The Cat in the Coffin by Mariko Koike

Translated by Deborah Boliver Boehm, The Cat in the Coffin originally appeared in Japan back in 1990, Vertical Inc published the translation in 2009 along with an interesting Chip Kidd cover. It's a little surprising, traversing the internet, not to have stumbled upon reading lists of Japanese cat related fictions as the list now in translation must number quite a few, maybe that's something for another day, or maybe they are out there. The Cat in the Coffin is related as a narrative within a narrative, the main character, an aspiring artist, Masayo, takes a job as housekeeper to a successful artist - Goro Kawakubo. In exchange for housekeeping duties, she receives a weekly lesson from Goro as well as financial payments. Additionally Masayo acts as tutor to Goro's daughter Momoko, who after her mother Yuriko's death has become withdrawn, her only confidant and companion being her white cat, Lala.

As the novel progresses Masayo contemplates her relationship to Goro, his flamboyant reputation as a bit of a womaniser precedes him and the presence of a nearby American base seems to hang over the household, a relaxation of formalities and perhaps a certain degree of bohemianism is in the air. As well as these observations Masayo observes the world inhabited by Momoko and Lala and their excursions out to the barley fields that also surround the household, the special places they frequent amongst them an old out of use well. Through arty parties and sojurns the presence of Chinatsu enters the house which causes ripples amongst the already slightly estranged relationships, the centre of attention shifts to Lala, the object of a jealous affection and in some ways a miniature power struggle. With the suspicion that the cat is an embodiment of Yuriko things take a turn for the worse, or perhaps it could be said that things take a turn down the pathological path.

Whilst reading The Cat in the Coffin it could feel perhaps that the plotline leans toward feeling slightly formulaic, although there are some surprising twists when the rug of character identities is pulled beneath your feet, there remains enough curvatures to it to keep you hooked until the last pages, and throughout the prose retains it's darkly gothic tones. After reading that Koike's novel A Cappella translated by Juliet W. Carpenter, was recently adapted to film, (trailer), I'd like to turn that one next.  

The Cat in the Coffin at Vertical Inc         

Darkness in Summer by Takeshi Kaiko

It seems incredible that five years have slipped by since reading the two stories Panic/Runaway by Kaiko Takeshi and now finishing Darkness in Summer provides a great prompt to move onto tracking out a copy of Five Thousand Runaways and also the book that he is largely well known for Into a Black Sun: Vietnam 1964-65, which as is Darkness in Summer translated by Cecilia Segawa Seigle. Looking at my old hardback copy from Peter Owen the adage of 'never judge a book by it's cover' comes to mind, and also the contemplation that some books can suffer from issues over presentation, maybe this one has. The jacket of the novel bears a portrait of a woman with hair done up in geisha style which is superimposed over the portrait of Sakutaro Hagiwara by Onochi Koshiro, which feels slightly out of place and perhaps misplaces the contextualisation of the novel which first appeared in 1972 as Natsu no yami. For most readers perhaps it's instrumental that there is some form of correlation between a book cover and it's contents, themes, settings and characters, and that the two go hand in hand to form an aide to visualizing the novel that it's meant to represent, that said this is an old edition, the book now is only available as POD and the cover seems leaning toward the functionary.

Darkness in Summer published four years after Into a Black Sun feels that it maybe a continuation of that novel, the main drama of Darkness in Summer is that the main character, a journalist, is continuing a relationship with a Japanese woman after a separation of some years, set predominately in Berlin, and then there's another relocation. The narrative style evades detail, it's not late in the novel before Saigon is mentioned by name, episodes from the past drift in and out of the present, the opium taking, the violence, there are abstract summaries on the nature of existence and being juxtaposed with scenes of graphic sex. Having a broader panoramic to either Panic or Runaway, the novel though primarily revolves around the two main characters, with few additional characters, Professor Steinkopf, the visits to Professor Chao's restaurant, there's a close proximity to these two characters who are caught at a crossroads in their lives, with their sometime nicknames of Little Bird and Little Turd. After completing her dissertation and his life after reporting of the Vietnam war their future remains precariously balanced with uncertainty, the relationship fraught with equal fragility. An aspect of her character that brought to mind a more recent character of Natsuki Ikezawa's in mariko/mariquito is of her resolve of not wanting to return to Japan, he too displays traits of this.

It'll be interesting to read Into a Black Sun after Darkness in Summer to identify overlapping scenes, in places it feels that the narrator is visualizing previous episodes with the distant perspective of this novel, and obviously there are autobiographical links to Kaiko himself, the questioning of war, in places the subtle note of comparison between East and West . The control Kaiko has over his prose remains brilliantly conveyed in Cecilia Segawa Seigle's translation capturing the uncertainties of the novel's characters and their angst ridden sensuality, the fishing trip, the vistas of the ebbing and rising effect of the narrator's observations of the novel's progressions only to be brought down in a crescendo of self recrimination and doubt nearing it's culmination. There are a few reoccurring motifs to the novel, one of these is the central character's use of the German word abendrot - afterglow and it feels apt to the novel as the character's are caught in the afterglow of the past perhaps they are fated to return to it.     

     

 

The Last Children of Tokyo by Yoko Tawada

Recently published from Portobello Books in the U.K and New Directions in the U.S, (under the title The Emissary), The Last Children of Tokyo is translated by Margaret Mitsutani and first appeared in Japan in 2014 as Kentoshi. Although quite short, the prose feels quite dense, and as other readers have noted it's quite a paced read, mainly related in third person, the dialogue is sparse. Reading a few reviews of The Last Children of Tokyo the description of it as being dystopian crops up repeatedly, in a number of places it resembles Orwell's 1984, as the narrative unfolds relating the relationship between Yoshiro, a novelist over a hundred years old, and his great-grand son Mumei, Tawada weaves in a number of contemporary concerns and advances them into a projected future. Japan has become more isolationist, environmental abuse is prominent, Mumei is a member of an atrophied generation caught in this great flux, weakened, the elder generation displays more youthfulness than the youth. The age difference between the two characters becomes further apparent when the lives of the intermediate family members are related and of how Yoshiro has come to be Mumei's guardian, definitions are needed to be extended and added upon to cope with this expansion of time.

Maybe in comparison to Tawada's other novels it feels that the prose to The Last Children of Tokyo is a little less experimental, although some familiar themes appear, Tawada's at times humorous observations of literal translations between the languages crops up, and this is set against the concept of a sort of 'official speak' and the obsolete and dysfunction of words and phrases, and through these concerns there's obviously the projected broadening crisis of an ageing population, the novel in places carries an unnerving accurateness with it's projections, this shift in societal behaviour is depicted in a number of places, another example is that gender change is an accepted norm, sometimes occurring a number of times for each person. Through these big themes Yoshiro looks after Mumei and the characters progress, with a slight distraction in the form of neighbour Suiren, both in wheelchairs the novel ends in an enigmatic note. But before that Mumei's schooling leads him to meet Mr Yonatani, a teacher whose background has also been meddled by malign forces, who is searching for an emissary to leave Japan in a bid to find salvation with the outside through clandestine means, and towards the end of the novel the exterior world begins to resemble something in the form of a myth. Mumei's departure from the story appears riddled with uncertainty. The Last Children of Tokyo although short in pages is a penetrating observation tower into both present and future, full of acute ideas and predictions.


The Last Children of Tokyo at Portobello Books  


   

Popular Hits of the Showa Era by Murakami Ryu

Originally published in 1994, Popular Hits of the Showa Era was published in a translation by Ralph McCarthy by Pushkin Press in 2013. The novel displays many of the hallmarks of Murakami's writing, there are scenes of wrenching violence and explorations of psyches that usually remain in the shadows. The novel opens introducing a group of maladjusted young men whom have little in connection apart from perhaps a shared disconnection with society, the men party and a reoccurring motif appears in the form of a beautiful woman who appears in a window opposite theirs who through various points in the story is usually spied on in a state of undress. The action of the novel comes into motion when one of the group, Sugioka, murders a woman in what seems to be a random and impulsive act of violence, the victim was Yanagimoto Midori, a woman who was a generation or so older than Sugioka.

This murder introduces us to the two groups which become the rival gangs of the novel, which at various points are referred to as the Midori Society and the Nobue/Ishihara gang. We are introduced to their idiosyncrasies and peer into the generational gap or crack between the two. The Midori Society, who all share the same name with the initial victim are made up ostentatiously of Oba-sans, karaoke buddies, women of a certain age, the group includes a divorcee and others appear to be facing various stages of mid life crisis, but display fantastic abilities and organisational skill when it comes to avenging the murder. The Nobue/Ishihara group is made up of essentially a group of young men who appear to be slightly off kilter, maybe best described as misfits. The novel essentially follows the groups as they progress in taking revenge for the initial murder, taking a member out of each group one at a time, or towards the end of the book that number increases, as does the extremities of the violence and methods used in efforts to exterminate the members of the opposing group.

In places the novel displays a dark humour and there's an equally dark satire going on with these observations of the generational gap taken to maximum extremes of violence, Murakami is uncanny at bringing these hidden pathological psychologies on to centre stage and putting his foot on the accelerator, depicting perhaps the unspoken vengeful impulses of society. With the novel's title in mind the characters of the book reference a number of songs throughout, it could quite easily come with an accompanying cd and perhaps before setting out on a reading of this novel it might help to put on a few tracks by Frank Nagai or Sachiko Nishida to serve as a contextual backdrop.

Popular Hits of the Showa Era at Pushkin Press

             

Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa

Amongst the burgeoning number of international titles put out by One World comes Sweet Bean Paste by Durian Sukegawa translated by Alison Watts, the novel has also garnered attention due to it being adapted in a film version directed by Naomi Kawase. Related in simple prose the story is an engaging and moving human drama that throws together two characters who at first appear to have little in common, one being Sentaro who works at Doraharu where he makes dorayaki, the second being Tokue, an elderly woman who applies to work for him who at first is refused but then after Sentaro samples her delicious dorayaki is taken on. As she begins to teach Sentaro the secrets of how to cook dorayaki her way the past of each character begins to be explained. Sentaro is working at Doraharu paying off debts and has spent time in prison. Tokue carries the enigma of her misshapen hands which begins to arouse the suspicions of some of the customers, one of them Wakana whose character begins to feature more centrally in the second half of the book.

The plot sees the popularity of Doraharu rise and fall, it's future precariously balanced as the two work away to make the perfect dorayaki and make a success of the business which is always under the scrutinous eye of the owner's wife who stops by to check the books, things come to a head when pressure is brought on for Tokue to quit, after her departure it becomes apparent that she was suffering from Hansen's disease and that Tokue was living in a hospice for sufferer's of the disease. Sentaro comes to realize the stigma that has dogged Tokue's life through misguided comprehensions, pointlessly being confined way beyond the possible risk of contagion has long past. Through this coming together Sentaro begins to face up to the things in his own past and Tokue develops a renewed perspective of her life, after eventually quitting Doraharu the pair stay in contact, Sentaro and Wakana visit Tokue at the hospice where more of her past is related. Sweet Bean Paste is both a moving and provoking book with a number of lines of enquiry, both reassuring and elegiac with a broad sense of humanity.                  

Sweet Bean Paste at One World 

The Nakano Thrift Shop by Hiromi Kawakami

Somewhere amongst the pages of The Nakano Thrift Shop it's lead character, Hitomi, surmises her observations of her on/off relationship with her colleague, Takeo, with the phrase 'the scrutiny of love', it could be said that this forms the central plot of contention and theme of the novel that was published by Portobello Books last year in a translation from Allison Markin Powell. The novel is made up of chapters which at times resemble installments, giving the impression of being diary entries, perhaps. Hitomi's observations carry a certain fragility to them, and there's some slight uses of poetical imagery, when kissing Takeo, perhaps for the first time?, Hitomi hears in the distance the sound of an engine start and then stop, which seems to mirror the progress of their relationship. It's refreshing to read Kawakami, she has her characters break and question conventional thought in subtle ways, Takeo feels quite a feminine character, for an initial portion of the book you wonder if he is asexual, the notion of sexual desire and relationships is a subject brokered again later in the novel by Masayo, (Mr Nakano's unmarried sister), who Hitomi confides her  inner most thoughts to through various points in the novel.

Being set in the confines of a thrift store, sometimes the novel has the feel of being a play, there are not that many characters to the book, perhaps the reader might imagine a stage, despite the women Mr Nakano is having affairs with. There are a number of subplots that arise through the characters that frequent the shop and through the objects they peruse, perhaps rather subtly, did one of these other story lines spill across a couple of chapters?. Kawakami's prose has a pensive quality to it, incidences can sometimes feel subdued however eventful they are, in one chapter Mr Nakano is stabbed, but things seem to carry rather glacially on to all degrees unaffected, maybe the prompt for his potential exit in his attempt to extrapolate himself from the escalating predicament of his affairs.

The prose of The Nakano Thrift Shop has a softly quintessential feel, an engaging episode of the drama of an encounter of the heart, like the customers of the shop who drift in and out we too, as does it's central protagonists, drift in and out of their lives and loves, tinted with their subtle eccentricities, alienations and lives subtly, sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently, knocked out of joint by modern life and it's pulling, the drama plays out combining both introspective reflection and an ending coda.  


The Nakano Thrift Shop at Portobello Books

Moshi Moshi by Banana Yoshimoto

Forthcoming from Counterpoint Press, (many thanks to them for an arc), in a translation from Asa Yoneda is Banana Yoshimoto's Moshi Moshi which was originally published in Japan in 2010 as Moshi Moshi Shimokitazawa, and although quite a slim volume it's always a marvel how Yoshimoto can conjure up portraits that are both moving and engaging in such short space. Moshi Moshi is narrated by a young woman, Yoshie, whose father has recently committed suicide with a lover who by turns maybe a distant relative. After moving to Shimo-kitazawa, an area known for the diversity of it's eateries and shops, Yoshie finds her mother moves in to her small flat with her, after the loss of her husband she finds herself estranged from life as a 'Meguro madam'. Portions of the book bare similarities with Kawakami Hiromi's The Suitcase, as Yoshie works in nearby Les Liens, many scenes play out as she works at the restaurant,Yoshimoto's portrait of the characters of the lives of those working and living in the neighbourhood are vivid and there are descriptions of food and drink which may induce the reader to take pause and indulge. Reading as Yoshie and her mother look up and down the comings and goings from their apartment window of Chazawa-dori is evocative at all times.

At the center of the book is the mystery of the suicide of Yoshie's father and the woman who may have lead him to commit the act, and an additional flipside to the narrative is of Yoshie and her mother coming to terms with their loss. During this process they re-examine and re-address their relationship with one another and sift through family memories, all of this engagingly conveyed in Yoshimoto's simplistic, unassuming  prose which seems to offer new insights at each turn of the plot and each realization and renewed observation that Yoshie comes to understand. Through this plot of a suicide in the family Yoshimoto presents a subtle examination on the nature of self destruction and it's affect on those that are left behind in it's wake, but interestingly here it remains unclear how determined her father was in his actions, was he too a victim to another's desire for suicide?. Human fallibility is a theme that appears frequently in Yoshimoto's writing as it does here in it's subtle multi-layeredness which seems to surface in her characters as they encounter and open themselves up to each other before us.

As Yoshie pursues her thoughts and premonitions about her father's death it brings her into relationships with two men who had connections with him whilst he was alive which she hopes may give some insight into her father's motives or indeed to discover how much of a willing participant he was to his own death. Nestled into this narrative Yoshimoto adds a supernatural element, (another re-occurring aspect in her writing), with Yoshie's mother relating how she see's her father's ghost when she returns to the family home and of Yoshie's dream of the ringtone of her father's phone and of his wanting to contact her, what is it he wants to tell her?, all of these add impetus to Yoshie's pursuit for answers and some form of closure. In Moshi Moshi through it's jarring circumstance and the characters it involves we see Yoshimoto grappling the larger questions of what occurs when life derails and gives once again an affecting portrait of those left behind as they learn to pick up the pieces and carry on.
     

Moshi Moshi at Counterpoint Press

The Secret of the Blue Glass by Tomiko Inui

The Secret of the Blue Glass was published originally in Japan in 1967 and has been recently published by Pushkin Children's in a translation from Ginny Tapley Takemori. Although for the younger reader the book makes for a deceptively layered read even for the adult reader, with it's setting covering the end years of the war the book sees it's characters facing it's harsh and tragic realities, it's main protagonist, Yuri being evacuated out of Tokyo. The book in many places is being mentioned in the same breath as of The Borrowers, as similar to that novel the book features the appearance of little people who are initially hidden away in the book room of the Moriyama family, whose various members secretly deliver milk to them in a miniature blue glass cup, the appearance of the Little People is connected to a Miss MacLachlan, an English educator who had come to Japan years previous. The narrative opens up more questions than it answers and full disclosure to some of the plotlines here remain unanswered, leaving many of the circumstances of character details left open at the end of the book, which is an interesting aspect that leaves the reader perched somewhere amongst the lives of a number of them.

An interesting juxtaposition to the book is that of the historical and the fantastical elements, over all the feeling that the novel conveys an anti war message can be felt, the novel also sees the father of the Moriyama's, Tatsuo, being imprisoned for having unapproved books on his shelves, which feels is a reference to occurrences of tenko for the younger reader. As well as observing the hardships facing the family, the narrative explores the world of the Little People and sees their perspective of the events unfolding around them, and also of the two children, Robin and Iris as they explore the possibilities of escaping the confines and boundaries of the book room with the aide of Yahei the pigeon. Visualizing the Little People in places is interesting, one might not help picturing them as stepping out from the movie La Planete Sauvage, the added detail that time worked more slowly on them, provoked the question how human are they?, what other dissimilarities do they possess?. Another subtle detail which arises at the beginning of the book but slips off  subtly and disappears is that it is a narrative within narrative, and also at the beginning there are references to other classics of children's literature.

As conditions worsen, the Little People evacuate with Yuri to Nojiri, to Aunt Toyo and Granny Oto's up in the mountains and into a rural isolation, food and milk become scarcer, Yuri is faced with ostracization when rumour circulates over the circumstance of her father's imprisonment, it could be seen that one of the central elements to the novel is that of the balancing of allegiances and commitments, (the bringing of the milk is proof and the sign of the Little People accepting or allowing themselves to be seen by the larger people), and of course the outcome and aftermath of war. Whilst in Nojiri, the juxtaposition of the harshness and extremities of the war is countered with further fantasy and the feeling that we are venturing deeper into folklore territory with the befriending of the Little People with Amanejakki, an imp who lives hidden away in a shrine. As an adult reader of The Secret of the Blue Glass it's tempting to start looking out for deeper allegories and symbolism within the narrative, but this aside The Secret of the Blue Glass presents also a fascinating diversion into the realm of alternate realities, a unique and valuable read.

The Secret of the Blue Glass at Pushkin Children's

  

Human Acts by Han Kang

Firstly I'd have to mention a massive debt of thanks to Portobello Books for providing an ARC of Human Acts by Han Kang, the book is due next month and it feels more than fitting that my reading in 2015 that began with The Vegetarian is now ending with Human Acts both of which are translated by Deborah Smith. A first observation between the two books is that where The Vegetarian feels on the whole a largely character driven work, Human Acts takes it's cue from historical event, one that is close to it's author, Han Kang. Human Acts comes to us through six installments and an epilogue, Deborah Smith also provides an introduction which connects the author to the presented novel and offers insights and backgrounds in the translation of the novel, and of the nuances of it's original Korean title, the book has courted controversy since it's publication in 2014.

Throughout the six narratives a resurfacing character, who comes into focus through the varying perspectives is Dong-ho, a young student who becomes caught up in the violent repression of a demonstration in the South Korean city of Gwangju in 1980, and through the chapters a number of other orbiting characters resurface subtly linking the narratives together, interestingly the chapters start out from 1980 and as the novel progresses each chapter advances closer towards us to the present day, the last chapter, or epilogue entitled The Writer is dated 2013. Given that Gwangju is Han Kang's native city there are a number of instances and scenes within the book and chapters that feel have a biographical element to them, in one chapter an editor for a publisher who is about to publish a work from a playwright but encounters the censor, this chapter is presented on the occasions of seven slaps the narrator receives, as with all of the chapters as well as linking to Gwangju they offer nuanced glimpses and recollections into each of their narrators personal histories. Another chapter entitled The Prisoner from 1990 is told in the form of the events being recollected to an enquiring Professor who it appears is researching the events of Gwangju, the narrator recounts his treatment after being rounded up and his relationship with another prisoner, Jin-su, the narrative continues on after they meet again years later, the evidence of the indelible scarring of their treatment whilst being incarcerated remains as the men endeavour to reconcile the events of their pasts.

Deborah Smith points out that the book is not a simple chronology of Gwangju, Human Acts feels very much that it is a testament of the horrific events seen from differing perspectives and characters as well as from differing points in time, but at the same time there are lines laid within the novel that link from the initial event through time past and into the present day, a major one is Dong-ho, one of the chapters is narrated from his mother who recalls the point of last seeing him alive and dated from 2010, although despite being one of the central figures to the novel the character of Dong-ho carries a certain amount of anonymity, it feels that Han Kang has presented us with a sketch of him, although it feels that we see the barest outlines of him he remains highly tangible, his premature fate and snuffed out innocence highly and deeply poignant, and this anonymity carries with it a  certain sense that he is an everyman, Dong-ho could be anyone. Reading Human Acts is an often deeply moving and harrowing read and to be presented with the violence and brutality of it's events is to wonder again at the depths of man's inhumanity.


Human Acts at Portobello Books

The Ark Sakura by Kōbō Abe

The Ark Sakura/Hakobune sakura maru first appeared a little over thirty years ago, translated by Juliet Winters Carpenter the novel displays a number of motifs that can be seen in much of Abe's writing, although laced in places with absurdist humour the novel addresses a number of sociological issues, although chiefly among these is the prospect of nuclear armageddon, told with a particularly Abe-esque vision. The novel opens with it's narrator Pig or Mole as he prefers it, buying an eupcaccia, an insect invented by Abe which back in pre-internet days must have convinced many readers that it was a bona-fide insect, Mole identifies with the insect through numerous instances of the novel, (the fact that the insect feeds on it's on faeces is a slightly disarming one), which gives the novel an entomological strand, similar to that perhaps also felt in The Woman of the Dunes, through the bug's purchase at a rooftop sale he comes into contact with three other principal characters of the novel, the insect dealer, the shill and his girlfriend, whose real name Abe, I'm certain doesn't let slip throughout the book. After buying the insect Mole learns that the previous purchasers, the mole and his girlfriend were in actuality fake buyers, shills, employed by the market to entice customers into making purchases, they're are also known as sakura and later refer to themselves as decoys, which goes some way in being an initial driving pin Abe utilises in beginning to separate reality and appearance, which one might be real?, later in the novel this concept is added upon when we are presented with the scenario that it's protagonists are happier to live in a world of supposed nuclear destruction than existing in the world that they had known previously to it. In some ways The Ark Sakura could be seen as Abe's end of the world novel, the only one Abe wrote during the eighties it's evocative of it's own age, appearing a year before Murakami's Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World it feels at times like there are a number of overlaps in tone between the two writers, although where as Murakami leans to use magical realism in his writing it feels that Abe's writing presents the imagery but leaves the reader open to ponder on what is being presented. Amongst the political satire and at times coded commentary the novel studies some serious concerns, notably that of the concept of collective fear in the nuclear age, when reading the novel we have to remind ourselves of the proximities of these fears in the age it was written, the tangibility of nuclear Armageddon.

A good first portion of the novel is taken up with following Mole persuading the insect dealer, the shill and his girlfriend into signing up in being crew members to board his ark built in a disused quarry, once owned by his father, the exact dimensions of the ark remain uncertain, and as they wander the labyrinthine tunnels of the ark we're reminded of the winding corridors of the hospital in Secret Rendezvous, Mole and the insect dealer are uncertain as to whether they've made it to the ark before the shill and his girlfriend, as they are separated en route, there's an epiphanic scene in the darkness after they arrive when Mole switches on the light, via one of his strange gadget inventions, that throws the novel into a light that somehow doesn't feel was on before, we begin to learn of the shades of Mole's character, his estranged father Inototsu, and that Mole was the product of a rape committed by his father. Once inside the ark the narrative, usually conveyed via Mole explores various philosophical and social subjects, at one point the notion of national sovereignty is examined and the conclusion arises that on the whole it's a rather limp concept which exists in order to allow the state to remain free reign do as it wishes. Whilst in the ark we learn that other factions operate within the quarry, an octogenarian group of cleaners called the Broom Brigade have formed their own quasi political group, which it could be said resembles a certain faction that drive around in darkened vans, this portrait feels similar to Abe's continued coded commentary of the right as in The Ruined Map the criminal gang are all wearing yamato badges, it's not too obvious, although it is there. As well as the political ruminations there is the background subplot of the quarry being targeted to dump toxic waste illegally for profit, which is the point of contention between Mole and the varying factions, and also of the quarry being a place to despatch the bodies of unwanted persons who find themselves in the way. Abe's metaphors seem to resonate and become more cohesive after coming to the end of many of his novels, they sometimes come into focus later, which leads us to contemplate his use of perspective in his narratives. Another group referred to is the Olympic Preventive League, which has perhaps a renewed relevancy in light of future events, Mole contemplates the event noting it's absurdity and the means of what it represents.

As with some of Abe's later novels it feels that at times the plot line of The Ark Sakura unfurls in a scattered way, there is subterfuge and digressions, the flow of the narrative is pockmarked by allegorical incidence and odd angled diversions. As well as the serious line of the narrative this feels like it is threatened to be subsumed by Mole's observations of his attraction to the shill's girlfriend although this goes someway in exacerbating the sense of his solitude, another aspect of his character alluded to is the inherent criminality passed between father to son. Off centre in the later half of the novel a death occurs whose circumstance Mole can't unfathom, it's left there, a dark knot in the novel that even the narrator cannot seem to undo, it's interesting also to contemplate that the novel has two exit points to speak of, Mole's escape and of those that stay behind. It's also interesting to contemplate that the novel appeared in 1984, obviously a significant year in literature, which provokes the question of Abe's thoughts on Orwell's novel, surely he must have read it?, did he write on it?, another further point of interest is that 1948 was the year that Abe's first piece appeared, curious observations that probably have no connection.      

The Ark Sakura at Penguin Random House 

                    

The Miner - by Natsume Sōseki republished

Recently received an email from Aardvark Bureau/Gallic Books highlighting the great news that they're republishing The Miner by Natusme Soseki, translated by Jay Rubin, this new edition also features a 5000 word introduction by Haruki Murakami entitled A Nonchalant Journey Through Hell, some more details are here, it's great that this novel is being brought back into wider circulation and renewed readership, my post on the older edition of The Miner can be found here, some more information from the publishers -

The Miner

Natsume Sōseki

Translated by Jay Rubin, and with an introduction from Haruki Murakami, this is bound to appeal to fans of Japanese literature.

‘It makes me very happy to know that even now I can read this novel written over a hundred years ago as if it were a contemporary account and be deeply affected by it. It cannot, and should not be overlooked. It is one of my favourites.’ from the introduction by Haruki Murakami

The Miner is the most daringly experimental and least well-known novel of the great Meiji writer Natsume Sōseki. An absurdist tale about the indeterminate nature of human personality, written in 1908, it was in many ways a precursor to the work of Joyce and Beckett.

The narrative unfolds within the mind of an unnamed protagonist-narrator, a young man caught in a love triangle who flees Tokyo, is picked up by a procurer of cheap labour for a copper mine, then travels toward and inside the depths of the mine, in search of oblivion. As he delves, the young man reflects at length on nearly every thought and perception he experiences along the way. His conclusion? That there is no such thing as human character. The result is a novel that is both absurd and comical, and a true modernist classic.

5 Facts About Natsume Sōseki

He features on the Japanese 1000 yen note.

He lived in London from 1901-1903.

He hated almost every minute of his stay.

There is a Sōseki museum opposite one of his homes in Clapham.

The characters Kafka and Oshima discuss The Miner in Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore.

http://aardvarkbureau.com/

The Vegetarian by Han Kang

Recently published by Portobello Books The Vegetarian is translated by Deborah Smith, glancing at the book's jacket you'd be slightly forgiven for failing to notice that hidden amongst the petals of flowers you can make out a tongue, fingers, a slab of meat, and on the back a single eyeball stares out from amongst the flowers, it's a slightly disconcerting blend of flesh and vegetation, something which figures largely within the novel. Han Kang comes from a literary family and has been awarded many literary awards, including the Yi Sang Literary Prize, for the story Mongolian Mark, a line from a poem by Yi Sang provided the inspiration to the story The Vegetarian, that states; I believe humans should be plants, this is another aspect seen in one of the leading characters of the novel. The Vegetarian is made up of three chapters that, almost in relay fashion, follow the story line of it's main protagonist, Yeong-hye. That said the book ostensibly follows two sisters, Yeong-Hye and also In-hye, although the perspectives that we see them from shifts in being from related characters, in the central story Mongolian Mark the narrative focuses on Yeong-hye's brother in law, a video artist who finds himself estranged from his own works, who fixates on his sister in law's, Mongolian mark, which has surprisingly not faded away as she has got older. Mongolian Mark picks up on the events of the preceding story The Vegetarian that sees the disintegration of Yeong-hye's marriage, which sees Yeong-hye turn vegetarian after having a dream, which throughout the story is initially described in italicised fragments. Throughout the opening story Yeong-hye stays steadfast to her vegetarianism, at a meal with her husband's work colleagues she refuses to eat meat which causes an incident her husband tries to contain by describing that she is a vegetarian due to medical reasons. As the story progresses it slowly becomes apparent that Yeong-hye's vegetarianism is leading more toward a fully blown eating disorder associated to her having a nervous breakdown, which culminates in a family gathering for a meal ending with Yeong-hye having meat forced upon her and a suicide attempt. Toward the end of the story elements of Yeong-hye's family background emerge, her violent father and characters that feature later in the book begin to appear, her brother in law, and her sister, In-hye.

Han Kang's prose deftly explores the fissures in her character's lives, predominantly the men that appear in the book are on the whole unforgivably base, the violence of her father, the neglect of her husband, who is later referred to as the more formal Mr Cheong in the latter part of the novel. At the same time within the book Han Kang explores the strengths of her characters as in the final story Flaming Trees, which sees In-hye reflect and summarises on her past and events of the book that have led to this point, In-hye visit's Yeong-hye in hospital now being force fed and on the brink of wasting away. Flaming Trees subtly continues the metaphor at play in the centre of the book, of humans as plants, Yeong-hye is at times overwhelmed by the feeling that she has an inner plant that is trying to find expression through various episodes in the book, at times she exposes her self to the sun which seems to appear as an attempt at temporary photosynthesis. The central theme in Mongolian Mark is that Yeong-hye's brother in law fixates on her Mongolian mark which inspires him to create a film of her painted with flower motifs on her body. An aspect that lies at the edges of the reader's suspicion is that of Yeong-hye's mental state, is her brother in law taking advantage of her, although she gives her consent and her enthusiasm for the project is a surprise to her brother in law, as much as it is to the reader.

During Mongolian Mark the marriage between Yeong-hye's brother in law with her sister, In-hye begins to come into focus in the narrative, and the brother in laws pursuit of his art knows no bounds, after persuading an artist friend, J, to also take part in the filming, but things don't go to plan and In-hye makes the discover of the subject of her husband's film with Yeong-hye. Han Kan's prose traces the lines and cracks with the things that bind her characters, pursuing desires contained and those seeking expression, at times uncontrollably and examines their consequences. The Vegetarian looks into the darker side of it's character's psychologies which glances equally between causes and consequences which grips across the triptych of stories presented here, I hope further translations appear in the near future.  

The Vegetarian at Portobello Books                

Last Words From Montmartre - Qiu Miaojin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Reading Last Words from Montmartre has been a profound experience, although an epistolary novel in it's presentation, Qiu directs us at the beginning that we can read the letters in any sequence, over varying perspectives it begins to become difficult to separate the voice of the author with that of the novel's narrator, in relation to Japanese literary terms perhaps it wouldn't be far off in likening it to being in the style of a Watakushi shōsetsu. this is the impression I have after reading it. Situated in Paris the setting does switch at times, to Taipei then to Tokyo, briefly to London?, like Qiu herself the narrator is fascinated with Dazai, Mishima and other Japanese authors are referenced, Abe Kobo, Murakami Haruki as well as the films of Theodoros Angelopoulous and briefly the sculptor Paul Landowski. Initially the letters explain a break up between the narrator and Xu, her lover, the panoramic scope of vision of the narrative spins around glimpsing lives of those in proximity to the narrator, the central point of the narrative shifts, so an uncertainty remains, although fragmentary it's lucidity is piercing, it's intimacy and honesty unflinching, it's poignancy totally disarming. The novel is translated by Ari Larissa Heinrich who also gives an afterword which gives a sociological and historical background to the literary scene in Taiwan leading up to the book's first publication in 1996, the year after Qiu Miaojin's suicide in Paris.

Undoubtedly Last Words From Montmartre is a novel that will attract a great deal of discussion, I'm still reeling from reading it, and at the moment all I feel I could say about it would be in some ways to reiterate the description of it over at it's page at nyrb, so for now I'll just redirect you there and recommend the book without reservation, hopefully I'll be more articulate after reading Notes of A Crocodile, which was awarded a posthumous China Times Honorary Prize for Literature in 1995, and is also forthcoming from nyrb in a translation by Bonnie Huie, an excerpt and introduction of which is available via Kyoto Journal, but no doubt Last Words of Montmartre will be re-read before that time. Finishing his afterword Ari Larissa Heinrich observes that 'Perhaps no writer since Mishima has so mercilessly ripped the mask off the writer's true self.', it's really difficult to disagree, a landmark and monumental book.

Last Words from Montmartre at nyrb

at amazon

  

The Miner - Natsume Sōseki

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

Kōfu/The Miner first appeared in serialization in 1908 in the pages of the Asahi Shimbun, the narration is from a nineteen year old youth who after being caught between two women, Tsuyako and Sumie, finds himself wandering out of Tokyo through a forest of endless pine trees with the looming intention of throwing himself into a crater at Mt. Asama, or alternatively off Kegon Falls, in his afterword Jay Rubin mentions of the true character whose story Sōseki used as source material for aspects of the book, reading this is in some ways to be reminded of Kusamakura and of Fujimura Misao, finishing The Miner reiterates the hope for an explorative biography of Sōseki which would shed further insights into the stories behind his novels. In some descriptions of The Miner the book has been described as a precursor to Beckett and Joyce including sections which incorporate a stream of conscious style, this is probably mostly evident in the first two thirds of the book, although the reflective nature of the narrator's thoughts are never distant from the course of his describing the unfolding events of the novel, some of these reflections concern his evolving consciousness of his place in society, or more broadly the nature and follies of man, many of these instances of reflection here project over a number of pages and are prompted in a number of differing ways and scenarios, the line of a mountain that dissolves and blurs with that of the sky, the narrator observes that he finds himself in an 'out of focus world', a moment disembarking from a train, another theme that appears in the novel, reiterated by the narrator is the notion of the undefinable character of man and of the concluding observation that there is nothing more unreliable than man.

In some ways it feels that The Miner could be in part a bildungsroman due to the young age of the narrator, there is a sense we're sharing his rite of passage, early in the novel he reveals the fact that his period at the mine was only temporary, so the narrative comes partially from a perspective of hindsight, another aspect that remains slightly obscure is the nature and true scenario of his problem with the two women, Tsuyako and Sumie, it feels very much that perhaps he is the guilty party. In his afterword Jay Rubin observes that there were two Sōseki's, one humorous, the other an intellectual tragedian, and there is a little of both to be found in The Miner, perhaps more of the latter with an added percentage of being of a philosophical and sociological enquiry, with an emphasis on the absurd, it feels a little incredulous to contemplate that this translation has just passed being over a quarter of century old, there is the inclusion of phrases like; highfalutin, and in another scene where the boss of the mine, Mr Hara, instructs the narrator's guide, Hatsu, when after returning with the narrator from a tour of the dark depths of the mine, to sit down and 'take a load off', it feels slightly difficult to reconcile these phrases to a novel from 1908, Rubin's afterword and notes throughout the text remain greatly enlightening and informative.

It's tempting to read The Miner with the idea that  Sōseki is using the mine as a metaphor as the narrator explores his thoughts about the meaning of his existence and future, it feels like we are briefly visiting a darker or baser denizen of humanity amongst the squalid conditions and ways of the miners, another aspect is of the narrator's metropolitan background experiencing for the first time the provincial life, in some ways this is a common scenario that appears in a number of other of Sōseki's novels, of the main character or protagonist relating their experiences when travelling to a new location or surrounding, it occurs in Botchan and also in Sanshiro. Reading The Miner is to be reminded that although there are a number of similar themes usually running through Sōseki's novels, the narrative styles used in his novels are markedly different, in his introduction to Light and Dark John Nathan observes of the scale of interiority that the novel incorporates, but there remains a feeling that in The Miner that this is more so, it feels that The Miner is more allegorical than metaphor in parts it feels like it could be veering into a Kafkaesque landscape, the mine, it appears could be viewed as Sōseki's Vor dem Gesetz/Before the Law, the narrator can't move forward until he has journeyed through the darkness of the mine, there is a hybrid of different motives to his narrative, a sense that the narrator is assuaging his guilt and of his on going interpretation of the nature of the world at large, but the novel offers no redemptive quality, the narrator does not turn to the mine as an alternative to suicide, it's not until he encounters an older miner in the darkness, Yasu, when he becomes lost after Hatsu, his guide, scurries away from him that his thoughts begin to formulate into a concrete coherent course of action. In Yasu, the narrator sees a projected mirror image of himself older, one learnt from experience, Yasu too had come from a comfortable and educated Tokyo family and with a crime in his past a feeling that he is unable to leave the mine and the fate he has chosen, the narrator contemplates Yasu and the possibility of his sacrificed future in the outside world - 'Had society killed Yasu, or had Yasu done something that society could not forgive?'. Yasu offers to pay the narrator's return fare to Tokyo, but the narrator is reprieved from working in the depths of the mine due to a slight of fate, already we know from earlier in the novel that he won't spend the rest of his days at the mine, reading Sōseki often feels like experiencing the narrative unroll perhaps as in a modern emakimono.

Another more experimental aspect of this novel which surfaces from time to time is the narrator's scepticism of the literary worthiness of the events occurring in the novel, this also overspills in relating aspects of the literary worthiness of his own character and actions, and by turns in an equal number of places he expresses his scepticism with learned academia, which he often sees as expressing itself with a lot of 'hot air', was this perhaps included in reaction to the disdain Sōseki received after choosing to give up his university post and write for the Asahi?. In some ways it's none too surprising to see how The Miner is one of Murakami Haruki's favourite novels, as literary worthiness, (or junbungaku-ness?), appears to be a bone of contention that many critics often level with Murakami's writing, much of Rubin's afterword is taken up discussing the criticism levelled at Sōseki's writings at the time of their appearance. As 2016 and then 2017 approaches no doubt hopefully this will see an increase of interest in Sōseki, perhaps this too will also see an increase with the availability of all of his works.

  

Light and Dark: A Novel



Light and Dark is a novel to be best read with the phone off the hook and the internet left unconnected, in this new translation by John Nathan it comes in a page shy of 420, originally published in 188 instalments in 1916 of the Tokyo and Osaka editions of the Asahi Shinbun,  Sōseki passed away before being able to finish it, although on his desk was left the blank paper with the number for instalment number 189 written in and waiting to be filled. As with all unfinished novels the mystery hangs over what was meant to be, reading the book feels slightly akin of finding oneself within a confined space but with the added dimension of the door being left open at one end. John Nathan in his introduction points out that in it's incompleteness it is complete, everything we need to know is there in what we have, perhaps it brings to mind the conundrum that faces all artists of when is their painting actually complete?. Perhaps it could also be said that with Light and Dark you could approach a reading of it with these two perspectives in mind, one of it being presented as a novel and secondly of the original appearing in instalments, of the events arriving sequentially. Columbia University Press have presented a fantastically produced edition of the book with the original illustrations from Natori Shunsen, a master of yakusha-e, heading each of the numbered instalments and when slipping the book's jacket off, the hardcover comes with an illustrated embossed cover and the page cut comes deckle edged, it's a handsomely produced edition to behold.

At the centre of Light and Dark is Tsuda and O'Nobu, newly wedded, Tsuda being slightly the eldest, they are still dependant financially on monthly contributions from Tsuda's father in Kyoto, which at the beginning of the novel begins to cease being paid, perhaps this is a possible punishment for past deeds?. Reading Light and Dark is no small commitment on the reader's behalf, it is a substantial read, being more lengthy than I Am A Cat, whilst reading invariably the mind turns to contemplate Sōseki writing it in his state of deteriorating health and of also noting at the same time some aspects and familiar motifs associated with the author that occur within the text, in one scene a visit to London is recalled,and dotted through the book are occasional references to Chinese poetry and proverbs, in another brief and fleeting scene the ethics of Naturalism are shown to be ineffectual, added to this Tsuda suffers from stomach lesions for which he his operated upon. Much of the drama of the novel is mainly passed through few characters, the character that appears to receive most of the attention and study is Tsuda who spends most of the novel recuperating from his operation, whilst in bed he receives visits from among others Kobayashi, who is imminently departing for Korea, Kobayashi is a man, although they may have shared a friendship in the past, is in ways the antithesis of Tsuda, towards the end of the book there is a showdown between the two where the men vent their scorn toward each other and their different senses of morality, throughout the book Kobayashi has held the upper hand to Tsuda's assumed respectability as he knows an episode from Tsuda's past which he threatens to relate to O'Nobu, it comes down to a question of money, where again Kobayashi is again unable to resist from exacerbating and demonstrating Tsuda's moral bereftness, it could be said that Kobayashi is testing out elements of the moral pretensions of the day, it's left to us whose right holds out. Throughout the book the reader's sense of empathy shifts between Tsuda and O'Nobu, (as it does more subtly between Tsuda and Kobayashi), a subplot earlier in the book is the possibility of a miai in the family and this provokes O'Nobu to revaluate her marriage compatibility with Tsuda, who by turns we get the impression has had his hand slightly forced into the marriage, the interplay of these considerations on their parts it could be said is back dropped by the world of stifled conventions that have no interest in real or true desires.

Across its panoramic vision it could be said that Light and Dark is a novel of varying contrasts, the title is one that rather being represented in any one scene, (among these ones which we are left with), but one that is hinted to in a number of scenes of one being thematic, throughout these we're reminded of Sōseki's interest in Buddhist thinking and of life's continual dualism, as seen in Uncle Fujii's theories on male and female relationships, in which moments of enlightenment are reached and constitute a larger circle of harmony then disharmony, rather pointedly O'Nobu criticizes Fujii by admonishing him, 'You're so long winded Uncle'. The secret in Tsuda's past withheld from O'Nobu is also something described as being something kept in the dark, these contrasts can also be seen when Madam Yoshikawa visits Tsuda and discussing Kiyoko-san she asks him 'I imagine you still have feelings for Kiyoko-san?', he replies with 'Do I appear to have feelings?' Madam Yoshikawa replies with, 'For just that reason. Because they don't appear'. Reading Sōseki there's always a sense of drifting between worlds, Meiji into Taisho, which also enables to step out and transcend the age of their setting. An aspect that imbues his work is a sense of the organic that filters through, there's  almost an utter lack of pretension in his characters which impresses them and their predicaments into the reader's sphere of empathy, and although he was tackling contemporary issues of his day there's a feeling in his writing that despite all being impermanent he sees things from the fixed point of the heart, through all it's wanderings, be they through the labyrinth of corridors of a distant onsen, of the opposing predicaments of love and then to end on the enigma of a smile.



Light and Dark at Columbia University Press     

 

The Investigation by Jung-Myung Lee



Being set in Fukuoka Prison at the end of the war, (the same location of Endo Shusaku's novel The Sea and Poison), this novel piqued my interest and also additionally the translation is from Chi-Young Kim whose translation of The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly I read recently. Written by Jung-Myung Lee the book incorporates a fictionalized retelling of the life of the Korean poet, Yun Dong-Ju, it opens with the murder of Sugiyama, a guard of the prison known for his merciless treatment of the prisoners, Sugiyama is found strung up with his lips sewn together, another young guard, Watanabe, takes up the investigation of the murder and inside one of Sugiyama's inner pockets Watanabe finds a poem written out on a folded piece of paper. Something which impresses about Jung-Myung Lee's prose is his ability to weave the story seamlessly between each of the character's pasts with that of Watanabe's investigation in the present tense. The first and primary suspect is prisoner Choi Chi-su, a notoriously violent inmate who is repeatedly sent to solitary after attempting to escape many times, as well as exploring the past lives of Sugiyama and Choi Chi-su and their paths to the prison we are given a portrait of Watanabe, whose father went away to war, leaving him behind with his mother who set up a bookstore in Kyoto, there's an interesting description of the store being a 'fortress of books', but then Watanabe receives his red letter calling him up and eventually his being stationed at the prison.

Watanabe's lines of inquiry into Sugiyama's past also lead him to another inmate, Hiranuma, (Yun Donj-ju's given Japanese name), who was imprisoned for organising political meetings and his involvement with the Korean independence movement, as the novel progresses it becomes apparent that Sugiyama who despised intellectuals and reading begins to have found himself becoming absorbed into the world of books and reading. Posted on Ward 3 of the prison, known for its violence Sugiyama was put in charge with censoring the mail going in and out,  Hiranuma being able to translate Korean to Japanese and only letters written in Japanese having any chance of passing the censor, Hiranuma writes postcards home for the other inmates, whilst writing these cards Hiranuma begins to include in them references and phrases of his favourite authors, in particular the poets Rilke and Jammes which sends Sugiyama searching through the library's shelves to check if they contain anything seditious and should be censored, slowly he begins to be lured into the world of books and the written word.

The book is told with a deep sense of humility and humanity, the jacket mentions that it is perfect for fans of The Shadow of the Wind - a book I've yet to read, but in writing this book and it's appearance in English translation Jung-Myung Lee and Chi-Young Kim  have done a great service in bringing attention to the life of the poet Yun Dong-ju, as well as this the novel is imbued with an appreciation of reading and the ability of the written word to transform lives and outlooks. The plot is full of the enigma's and cruelties of it's times and Watanabe's investigation leads him into uncovering an uncomfortably dark truth about the prison and its practices, the riddle of Sugiyama's death is left unsolved until the last pages of the novel.


The Investigation at Mantle/PanMacmillan

Sky, Wind and Stars at Jain Publishing

  

The Thief - Fuminori Nakamura

 

 

The Thief is narrated by a compulsive pick pocket who steals beyond his needs and although being at the centre of the book there are a number of interesting characters floating around, off camera so to speak with lives which we are only given a glimpse of, most prominently is, Saeko, who the thief has had a relationship with in the past. The novel was awarded the 2010 Oe Kenzaburo Prize, and translated by Satoko Izumo and Stephen Coates, as of yet it's the only winner of the prize that has been translated into English, Yu Nagashima, who was awarded the prize in 2007 with Yuko-chan no Chikamichi has been translated into Spanish, and Toshiki Okada who was awarded the prize in 2008 for, Watashitachi ni Yurusareta Tokubetsu na Jikan no Owari, has been translated into German. Although quite a slight book its dimensions are at times broad, and in some ways its a novel of two parts, or perhaps a number of shifting perspectives of befores and afters. The thief, (in one quick scene his real name is revealed as Nishimura, is it?), is involved in a burglary where the real target is not money but a cache of documents, the crime involves himself, two men he knows and has a history with, but is organised by a bigger gang, headed by Kizaki who he is not familiar with but the money is good, although money seems to have relatively little value to him. After the burglary they are told  to leave Tokyo, parts of the narrative is made of the thief's memories of his friend Ishikawa, (whom he sees with a touch of sentiment, as being a master pick pocketeer), that drift back prior to the burglary, Ishikawa's history eclipses but falls short with that of the narrator's in the present tense, as we learn that Ishikawa was killed after the burglary by Kizaki.

 

Another story line that arises is that of the thief's relationship with a young boy who he observes stealing in a supermarket, noticing that the boy is being watched by the store detective, he lets the boy and his mother know that they have been seen, afterwards the boy attaches himself to the narrator following him to his apartment, the narrator falls into being a somewhat reluctant father figure to the boy giving him money to buy the items on a list given to him by his mother, rather than letting him to continue stealing them. The boy's mother works as a hostess, albeit as a slightly free agent, she provokes his memories of Saeko, and more details of their relationship begin to emerge. Kizaki re-appears with the request, (more of deadly ultimatum which potentially involves the boy and his mother), that the narrator carries out a couple of pick pocketing jobs for him. Whilst Kizaki sounds him out about the details of the two jobs, he relates a story about a French nobleman and a boy whose fate he chooses to control, in the story the malevolent nobleman orchestrates events in the boys life throughout his life as he gets older, the story sounds like it could have been lifted from the writings of de Sade but it presents an interesting conundrum about the nature of fate which is mirrored in the relationship between Kizaki and the thief, and also by a further extension between the thief and the boy that he is trying to steer onto the right path, it's an interesting moment in the novel, juxtaposing the harsh nature of fate whilst also pointing to Sartre's famous quotation: 'We are our choices'.

In some ways and places the novel is slightly formulaic, the omnipotent knowledge of the evil Kizaki reminded me slightly of Koyama in Matsuura's Triangle, but this aspect is redeemed in that the novel's concerns supersede them and creates a space to contemplate these themes and portrayals, and ultimately their consequences, there's a scene where the thief contemplates a scene from his school days, where the thief takes a valuable watch which breaks and his teacher scolds him by chastising that it was: Too good for trash like you!, and this comes across as being central to the book, a portrait of the distortion of values in a society where value is held or only estimated in material worth, by thieving the thief is attempting to escape or transcend these values, or in addition to deny their worth, and to keep that cryptic tower at bay.

The Thief at Soho Press and also Corsair

for Oe Kenzaburo Prize page at Kodansha         

Cage on the Sea



Recently published by new imprint Bento Books Cage on the Sea by Kaoru Ohno looks to be a novel of epic proportions, translated by Giles Murphy the book is available in a number of formats, to read more about this novel, an interview with author Kaoru Ohno and more on Bento Books click over to their website.

Cage on the Sea at Bento Books

Triangle by Hisaki Matsuura

Forthcoming from Dalkey Archive Press, Triangle is translated by David Karashima, it could be said that it could be added to the slowly growing number of titles that feature the presence of two celestial globes, although Triangle predates another well known one, (Murakami's 1Q84), by some years, it seems that perhaps the presence of two moons or two suns could become the common motif of novels with characters that find themselves caught in alternative realities, maybe one of the earliest appearances of this could be in The Invention of Morel by the Argentine novelist Adolfo Bioy Casares which was published in 1940. Perhaps the protagonist of Triangle, Otsuki, doesn't find himself in an alternative reality in a literal sense, but does find himself becoming embroiled in dark circles which he struggles to comprehend across this at times unsettling novel.

With an unsettling film at its centre the narrative style of Triangle also feels in places cinematic and could perhaps be described as being a blending of somewhere between Yamada Taichi and the darker side of Murakami Ryu, much of the novel is situated in Tokyo's Taitō District in particular San'ya, a notoriously rough and rundown area. Otsuki is a rather dissolute character, a recovering drug addict, who on returning home one night encounters an old acquaintance, Sugimoto, standing out in the street in only his boxers and vest, (this rather enigmatic incidence is returned to later in the novel and given it's fuller and darker context), through Sugimoto's insistence and the offer of easy work Otsuki is introduced to Koyama, an older man whom Otsuki begins to understands is a renowned calligrapher whose home is labyrinthine with glass panelling and conservatory, at first Otsuki imagines that he is needed to act as a translator into French, but Koyama shows him a film that he has been working on. The film is experimental in nature, a young woman or teenager is seen having sex with an older man, these scenes are cut and interposed with close up images of various insects, later Otsuki is introduced to the young woman as being Koyama's granddaughter, Tomoe, Otsuki is propositioned with completing the film.

To degrees the novel's concerns could be seen as being about the fabric of identity, over the course of the book and through scenes of violent intimidation and torture, at the hands of Koyama's brutal henchman, Takabatake, who also turns out to be the man in the film with Tomoe, Otsuki is faced with re-constructing and de-constructing his own identity, in the past he had burnt out in a normal 9 to 5 job, but finds himself unable to live with the alternatives and finds himself seeking again the reliable safety, albeit the emptiness of this kind of existence. Another interesting aspect to the novel is some of the parallels going on subtly with the narratives, Otsuki's voice is that of the contemporary man and his dilemmas, the extremes that he faces in the novel represent in a way extremes that the age faces, counter to his is Koyama's, the elder established man, in another way Koyama, who we believe at first to be a darkly cultivated aesthete offers the deeper, although much darker, philosophical voice, added to this the narrative poses some post-modernist musing about the fallible nature of representation in the arts. Throughout the novel, Otsuki is caught between two women, Hiroko, a married woman who he is a having an affair with who offers to leave her husband for him and also, Tomoe, the central and most enigmatic character of the novel, (there are at times rumours of levitation), whom Otsuki becomes increasingly infatuated with. Otsuki finds himself filming in San'ya above Takabatake's shop which in places is a curiously laid out and reconstructed replica of Koyama's house.

The threads of the novel begin to come together, or perhaps untogether when Hiroko's husband begins to drop clues after her disappearance, pursuing Otsuki over an incriminating ledger filled with names and also begins to fill in the blanks concerning Koyama whose past holds the truth to his assumed identity, Hiroko's past as well is not what Otsuki believed it to be and forges links to places he'd rather not acknowledge. Dalkey Archive describe Triangle as a moral tale gone wrong, and the darkness here seems to swamp the light, it fuses and defuses in almost equal measure, unnervingly, rather than concluding it seems to point to further darkness, further corruptions and whilst reading it provokes questions on the dilemma of how modern or contemporary novels might depict or mirror the contemporary world that create them.

Triangle at Dalkey Archive