivid images, the book grapples with the Truth at every corner, trying to find it in the darkness of the forest and through the relationship between the two brothers that, in turn, sheds light on the very meaning of life and the human condition. ...more |
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| 0679733787
| 9780679733782
| 0679733787
| 3.89
| 34,690
| Jun 08, 1962
| Apr 16, 1991
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it was amazing
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The Woman in the Dunes [1962] – ★★★★★ In this deceptively simple tale, Kobo Abe paints a quietly disturbing picture of one man who finds himself in an The Woman in the Dunes [1962] – ★★★★★ In this deceptively simple tale, Kobo Abe paints a quietly disturbing picture of one man who finds himself in an unusual situation when he ventures to look for insects in sand dunes. The man, Niki Jumpei, misses his last bus home upon finishing his one day trip to the dunes, and some local villagers do him a favour and put him up for one night at one woman’s eccentric dwelling at the bottom of a sand pit (the only exit is by a long rope to reach the surface). Jumpei is an entomologist and a school-teacher, a man of science and reason, but nothing could prepare for him for what he is about to experience in his new strange dwelling (which has more complex arrangements that he has ever imagined). But, he will only be there for one night; right? or will he be? The man soon discovers that his innocent trip to the outskirts of one village is about to take a very absurd and horrific turn. The plot may be straightforward, but the merit of this novel still lies in the subtleties and (horrific) realisations – in the consequences which are revealed slowly to the reader (as well as to the character), enhancing the suspense and the final impact. The reader will suspend disbelief when the main character meets a woman and a community he never imagined existed, which prompts him to meditate on the meaning of life, relationships and the human nature. The Woman in the Dunes is Kobo Abe’s existentialist masterpiece. It is best to start reading The Woman in the Dunes without knowing too much of its plot or even without reading the synopsis. There is not much “action” in the novel, and, rather, the focus is on the unusual situation in which the main character finds himself in, on his reaction to it and on his relationship with another occupant of his new sandy dwelling – a very eccentric woman. Firstly, what can be more mundane than a man taking a trip to sand dunes to collect some insect samples? What possibly can go wrong? And yet, something is not quite right. Maybe it is the arrangement of the house he is in or maybe it is the strange behaviour of this nomadic-appearing woman-owner. The man soon has his doubts and his imagination takes giant leaps because of his close proximity to one lonely woman. Can the man control his natural instincts and take the situation under control? After all, much work is needed around the house to clear it from the sand if they are not to suffocate beneath it. The story soon gains its momentum, which comes from the realisation of the main character’s predicament. When the man realises his true situation, it is already too late. The Woman in the Dunes is an existentialist novel with an introspective, sympathetic main character. There are themes here of the possible meaning of futile work and the battle with the inevitable. Upon arriving and settling in his new dwelling in sand dunes, Jumpei is forced to fight both the absurdities of the house’s “arrangement” and of his new existence. He is a living and breathing human being who would like to voice his desires and despairs, but he is being confronted with “a silent and indifferent…universe (or a community at large)”. There are references in the novel to a “meaningless existence” [Kobo Abe, 1962: 94] and to the idea that “work seem[s] fundamental for man, something which enable[s] him to endure the aimless flight of time” [Kobo Abe, 1962: 158]. Since Niki Jumpei is a man of science, it is interesting to see how he tries to “rationalise” the “absurd” that he is facing, the “claustrophobia” all around him and his inability to escape the position he willing led himself into. When Niki Jumpei starts to live with the woman in her hut he immediately forms a rather curious relationship with her. If at first he does not feel attracted to someone who is so odd and unlike him, Jumpei also soon notices that his male instincts take an upper hand in the matter and erotic images start to flood his brain: “Yet, in spite of himself something not to be denied was welling up in his veins. The sand which clung to his skin was seeping into his veins and, from the inside, undermining his resistance” [Kobo Abe, 1962: 34]. At this point, Kobe underlines that Jumpei and the woman are close to the state of nature, and the book only refers to them from then on as “the man” and “the woman”, never their first names, as though they are now devoid of their social (given at birth) identities and they truly become just “the man” and “the woman” to themselves and others. The man is contrasted with the woman along the lines that he represents “science” and “rationality”, coming from a civilised society, and she represents “irrationality”, instinctive behaviour and “primitive” style of living. The two concepts/ characters go head-to-head in a confined space. The curious thing is that if the man in the story longs for water, the woman is portrayed as being comfortable with sand, which now reminds of the reversal of the male and female “roles” in Michael Ondaatje’s The English Patient [1992], where it was the woman that loved water and bathing, while the man belonged to deserts and sands. In both novels, the two try to adapt to each other, being some kind of explorers on the voyage to uncover lands, but probably finding something more profound and dearer to them within themselves rather than outside. The danger and horror in The Woman in the Dunes appears at first barely perceivable, then unbelievable and then almost too real. Like in masterful Shipwrecks by Akira Yoshimura, where a village played the main character role, in The Woman in the Dunes, it is sand that takes the central stage. Sand is everywhere in the tale – first it is a joy for the man who likes to think about different properties of the matter, then it is a surprise to him, and then, finally, – sand becomes an enemy. Sand is a menace which is ever-present and whose continuity and dangerous pressure is unrelenting and merciless. Sand stands for something formless and ever-moving, like time. It is through sand that the author injects a sense of complete claustrophobia into his story: there is a feeling that the “normal…. world [is] outside” of the woman’s hut [Kobo Abe, 1962: 82] and that something unusual is going on in the sand pit where our character is confined. The fear of sand is something that our main character learns the hard way: “sand, which didn’t even have a form of its own – other than the mean 1/8-mm, diameter. Yet not a single thing could stand against this shapeless, destructive power” [Kobo Abe, 1962: 31]. Kobo Abe’s story has certain philosophical depth to it, making it strangely contemplative, despite its simple premise. The “hidden”, unexpected and uncertain horror and danger, the claustrophobia, the suspense – Kobo Abe slowly lets us face, through the character, the unimaginable nightmare and we will not even realise we are facing it until we are right inside of it. In this way, The Woman in the Dunes is an exhilarating and unforgettable read. ...more |
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| 1786071959
| 9781786071958
| 1786071959
| 4.07
| 53,502
| Feb 06, 2013
| Oct 05, 2017
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Sweet Bean Paste [2013/2017] – ★★★★★ "The aroma seemed to leap up at him, as if it were alive, racing through his nose to the back of his head. Unlike Sweet Bean Paste [2013/2017] – ★★★★★ "The aroma seemed to leap up at him, as if it were alive, racing through his nose to the back of his head. Unlike the ready-made paste, this was the smell of fresh, living beans. It had depth. It had life. A mellow, sweet taste unfurled inside Sentaro’s mouth" [Sukegawa/Watts, 2013: 33]. This book, translated from Japanese by Alison Watts (see also the movie trailer here), tells a story of Sentaro, a middle aged man who spends his time unenthusiastically selling dorayaki, a kind of pancake filled with sweet bean paste, to customers at the Doraharu shop, while consuming alcoholic drinks in his spare time. When an elderly woman Tokue approaches his shop and asks to work there, Sentaro first thinks it is a joke. However, Sentaro also tastes the bean paste cooked by Tokue and he is amazed by the flavours she can produce. What follows is a touching human story filled with the passion for food and the importance of appreciating small pleasures in life. Sweet Bean Paste is also so much more than a book about Japanese culinary delights and culture. It is a quietly beautiful book with the message of coming to terms with history, accepting people and recognising their talents no matter how small they may appear. Each person can contribute something to this world if others are willing to listen, learn and accept. Sweet Bean Paste is not a long book by any measure and, with its short chapters, it reads in one breath. It also a book that has more depth and philosophy to it than it appears at first. Of course, the readers are immersed into Japanese aesthetics appreciated through cooking processes and Japanese take-away business arrangements, not to mention all the lovely Japanese environment with beautiful trees blossoming. However, this is only half of the book’s appeal. Sentaro, the appointed manager of the Doraharu shop, battles existential crisis and has secrets of his own to unveil, including his dark past, and when he meets Tokue, an elderly lady, she brings up the best of him. In turn, Tokue also has “shameful” secrets to hide. Both are unlikely people to be cooking dorayaki, and they form an unlikely team with an unlikely friendship growing between them. The characters subvert expectations. When Tokue arrives to the shop and start teaching Sentaro her own way of cooking, the shop is transformed and proves much more successful. But what price will both pay for that success? There have been other books written on delicious food and its ability to bring people together, such as masterful in all its passions Like Water for Chocolate [1989], where the main heroine channels her forbidden love through cooking, and, of course, Chocolat [1999], where a small village unite in one passion for Vianne’s unforgettable chocolate. Something like that also happens in Sweet Bean Paste, but with a twist. Sure, there is this shop on Cherry Blossom Street where one can buy a pancake filled with the most delicious sweet bean paste, and the reader could just taste its delicate sumptuousness when reading the book, but he or she also hears one important message – you never know where the destiny will take you, and, when you are down, there are certainly others who find themselves in worse situations. It sounds preachy, but the book is never overly sentimental or patronising. It has its humour, surprises, and is written in that magical Japanese style where the emphasis is on contemplation rather than action. Sweet Bean Paste explores friendship, ups and downs of life and the importance of never giving up. The book also teaches us to be more observant in relation to our surroundings. “I pay attention to the language of things in this world that don’t use words…It’s my belief that everything in this world has its own language. We have the ability to open up our ears and minds to anything and everything. That could be someone walking down the street, it could be the sunshine or the wind” [Sukegawa/Watts, 2013: 134], writes Tokue in the book. Without giving any spoilers away, it is also fair to note that the book explores personal identity, and the issues of discrimination and societal prejudice. Guilt, redemption, forgiveness and the importance of embracing both your true self and change also inexplicably but convincingly form part of this little book. ...more |
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| 0156008351
| 9780156008358
| 0156008351
| 4.01
| 2,842
| 1982
| 2000
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Shipwrecks [1982/96] – ★★★★★ Yoshimura’s observational novel is fascinating and subtly powerful, uncovering a different way of looking at life. Shipwrec Shipwrecks [1982/96] – ★★★★★ Yoshimura’s observational novel is fascinating and subtly powerful, uncovering a different way of looking at life. Shipwrecks is a short novel translated from the Japanese by Mark Ealey. It tells the story of one village in rural medieval Japan, following one boy Isaku, as his family struggles to get food essential for their survival. The village has numerous rituals, but one is particularly eerie: the village does everything it can to summon O–Fune-Sama (the Sea God) or shipwrecks to their coast. This phenomenon is often essential for the survival of the village (since ships carry the necessary food and other commodities), and Isaku and his family are always eagerly awaiting the season when O-Fune-Sama or shipwrecks occur. One day, such a ship does come to the shore where Isaku lives, but will it be a blessing or curse for the village? Those who like books with discernible plot points and fast-paced action should look elsewhere. Shipwrecks by Yoshimura is rather slow and contemplative as it follows day-to-day activities of one village that has one strange, but understandable desire. The plot is simple, but realistic, and the main character here is the village itself and only then Isaku. Isaku is a mere boy, but he has to grow up fast and become a provider to his family because his father sold himself to indebted servitude to feed his family. The story then follows the usual activities of Isaku as he goes fishing with his younger brother, thinking about girl Tami, hoping that one day he will be able to marry her. Isaku has trouble catching the saury and hopes that his cousin will show him the ropes. This all sounds uneventful, but the story is quietly beautiful and has much meaning. The changing seasons in the village bring to mind beautiful woodblock prints of Japan’s long-forgotten era, and the descriptions of the village’s rituals both fascinate and unsettle. The village of Isaku is, indeed, steeped in superstition, and it is fascinating to get to know the psychology of its people as they try to survive in the harsh environment, including by following strange rituals. The story shows the time when villagers measured time by natural phenomena, be it the arrival of the octopus to their shores or the reddening of the leaves. They also say “Hour of the Ox” (2 a.m.) or “Hour of the Tiger” (4 a.m.) to refer to some points in time, and spent time thinking about the sea produce and the change in the nature’s clock, “after the sardines, squid began to appear” [Yoshimura/Ealey 1982/96: 37]. However, the “stillness” and “calmness” of the village’s life and the narrative itself are deceiving. The people in the village battle everyday to stay alive and the food is scarce. The people live in the environment where death from some disease, fall or starvation is just around the corner. There are camouflaged dangers in existence, and it is interesting to read what actions the villagers take to survive. One such action involves burning fires under cauldrons nears the shore to summon O–Fune-Sama or induce a shipwreck. If a ship in distress during bad weather sees some light on the shore, they may think it is houses and take its direction towards the coast only to be wrecked on the reefs. This way the villagers will have their bounty and no one will starve during years to come. It is impossible to overemphasise the desire for O-Fune-Sama or shipwrecks by the villagers: “the lives of the villagers hinged on the coming of O-Fune-Sama” [Yoshimura/Ealey 1982/96: 23]; “If O-Fune-Sama did not grace their shores soon, there would likely be a flood of people leaving to go into bondage” [1982/96: 58]; “O-Fune-Sama was nothing less than deliverance from the fear of starvation” [1982/96: 73]. As time passes, Isaku and his family become more and more desperate for O-Fune-Sama to occur, and a powerful image emerges of a village in crisis. At this point, the author also demonstrates that morality is relative for these people. The villagers wish for the disaster befalling others in order to survive, but what other choice do they have? In that way, the novel is also thought-provoking. Near the end of the novel, the long-awaited ship does come, but is it really what everyone has been looking forward to? ...more |
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| 35,559
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| Feb 15, 1980
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