Devouring Books: In The Miso Soup by Ryu Murakami

"I began to think that American loneliness is a completely different creature from anything we experience in this country, and it makes me glad to be Japanese. The type of loneliness where you need to keep struggling to accept a situation is fundamentally different form the sort you know you'll get through if you just hang in there. I don't think I could stand the sort of loneliness Americans feel."

If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time at all, you'll know all about my love for Japanese authors, the things they write, and Japan in general. This means that I'm always willing to try a new Japanese author, and when Kayleigh came back from Japan earlier this year, filled with news of this other Murakami, I made it my single minded mission to seek out and read this book. 

This was easier said than done. Go to any big bookshop and you'll find a whole row of Haruki Murakami books, but Ryu? Not so much. The only time I saw this before I actually bought it, I was in Foyles and got paralysed by the amount of choice there was (so, like, 5 of his books?) and then I couldn't decide between getting this book- because all my friends were reading it- or one of his bigger books because more pages=better value. When I saw it again, it was the only one they had, and that pretty much made up my mind for me.

But ENOUGH about the shocking lack of diversity in Japanese authors available in this country! Onto the book. In The Miso Soup is completely different to any book I've read by any Japanese author before. The front of my copy says "Reads like the script notes for American Psycho- the Holiday Abroad," and while that's way more spoilery than I think it probably should be, it's not completely inaccurate. However- I have long given up on Bret Easton Ellis because I think he has long given up on the human race, and I don't think that's Murakami's game at all. But I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself.

In the Miso Soup is the story of Kenji and Frank. Kenji is a tour guide for the sex industry in Tokyo, and Frank is an American tourist, looking for some, you know, sex. Almost immediately, Kenji starts to feel uneasy about Frank and his actions, and starts to wonder if he's responsible for some recent murders in Toyko. That's very much the premise for the rest of the book that I can't really talk about, but suffice to say there's a massive amount of build up, and tension, and all sorts of other dramatic stuff that makes this book so damn good.

And then there's a scene that I can't talk about but oh my god. You'll know what I'm talking about when you read this (read this) so all I'm going to say about it now is OH MY GOD. I'm only saying this because I was very unprepared for it and so yes. Wow.

Let's see, what can I talk about? If the other books I've read by Japanese authors are sad and deep and kind of weird, then In the Miso Soup looks at a different side of Japanese culture. The women involved in the sex industry seem to think very little about what they're doing, and there's not a lot of regret or emotion displayed about what they're doing. The ubiquity of selling sex for money is something that's mentioned a lot, and there's not much comment passed either way on the morality of it all.*

There's also some good stuff here about the difference between American and Japanese cultures. Kenji switches between being alternately disgusted by the Japanese AND American cultures, but that's just the 20 year old cynic in him speaking. The above quote is a good one on the difference between American and Japanese loneliness, and I think it has a lot to do with the difference between American (and just Western) individualism and Japanese (or Eastern) collectivism, about which I have lots of thoughts that I won't bore you with here. The point specifically though: loneliness is harder to bear in America because you're supposed to be the centre of the universe and if no one wants to be around you then you're nothing. In a more collectivist culture, it's easier to bear, because you as a person are not supposed to be everything there is. Or maybe you're just too numbed to everything to care about the loneliness.

God, I've made this sound much more depressing than it actually is. But really- it's tense, it's exciting, it's a lot of other things that I can't mention because spoilers; and it also gives you the opportunity to learn a LOT of Japanese sex talk, if that's what you're into. Sukebe jijii suki desu ka?

*This isn't supposed to be anti-sex workers or anything, but just the way it's talked about doesn't really involve much in the way of right and wrong, or emotion. 

Devouring Books: The Diving Pool by Yoko Ogawa

These days, it's pretty rare for me to read a book by the same author I read something by mere weeks ago, so I hope that alone makes it clear how much I like Yoko Ogawa. These days, it's also pretty rare for me to get a book from the library AND ACTUALLY READ IT, so this should also give you an indication of how much I like this woman. It's quite a lot, in case that wasn't clear.

However. The Diving Pool is nothing like The Housekeeper and the Professor, and that's not a complaint so much as an expression of surprise and then delight. Whilst The Housekeeper and the Professor was all quiet sadness and love of maths and strange relationships that somehow work; The Diving Pool is a lot more sinister, and upsetting, and, as the front of my copy says, 'Profoundly unsettling'. There's really no better way to describe the stories in this book, unsettling is the one word that is really IT.

There's a lot going on in these stories: concealed jealousy and deep resentments, loneliness and deception, and a lot of other dark stuff that you can't quite put your finger on but still makes you feel very uneasy with the whole book. And you know what? I bloody loved it. Of course I did. Come on.

There are three stories in the book, which isn't so many, so I'll talk about them all juuust a little bit. Prepare to be freaked out.

• The Diving Pool- Aya is a teenage girl who is desperately in love with her foster brother, in that obsessive way only teenage girls can be, but she also has a hidden darkness in her that comes from being her parents only biological child- she sees this as a disadvantage, because all of the children they foster, they chose. This feeling of inadequacy, along with her obsessive love, makes her do unforgivable things, and makes this an unforgettable story.
• Pregnancy Diary- The narrator of this story is keeping a diary of her sister's pregnancy, but it's not the sweet deed that it sounds like. She goes from disgust about what's happening to her sister, to an obsession with food when her sister has the most severe morning sickness I've ever heard of, and there's a definite feeling about all her narration that makes it seem like she doesn't really know how to relate to other people properly. This is less outwardly horrible than The Diving Pool, but in a way, that makes it worse because the tension and darkness is all simmering away just under the surface. Nasty stuff.
• Dormitory- This is perhaps the most like The Housekeeper and the Professor, in that it centres on an unconventional relationship, but there's still definitely a sinister undertone to proceedings. The friendship at its heart is very touching, the suggestion of dark obsessions is pretty chilling. It's good, is what I'm saying.

And that's pretty much it! Dark obsessions and less than stellar people, that's what you'll get from The Diving Pool, along with stories gripping enough that they'll stay with you long enough for you to review them on your blog, at least! Which is a big ask for me, these days...

Devouring Books: Lizard by Banana Yoshimoto

There's this Maya Angelou (RIP) quote that goes "I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." I bring this up because, much as this applies to people (and it so, so does), it can equally apply to books. I think we've all read books where we can't quite remember the plot or much that's specific from them, but shit, we know they made us feel things, and also stuff.

I bring this up because, I know that I really liked Lizard while I was reading it, I just can't remember much about the specific stories (there are 6). Banana Yoshimoto writes in a style I really like- it's fairly simple and easy to read, and then a sentence might come along that takes your breath away just a little bit; and that's in translation. Obviously because she's a Japanese author, I'm predisposed to like her (I'm currently reading my third Japanese book in a row, and have my next Murakami allll planned out), and it doesn't hurt that there's a touch of Haruki in her writing- a touch of magical realism, and oh yes some sadness; but her writing and her stories are still definitely all her own.

All that I've really said so far is 'Banana Yoshimoto is good, you should read her.' This is definitely true. If you tend to steer away from short stories (or Japanese authors. Or Murakami) then this might not be for you, but otherwise I say go forth! Get stuck into these little slices of life and love and hope and loss and all sorts of other themes that I can remember, even if I can't remember much from the stories themselves. Maybe you will, and they'll stay with you for the rest of your life. I really hope so.

However. Even if I can't remember much, I can remember some stuff. There are some little moments from some of the stories that have stayed with me, and because this review is lacking just a little bit in content, let's talk about a couple of those (bear with me, there will be quotes).

"Your love is different from mine. What I mean is, when you close your eyes, for that moment, the centre of the universe comes to reside within you. And you become a small figure within that vastness, which spreads without limit behind you, and continues to expand with tremendous speed, to engulf all of my past, even before I was born, and every word I've ever written, and each view I've seen, and all the constellations and darkness of outer space that surrounds the small blue ball that is earth. Then, when you open your eyes, all that disappears.

I anticipate the next time you are troubled, and must close your eyes again."

Mostly I just wanted to share that because it's abouuut as close as prose comes to poetry to me. But also, each time I read it, I interpret it differently. The first time, I thought it meant that her love for him is all consuming and engulfing, whereas his love is about enjoying meaning that much to another person. Now I think it's more that she uses his love as her place of comfort and home, and loves being able to provide that for her and welcomes it when he can. Maybe it's a little bit of both, or maybe it's something else entirely- THIS IS THE BEAUTY OF READING.

"I shut the window, and then looked down at the river again. Unlike the river I had seen moments before, full of chaos and anxiety, the water now appeared calm and powerful, like an image frozen by a camera lens. It was peaceful, like the passage of time, flowing by, gentle and unchanging. It amazed me how utterly different things can look, just with a change of heart."

I love this because it's so simple but it's so incredibly true. One of the oldest philosophical fragments (I know, I studied Ancient Philosophy one time, leave me alone) is about how no one steps in the same river twice, and this makes me think of that, as well as just the general idea that, the world isn't really this one static thing, it's also inseparable from the way we experience it (more philosophy!). The exact same view can be repellant or pleasing, depending on where we've been, what we've done, or simply how we feel that day; books can change what they mean to us as we age and learn more, and it's just one of the more interesting aspects of life- because we change, things that seem eternal and fixed just aren't.

I'm pretty sure that's what Yoshimoto was trying to say in those four sentences, anyway. Ahem.

So, yes. Lizard is pretty great at getting me to think deep thoughts, but not so much at getting me to remember stuff. On the whole, I'd probably rather do the former anyway, so if that appeals to you too, you should probably read this. If not, then you've probably got a better memory than me, so you can read this too. Failing all that, just read Moonlight Shadow from Kitchen, because it's been more than a year since I read that, and I was moved by it AND I remember it. Bonus points there, Yoshimoto.

Devouring Books: The Housekeeper And The Professor by Yoko Ogawa

"He treated Root exactly as he treated prime numbers. For him, primes were the base on which all other natural numbers relied; and children were the foundation of everything worthwhile in the adult world."

I read The Housekeeper and the Professor solely because Alley read it and said it was pretty good. This might be an oversimplification- I also read it because I love Japanese fiction*, because I actually like maths quite a lot even though I don't feel passionate about it, and because, well, Japan. The combination of these things made me buy it for my kindle minutes after I read Alley's review, and the point is I'm not sure I would have even heard of it had Alley not read it.

Nice work, Alley, is basically what I'm saying. You keep reading those books so I can figure out what to read next.

SO. This book is so lovely. That's the main adjective I can think of for it, but it's also quiet, and short, and fairly sad. Because of course it is, because Japan. The story is that of a housekeeper (duh) who goes to work for the professor (also duh), a maths genius whose memory only lasts for 80 minutes before it's wiped clean because of a car crash he was in some years back.** He spends his days working on maths problems for obscure journals, she spends her days watching him, learning about the mysteries of numbers, and generally wondering what goes on in his magnificent, but broken, brain.

Now that I'm thinking about this book in a reviewing way, I'm realising that this book fits in a lot of stuff in so few pages. A lot of this is in subtext, and you can imagine a grand past relationship in just a few lines, but it still feels like a huge achievement to have created this whole world that's very detailed in less than 200 pages. I think the fact that there are only three, at a push four, main characters helps, but the way it stays so deeply focused, and the way Ogawa really tells the story she wants to tell, makes it feel really special, at least to me. 

And, the maths. I don't think it's important to like maths before you read this, because the book kind of takes care of that for you. The housekeeper says that she was bad at maths at school, but that doesn't matter because the professor is SO in love with maths, and numbers, and the general rationality of it all, that he makes the housekeeper (and, by extension, the reader) at least interested in what he has to say, and at best, maybe a little bit in love with numbers herself. I've literally never read a passion for numbers expressed so beautifully, or so convincingly- Ogawa makes maths sound almost like poetry, and I never thought I would compare the two in my whole life. But there it is. 

I don't know what more I can say about this book to make it sound like something you need to read. I feel like, if you need a lot of action and drama and conflict, this is absolutely not going to be the book for you. It's so undramatic, so slow and dreamy and (here it comes again) lovely that it's a perfectly relaxing read- you'll feel a little bit sad once it's finished, and that'll mostly be because it's finished. I finished it a couple of weeks ago, and already I want to read it all over again, which I think says a lot. 

Plus, did I mention that it's just lovely? 

*Like that's actually a category that means anything... But I do tend to like Japanese writers, so I thought I'd give this a go.

**If this all sounds like 50 First Dates to you, you should probably stop watching Adam Sandler movies and read this book. Just sayin. 

Devouring Books: Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

"In the uncertain ebb and flow of time and emotions, much of one's life history is etched in the senses. And things of no particular importance, or irreplaceable things, can suddenly resurface in a cafe one winter night."

I put Kitchen on my birthday list almost on a whim- I wanted to read more Japanese authors because hellooooo, Murakami! and also because in Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, Nina Sankovitch waxed lyrical about Moonlight Shadow, the second story in this really teeny book. I think I'd also seen another of Yoshimoto's books reviewed somewhere in the blogosphere, and I super vaguely remember it being a nice review, and so yeah. I took a shot in the dark with Kitchen.

And oh my gosh. I was kind of blown away, because everything about it- and I mean EVERYTHING- was kind of all the things I love from a book- really lovely writing (even in translation, which kind of seems rare) melancholy and sadness, and, you know, Japanese food. I love it so much that I almost don't even want to talk about the ways I love it for fear of putting you off of it because you are not me, so instead I'll talk about the stories? Yes, let's do that.

So. Kitchen is split into three parts, the first being Kitchen, and the second the aforementioned Moonlight Shadow. They both deal with death and grief and just the not-knowing that comes with the death of someone who was your everything. This doesn't mean that the characters just sit around and cry a lot, though, but more that they're people who are lost and looking for something to replace what they've lost, even if they don't know what that is. And I realise that sounds like a downer but these are things we're all going to have to face in life, and who wants to go into that unprepared by literature?! Not me.

Kitchen, then, follows Mikage Sakurai as she tries to deal with the death of her Grandmother, her last living relative. As she goes through this, she is invited by almost a total stranger (Yuichi) to move into his house with him and his trans mother Eriko which she does and I've just realised I can tell you almost nothing else because spoilers. But let's just say there are some shared dreams going on (of COURSE) and apart from being about grief, it's also just about a young woman trying to learn how to live, as well as live with the new fact that she's responsible only to herself now that she doesn't have any family. Apart from her new strange family.

Anyway. It's really good even if I suck at ever explaining anything properly, and I actually think I liked the second half better than the first because Mikage gets to help Yuichi just as he helped her and it's all very wonderful and oh yeah, did I mention how good the writing is? I mean, I think we all know how much I love some Murakami, but I think that purely in writing terms (on a words level) Yoshimoto has it. Or possibly just has better translators, but I don't think that's what it is. 

Moonlight Shadow, though. Now that was amazing. Firstly it feels like more of a complete story than Kitchen (not that incomplete stories are bad, necessarily! And I still really like Kitchen. But this one, maaaan...) and it's just so sad, and so almost mystical and weird and just excellent all round, really. It's the story of Satsuki, (another) young woman whose boyfriend has just died in a car accident, in which his brother's girlfriend was also killed. Satsuki and said brother Hiiragi have struck up a friendship because it seems like they're the only two people who knows how it feels to have suffered such a loss, and THEN these awesome and eerie things happen and oh my gosh you really have to read it so we can discuss it properly because ugh, I loved it.

And I really hate to keep going on about Murakami because I don't want to be like 'Japanese authors! They're all the same!' But Moonlight Shadow definitely felt Murakami-esque in its strangeness (and, you know, sadness) although now that I think of it, it was written before basically any of his major works, so yeah. That's interesting. But anyway, that definitely made me like it better, that it was weird in a sort of familiar way, and it was really just amazing and I want to tell you WHY but also I don't want to and oh, the conflict.

Just read this book, ok? And then be prepared to want to read ALL THE YOSHIMOTO because I'm already onto my second book and there really aren't that many and some aren't even translated so I'm obviously going to have to learn Japanese. Dammit.