Kotoko

Kotoko directed by Shin'ya Tsukamoto won the best film Orizzonti Prize at the Venice Film Festival in 2011, the film exhibits some of Tsukamoto's trademark techniques, shaking camera work, the soundtrack, kaleidoscopic, assists in breaking down the barriers between the viewer and the experiences of the central character Kotoko, - a mesmerising performance given by singer/actress Cocco. It could be said that the two concerns the film focuses upon are the pressures of single motherhood and also that of violence within society, and the way individuals react and respond in being exposed to it, these internalised fears of Kotoko manifest themselves into more of a destructive physical realm, the threat of violence intrudes into Kotoko's imagination through her fraught state of mind. The film opens with Kotoko stating that she sees double, we're momentarily tempted into thinking that the movie may take the route of depicting the good and the bad in the characters that Kotoko sees, but it becomes apparent that this double vision that she suffers from  could  stem from the anxiety and fatigue of being a single mother. In a series of powerful hallucinogenic scenes Kotoko envisions her young son, Daijiro, involved in accidents, and telling herself over and over again how dangerous it would be if she were to loosen her hold on him, and as she is standing on top of her apartment building she finds herself actually letting go, screaming for someone to call an ambulance as she runs down the stairway but she finds that Daijiro is actually safe in his room. The power that Tsukamoto brings in conveying Kotoko's imagined mental world is palpable, and as we begin to assimilate ourselves into her world, the T.V in her apartment repeatedly reports news of various violent crimes, violence in the film appears to be of a pandemic nature, insinuating anxiety, apprehension and uncertainty.

Daijiro is taken to Kotoko's sister's to be looked after, Kotoko sinks lower, she falls into self harming, cutting herself, into the mirror we see her pointing at her reflection with bloodied arms repeating, Ikiru, Ikiru, watching the disturbing scene you can't help but feel that Japanese cinema has turned, or is turning full circle. Midway through the film Tsukamoto appears himself playing Tananka, a prize winning novelist who has become fascinated with Kotoko after seeing her singing on the bus, he begrudgingly admits to stalking her, we learn that when she sings her double vision recedes and she sees the world as one. At first she tries to fend his attentions away by stabbing him in the hand with a fork, something that she does to another man who tries it on with her earlier in the film, but Tanaka is determined to help her, or in the least we think to attempt to understand her, he prevents her from cutting herself at first by letting her take out her inner anguish on him, but she falls back into inflicting cuts on herself, a particularly moving scene is one in which Tanaka tries to calm her. He moves in with her, but when a letter eventually comes saying that she has rehabilitated and that Daijiro can return Tanaka disappears, was he after all just a figment of her imagination?.

The movie is on the whole a gruelling one to watch, and it is to a degree reliant on its shock value to deliver its punch, although the observations it's making about violence and it's malignant influence on society give the impression that it could have quite easily have been produced at any point over the last twenty to thirty years and for all it's unflinching depictions of violent scenes there are at times some very moving scenes to witness within the film, one in particular is when Kotoko sings for Tanaka, when she comes to the end of her song we get the impression that Kotoko has finally arrived at a balanced place, but she still lacks the power to step out of herself, the sense of wretchedness at the end of this scene is something to experience, near the film's end Kotoko watches as Daijiro walks away from visiting her at the hospital, throughout the film she appears to be immobilized through the love she has for her son and it is forcibly felt in this scene. Although the film is shocking, this value accentuates the themes it forces us to consider.

Kotoko at King Records

Kotoko at Third Window Films

The Last Hour of the Bengal Tiger

A story I think from Yoko Ogawa's forthcoming collection Revenge, The Last Hour of the Bengal Tiger, translated by Stephen Snyder can be read over at online magazine Guernica, in another note it's also great to learn of a forthcoming selection of poetry by Gozo Yoshimasu, via International Dateline.

Revenge - Eleven Dark Tales at Macmillan

Tales of Tono

 

Perhaps it's something about this time of year that sets my reading interests wandering away from Japanese Literature, it's hard to fathom the real reason for this, I think I remember it happening to me around about the same time last year, here's a list of non-Japanese authors that I've read recently -

Sven Lindqvist - The Myth of Wu Tao-Tzu
W.G Sebald - After Nature
Gustave Flaubert - November
Andre Breton - Nadja
J.K Huysmans - Against Nature
Girogio de Chirico - Hebdomeros
Julian Green - Paris
Edouard Leve - Autoportrait
Denis Johnson - Train Dreams
Villiers de L'Isle Adam - Cruel Tales (ongoing)
Alejandro Zambra - Bonsai
Georges Rodenbach - Bruges la Morte

There's little resemblance to the list that I thought I was going to read, but I'd still like to read the titles from my previous list, among books that I'm hoping to reach over the next few months - The Red Laugh by Leonid Andreyev, The Double Death of Quincas Water-Bray by Jorge Amado, Lesabendio by Paul Scheerbart, The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov and The Republic of Wine by Mo Yan, but chances are I'll end up reading only a fraction of these and discover a whole crop of other titles that I want to read. After enjoying Bonsai by Alejandro Zambra, Ways of Going Home is a book I'm looking forward to in January.

Whilst reading my way through some of the above a book that I've been picking up in between and returning to is Tales of Tono recently published by Tate Publishing, the Tate Modern, in London has an ongoing exhibition of Moriyama and Klein and have also published a career spanning book of Moriyama, which contains some newly translated texts, but I thought I'd go for Tales of Tono, a book originally published in Japan nearly forty years ago. The photographs are accompanied by essays by Moriyama, (translated by Lena Fritsch who also contributes an essay, Simon Baker also contributes an informative essay), in which he explains his reasons for choosing Tōno, situated in Iwate Prefecture, and in the first essay Moriyama mentions two authors connected with Tōno, the folklorist Kunio Yanagita, whose book Tono Monogatari/The Legends of Tono is available in an anniversary edition, translated by Ronald. A Morse, published by Lexington Books, the other author Moriyama mentions who has connections with Tōno is poet and short story writer Miyazawa Kenji. Moriyama talks of Tōno being his imagined furusato, (hometown), and his fascination of maps, looking through the photographs they begin to take on a meditation on topography, representative of a certain time and place, when I look at these pictures the feeling that I'm looking at a scene which has been paused in the middle of a film and that at any moment a slow movement will begin, and the imagined film will spring back into momentum, this sensation always occurs to me when I look at photographs. The photographs are largely presented in black and white, with very few in colour, they capture an almost ethereal Tōno, a night time matsuri festival caught in flash light, the fabric designs of washing hung out takes up almost the whole of a frame, a hut of stored logs appear as a series of white circles of differing sizes in the blackness. Shop fronts and vending machines take on a starkness that remains undetected in the world of colour, but in the black and white, the substance of dark and light begin to become reversed, is it night time or day time?, sunlight or moonlight?.

Describing in the next essay his departure for Tōno, his enthusiasm for his project is infectious to read, travelling on a diesel train on the Kamaishi Line, his anticipation in seeing the famous landmarks mentioned in the folk stories collected by Yanagita, Mt. Hayachine and Mt. Rokkoshi and the Sarugaishi River, the fact that the locals he asks are ignorant of these places provoke a series of reflections for Moriyama. Mentioning the inclusion of a portrait of himself in the book I began to contemplate on the sequencing of the photographs as they appear in the book with how they corresponded with the route Moriyama travelled as he explored Tōno. Moriyama describes his determination to photograph everything that takes up his field of vision, his guest room, landscapes, cemeteries, the streets and fields, portraits of the people, the gravel of the roads. He describes his longing to meet kappa, oshira sama and zashiki warashi, the spirits of children who if seen are portents of good fortune, all of which figure in the Tono monogatari. A particular portrait that strikes me is of a young person, I can't ascertain the gender, the picture is grainy like a negative, the details of the eyes are hidden in shadow, it could sound a slight cliche to describe the photograph as haunting, but for me the image has a searing quality to it, and I've found myself returning to it again and again. Among the final essays through autobiographical sketches Moriyama makes parallels with photography and folklore, to read of his descriptions of photography as a form of narration provokes the viewer to examine and re-examine the photographs. Moriyama describes his struggle with imagined places with that of real places. Tales of Tono is a remarkable book for different reasons, for the photographs and also for the translated essays that give us a glimpse into the process of a unique photographer.

William Klein and Daido Moriyama is on at the Tate until 20.01.2013  

 



Tatsumi

Tatsumi directed by Eric Khoo, is an animated biographical film of Yoshihiro Tatsumi, which dips into Tatsumi's A Drifting Life, the film achieves a fantastic balance between biography and adaption, which if you're not familiar with his manga or gekiga, (dramatic pictures), as Tatsumi renamed his genre, will make you eager to seek out his books, or perhaps more of them if you've not read all of them already. The film was premiered at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, Tatsumi was involved in the making of the film, and the artwork on film captures what we see on the page of his books very well. The film begins with an honorific salute to Tatsumi's inspiration, Tezuka Osamu, and his appreciation is never too faraway from the narrative throughout the film, in one of the later biographical segments Tatsumi recalls his first meeting with Tezuka, before the he departs for Tokyo, the film alternates between biographical segments and adapted stories. The first of the stories presented is 'Hell', a story that follows a photographer sent to Hiroshima to document the aftermath of the bomb, reduced to tears by what he sees, he discovers the burnt shadow of what appears to be a son massaging his mother's back and takes a photo-graph of it, later returning to the shadow he discovers that the wall has been pulled down. The story goes on in time to the 1950's and Koyanagi's photo is used as part of a 'No More Hiroshima's' campaign, which sees the photographer begin to profit from his image, which bites at his conscious. Then a stranger gets in contact with Koyanagi claiming to be the son who everyone thought had been killed in the blast as seen in the shadow image, he tells Koyanagi that the boy whose shadow could be seen was actually a friend he had organised to kill his mother so that he could inherit her money, the crime caught in the flash of the bomb and then by Koyanagi's photograph. The story is an excellent example of the way that Tatsumi can build a set of circumstances and then completely change their direction and adopt an opposing set of meanings and implications, the hand of fate intervenes.

Each of the biographical segments are opened with a little animated look at historical events occurring to Japan that transpired throughout Tatsumi's life, these drift into scenes from Tatsumi's life, the strained relationship with his brother, Okicahn, also a manga artist who was ill with a lung complaint and was jealous of Yoshihiro's active life. Tatsumi's family was hit by financial hardship and this lead to Tatsumi determined to continue with his drawing, entering competitions with his work in an effort to contribute to the family, eventually we see him leave home and move into a flat with other artists and have his first experiences with women. Another point that comes across emphatically is that of Tatsumi distinguishing his work from manga drawn for children with that of the manga he wanted to draw for adults, and another milestone in his life is the publication of his first manga Black Blizzard. In the meantime more stories taken from his works are introduced, Beloved Monkey, a story about a lonely factory worker with a pet monkey who suffers an industrial accident that severs his arm, Just A Man, follows a manager at a firm caught in a loveless marriage who with secret savings endeavours to have an affair, before facing his secluded pension years with his wife, most of Tatsumi's stories have a spiritual bereftness about them, people caught in unwanted lives, usually searching for a way out or finding some form of appeasement, be it permanent of temporary.

The last two stories are Occupied from Abandon the Old in Tokyo and Goodbye from the collection of the same name, Occupied, feels like a story that perhaps is drawn from experience, or perhaps draws parallels with Tatsumi's ex-periences and themes within his work, a manga artist who draws for a children's publication is being laid off after the publication of the work his contracted for, he finds himself up against a severe bout of writer's block, and after a meal he succumbs to sickness, in a toilet he sees pornographic graffiti drawn on the walls which after an offer of work drawing erotic manga proves to be a source of inspiration, for him the moment is almost an epiphany, but he is discovered when he can't stop himself drawing on the walls and his moment of salvation is drowned with accusations of 'Pervet!' from the people outside and the police are called, the story, as also can be seen in Tatsumi's work is imbued with an almost feverish desperation. The film ends with Tatsumi looking and thinking over his life and work, and it's one to be inspired by.

Tatsumi at Soda Pictures

a man with no talents

 A Man With No Talents/San'ya gakeppuchi nikki, Oyama Shiro's highly engaging memoir from 2000 covers the period of him moving from Kamagasaki, one of the largest quarters in Japan for day labourers in Osaka, to San'ya in 1987, which was then Tokyo's equivalent quarter, the memoir covers his experiences during the period before and after the bubble economy burst, and throughout  what  Oyama refers to as the Heisei recession. He initially begins in describing how he came to be a day laborer, finding himself unable to face the life of a salaryman, he begins to describe his life of disassociation from what many see as the conventional life, steady job, wife, children, the presence of this disassociation is an aspect that is never to distant in him relating his experiences. Oyama appears as an outsider not only in his perspectives of mainstream society but also in his observations and relationship to San'ya, although in San'ya Oyama reflects - 'One's true self is that which exists in the gaze of other people. Here in San'ya, I have continually practiced the technique of bringing my inmost self closer to the self that others have come to expect; for someone like me who must live out his days in San'ya, there is nothing more to do in life than refine this technique'. He tells us of the close living conditions in his doya, (bunkhouse), at first he lived in a cramped communal room, eight to a room, with one tatami mat for each worker, but was unable to tolerate the lack of privacy, he managed to move into a room where the bunks were divided with curtains, Oyama describes using additional cardboard to strengthen the flimsy partitioning. He describes the smell of the men, those who have come off the streets, and also the sounds of the men, which becomes a part of the portrait of the psychology of men living in close quarters, the slow testing of each other.

The main source of work for the day laborers was through the San'ya Welfare Center, where men would queue up in the early hours, (2-3 am), in anticipation of it opening, Oyama describes these episodes which sometimes could turn violent, Oyama reflects on the before and after of the bursting of the economic bubble, and it's impact on the day laborers. The nature and at times complex relationship between the laborers is described, an episode where he encounters a couple of Korean workers who tell him that they feel sorry for him, Oyama gives portraits of the transient workers and of those that remained for a longer length of time, Tsukamoto, a man that similar to Oyama led a life that was completely cut off from his previous life is determined that he'd wander off and end up in Aokigahara, Oyama points out how this route he has taken has severed himself from the past, noting I think in the added post script that the last time he had seen any of his family was three decades previous, (he mentions the last time he  saw his niece). Although at times his opinions of his fellow workers dips into the caustic, it's also imbued with a wry sense of humour, (in his relationship with Saito for instance), and also a sense of incredulousness at their desire to still partake in ideals that Oyama is trying to distance himself from.

In one of the chapters Oyama charts his taking up walks along the Sumida River and across it's various bridges, and describes the emergence of the blue tarp covered shelters, and in particular a Murota who built a hut on the bank of the Arakawa Canal, this mixing of descriptions of his life in the doya and those homeless living on the streets occupies the latter part of the book, the dangers facing the homeless, of being robbed from the mogaki, who prey on drunken workers after they've been paid, and in one episode of a gang of 12-13 year olds throwing rocks at him. In his post script he describes his thoughts and feelings at actually finding that he had won the Kaiko Takeshi Prize with the manuscript of the book, the award also came with a cash prize which he intended to make last as long as possible, he ponders on how his family in all probability remain unaware that he won a literary prize, and also of his intention of moving out of the doya and living on the streets of Shinjuku, the reader can't help on pondering Oyama's fate or current situation. The memoir was translated by Edward Fowler who has also written on his experiences of living in San'ya in San'ya Blues, Laboring Life in Contemporary Tokyo.


A Man With No Talents at Cornell University Press


         

69 by Murakami Ryu

Practically found myself being pulled through this novel, as at first appearances I'd anticipated that it might read a little like Murakami doing Murakami as the theme and setting have some undeniable overlap, although the narrative throughout '69' has it's own distinctive pace and confidence, originally published in Japan in 1987 the novel turns 25 this year, this edition is the Kodansha one, although the novel will be re-issued by Pushkin Press next year. Set in the year 1969, (of course..), the events are seen from the perspective of seventeen year old Yazaki Kensuke, the narrative is a retrospective one although this doesn't really become apparent until the end of the novel. To what degree the events in the novel could be related to Murakami's life I'm not sure, but the setting is Sasebo, where Murakami was born and Murakami was also seventeen in 1969, an enjoyable aspect to Yazaki relating his story is at times at the beginning or ending of describing events are his imaginative elaborations on the truth, and then a quick correction by describing the true turn of events.

The novel evokes the prevailing mindset and mood of the period, the student movement, (Yazaki organizes a barricade at his school, painting slogans on the walls), and it's soundtrack, The Beatles, Dylan, Janis Joplin, and also the writers read, Camus, Rimbaud, Burgess, also the anti-Vietnam movement. The real motive for Yazaki's political motivations   become apparent, to impress the opposite sex, a subplot that runs throughout the novel is that he and his friends are organising a festival which he gives the name 'Morning Erection Festival', which will include the screening of an avant-garde film that they producing, which they hope will star girls from the school. The portrait that Yazaki gives is a searingly honest one, and at times unflinching which may sit uncomfortably in places, Yazaki can't help seeing through the pretensions of his teachers and to a degree others around him. Being a portrait of the juvenile years of a young man it's got everything you'd almost come to expect, girls, brushes with authority, gang fights, (almost), but at the end of the novel Murakami in a post script fills us in with what the characters have done with their lives subsequently. It's remarkable to note  that most of the references in the book are of Western things, maybe this is a true picture of 1969, (or the late sixties), in Japan, but it remains of course a snapshot from one perspective, Yazaki is likened to Chuya Nakahara at one point, although he struggles to picture this actor before remembering his real identity, perhaps this represents an unintentional repudiation of the past. The novel was translated by Ralph F. McCarthy, two of Murakami Ryu's short stories, The Last Picture Show and Whenever I Sit at a Bar Drinking Like This, I Always Think What a Sacred Profession Bartending Is, can be read at (Words without Borders).

Five Strange Tales from Tokyo

A post that I had on hold just in case, but after my dreadful oversight in thinking that Strange Tales of Tokyo/Tokyo Ki tansyu hadn't  appeared in English translation, I thought that I'd better acquaint myself with this collection, although my error has acted as a great prompt for me as Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman has inexcusably escaped my reading since I received it many years ago. Although in my slight defence the stories that feature in Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman are taken from  various sources and to add to this a couple of the translations that appear in it have also  appeared in stand alone volumes. Tony Takitani was published by Cloverfield Press back in 2006, and also the story Airplane: Or, How He Talked to Himself as If Reciting Poetry, was published by the Oundle Festival as Aero-plane, appearing in a very limited signed edition in conjunction with the event, copies of which now exchange for a small fortune, sadly I don't own a copy of either. Strange Tales of Tokyo/Tokyo Ki tansyu make up the last five stories at the end of Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman and are translated by Philip Gabriel and Jay Rubin, as are all of the stories that make up the collection, I confined myself to reading these five stories, although after reading Murakami's intro-duction I read through The Rise and Fall of Sharpie Cakes, it was hard not to, and Tony Takitani which I'm sure I've read before. For a number of reasons it would be great to see English translations appear as closely to the original Japanese ones as possible although I'm sure publishers aren't too keen on publishing slim volumes, but I really love the cover art of the original Tokyo Ki tansyu, which is from Enoki Toshiyuki, check out the rest of his Anima mundi series.

Tokyo Ki tansyu opens with Chance Traveler a story that is built up around coincidences, the opening narrator is Murakami himself recalling a Jazz concert that he attended where the performer launches into songs which he himself was contemplating hearing, the songs are ones that hypothetically he would be pressed into wanting to hear played. The narrative gets carried over in describing a friend, a man who tunes his piano, we are given a slight portrait of the man and learn that he is gay, he meets by chance a married  woman in a coffee shop, after they have become better acquainted he discovers that the woman has cancer and that she has a mole. The nuances to the characters are that the we get the impression that the woman is feeling suffocated within her marriage and hints that she would like to take their relationship further, but the piano tuner explains his orientation and apologetically declines, with him we learn of the problems he faces in being homosexual, the strangers form their relationship out of being able to confide in each other. Reading the motifs used in this story I was reminded of Mishima Yukio, although I wouldn't want to begin to compare Murakami Haruki with Mishima Yukio to  any great degree, the appearance of the mole in the story reminded me of the Sea of Fertility where the mole represented the proof of reincarnation, and in Chance Traveler it is used to link the mysterious woman with that of the the piano tuner's estranged sister who also has a mole on her ear and  unbeknownst to him has also suffered from cancer, the woman appears almost as a visitation which prompts the man into re-establishing his relationship with his sister and her homophobic husband. Many of Murakami's stories feature characters with dual existences, reading the story in this light reminded me again of a scene from one of Mishima's modern noh plays - The Damask Drum, the description of the lonely policeman who will only encounter another policeman walking the other way. Chance Traveler provokes us into thinking that no matter how hard things can be, something good or better may come about, for me the point where the story elevates is when the married woman confides to the piano tuner that she has cancer, something she has yet to tell her husband, the piano tuner tells her about his rule in life - "If you have to choose between something that has form and something that doesn't, go for the one without form. That's my rule. Whenever I run into a wall I follow that rule, and it always works out. Even if it's hard going at the time." In using the character of a piano tuner to straighten out discord Murakami displays a subtle touch to this story.

Hanalei Bay is probably the most resonant story in the collection, it follows Sachi, a woman whose son drowns after a shark attack in Hawaii, she travels there to confirm her son's identity, whilst there she meets two Japanese surfers who encounter a ghost on the beach whose description resembles that of her son. Exploring Sachi's past this story sees a musical involvement with her being a piano player, the story is balanced between loss and Sachi's understated fortitude. Where I'm Likely to Find It, sees Murakami again explore themes of duality and also conveys a sense of emptiness or the directionless of modern life. The narrative comes from a detective who enigmatically excepts no payment for his services as he takes on a case to track down a missing husband, a prevalent aspect to Murakami's writing is his subtle sense of balance within his stories and also that of the appearance of dualism, not only with his characters in his stories but also with the events that occur in them. In this story the detective centers his attention on the last known whereabouts of the husband, floors 24 - 26 of the building where he lives or lived, as he walks around the building, (posing as an insurance agent), he encounters a number of characters, an old man who appears almost like a sage and also a young girl who the detective subtly converses with. He conveys to her that he's looking for some-thing, which we think at first he is referring to the missing husband but it begins to take on a broader meaning, implying that he's looking for something to give meaning to his life, the dimensions and shape of this missing something remain unclear. A striking juxtaposition of events occur in this story, that of the detective coming out of himself in an attempt to find that missing something and also the husband who has been unwittingly lost, who mysteriously finds himself on a bench without any memory of where he has been or how he got there, Murakami seems to be pointing out that the power of consciousness or the attainment of a sense equilibrium is a malleable quality and is shared and connected between people existing somewhere out there, perhaps irrespective of their will, or that people are susceptible to it's force.

The Kidney-Shaped Stone That Moves Every Day, for me was one of the most satisfying to read out of the collection, the narrative  employs a story within a story mechanism but begins with Junpei being told by his father that he will meet only three women that, 'have real meaning for him', it's delivered almost like a maxim and Junpei is keen to break this hex. Junpei meets a woman whom he falls in love with, but it's unrequited, but he's sure that she is the first out of the three. As the narrative progresses we learn that Junpei is a writer who has been nominated for the Akutagawa but never won, this is revealed when he is talking to Kirie, a woman whom he meets whilst drinking, a relationship starts but details of the woman are slight, her occupation remains a mystery. The story within the story begins to materialize with Junpei writing a story about a doctor who one day finds a kidney shaped stone, before he finishes it Kirie vanishes from his life, even with the story published she doesn't make contact. Time passes and randomly in a taxi Junpei thinks he hears her being interviewed on the radio about her speaking about her experiences as a high wire walker. In Junpei's  story the stone begins to move of it's own accord, eventually the doctor finds the kidney shape in her lover's body, (a married surgeon whom she's having an affair),  She knows that her kidney shaped stone is lurking in there. The kidney is a secret informer that she herself has buried in her lover's body. Beneath her fingers, it squirms like an insect, sending her kidney-type messages. She converses with the kidney, exchanging intelligence. The stone infringes on the doctor's life until she can think of nothing else, despite hurtling it into the sea the stone reappears on her desk. The way Murakami merges the story Junpei is writing with his thoughts about Kirie is fascinating to read and will probably offer fresh perspectives and nuances over repeated readings.

The last story is A Shinagawa Monkey whose central character is Mizuki Ando, a married woman who has a problem in remembering her name, she visits a counselor for help and the narrative returns to her being at school, she tells her counsellor of Yuko Matsunaka, a  beautiful and popular student who visited her before committing suicide, she had given Mizuki her school name tag to look after, a monkey could come and pinch it she warns Mizuki. Many times it's pointed out that Mizuki was a young woman who never succumbed to jealousy, her purity of spirit is something which seems to be the aspect of her character that it could be said is rewarded at the story's close, or at least makes a path towards this outcome. A Shinagawa Monkey reads very much like a modern fable as indeed as a number of these stories do. Tokyo Ki tansyu is a deeply interesting collection to read, more impressive contemplating that Murakami finished them in a month, whilst reading them you become aware again of  his distinctive spatial quality, although despite sometimes the individual flavouring given to his characters I sometimes feel a slight claustrophobia in reading them, in their differences they begin to form a uniformity, but this it could be said reflects the human, in as much as we are all different we essentially remain the same.

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman at Vintage U.K

Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman at Vintage International 

Mo Yan wins the 2012 Nobel Prize

Mo Yan has been awarded the 2012 Nobel Prize for Literature, have you read Mo Yan?, Nobel Prize.org would like to know for their poll, I voted a yes as sometime ago I read the short story collection Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh. This is welcome news and is a prompt for me to read more of his writing.

Descendants of Cain

Another find over at the Hathi Trust Digital Library is Arishima Takeo's 1917 story Descendants of Cain/Kain no Matsuei, translated by John W. Morrison. The story is featured in Morrison's book Modern Japanese Fiction, (University of Utah Press, 1955), alongside a critical note on the story the book also explores the emergence of Naturalism, the Shirakaba, (The White Birch Group - which Arishima was a founding member of), and goes on to look at Akutagwa, Kikuchi and also the emergence of Proletarian Literature. Arishima travelled in Europe and America where he worked for a time in a Quaker operated insane asylum, and also studied at Harvard and Haverford College. As with other titles at the Hathi Trust the book is available to read online by clicking through.

Modern Japanese Fiction by James W.Morrison at Hathi Trust Digital Library

Arishima Takeo at wikipedia

Murakami re-published

Vintage Books have recently re-published and re-jacketed Murakami's back catalogue, along with this they have reissued Jay Rubin's book Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words with it's original cover and also with an updated chapter on 1Q84, and perhaps an additional piece on Murakami's as of yet untranslated short story collection Strange Tales From Tokyo*, it's been a long time since reading this book so I can't remember if this featured in the original edition, perhaps this could be a pointer as to what might be the next Murakami to appear in English translation?.

*Or perhaps not, please see comments...  .....more haste less accuracy.....apologies.