Susan K Burton Interviews Nick Bradley about ‘The Cat and The City’

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Nick Bradley masterfully weaves together seemingly disparate threads to conjure up a vivid tapestry of Tokyo; its glory, its shame, its characters, and a calico cat. -—David Peace

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Interview by Susan Karen Burton

I first encountered Nick Bradley in the University of East Anglia campus pub in 2015. We were both studying creative writing and a lecturer had suggested we meet because our area of interest—Japan—was, he stated, somewhat specialized. It was felt that we could use each other’s support.

He was right. At our first meeting Nick was feeling disgruntled. He had just workshopped a new chapter and had been ‘critiqued’ for placing a Japanese elementary schoolboy on a subway train alone. That was implausible, the other students had decided. This raises two issues for an author writing about a foreign culture. Firstly, that they may have their expertise questioned in a way that a native author will not. Secondly, that they may face challenges in describing an alien culture to readers who may never have visited but who may hold definite views and expectations of it. We discussed these and other topics after the publication of his debut novel, The Cat and The City.

SKB: The Cat and The City is a series of interconnected short stories about an odd assortment of people living their day-to-day lives in Tokyo and observed in a variety of ways by a stray cat. What was the thinking behind that?

Bradley: In an abstract way, the book is about connections, relationships, family and duty. For me, the whole idea of having a connected novel which shows how disparate characters brush up against each other is linked to the idea of connection itself, and how some families or friendships can fall apart while others stay together.

SKB: Was it important that the book is set in Japan?

Bradley: It wasn’t that the book had to be set in Japan, I suppose it was set in Japan because of my life experience. I think it could have been set elsewhere, in another city. But one of the ideas that kickstarted the book was that when I was living in Tokyo and commuting the same route every day, I would see the same people and I would often wonder about their backstories, their lives, and where they were going. And on a day when I didn’t see one of them, I would wonder what had happened to them. And when I stopped commuting, I often wondered whether any of those people who used to see me every day would think, ‘Oh, where’s that foreign guy who used to walk down this road every day at this time?’ I think that was the beginning of the idea of connections that drives the novel. I suppose if I were to link it to Japan it would be the idea of en [縁] as in ‘connection’ or ‘fate.’ The book does tie in with concepts in Japan but then I think a lot of things examined in it are universal.

SKB: You lived in Japan for many years. When did you first arrive and why did you choose Japan?

Bradley: I first moved to Japan in the mid-2000s on the Japan Exchange and Teaching Programme (JET) after I’d completed a master’s degree in English literature at Oxford University. I was based in Hiroshima prefecture in a small fishing town called Itozaki. Early on in JET, a group of guys went out to an izakaya, mostly Americans and a couple of British and Australians. We were all sitting round the table and someone asked the question, “Why did you come to Japan?” I said I didn’t know anything about Japan but I came here because I wanted to be a writer. And that kind of started a domino effect where everyone at the table said, “I want to be a writer, I want to be a writer.” It was about eight guys and all of us were closet writers.

SKB: What is the attraction of Japan for potential novelists?

Author Nick Bradley

Bradley: In my case, I think I would have gone anywhere in the world. I wanted to go anywhere different or anywhere that I thought was going to be different. It doesn’t surprise me that people who want to write are the same sort of people who will drop everything and leave their lives and go somewhere new. It is probably the desire to experience life and to see things from a different perspective. When you think about writing fiction, it is the act of trying to empathize with a different perspective to your own. That’s the very nature of novelistic writing, trying to create characters who are different to the way that you personally think and feel. So it would be natural that in order to get that empathy you would try to maneuver yourself in the world, to see different things and to speak to different kinds of people.

 

SKB: You were on the JET Program for four years and you became fluent in Japanese. That led to you becoming a translator for Honda in the UK and then Nintendo in Germany. And then you returned to Japan to work for JTB. Where did you begin writing The Cat and the City?

To be really specific it was in 2015 just after I’d had my first workshop on the MA. But ever since I was in my teens I was constantly having an idea for a novel. I would start it and I would get about 20,000 words in and I would just stop. I had so many false starts. For my first workshop at UEA I presented something completely mad and different which was a science-fiction cult story that wasn’t set in Japan. And then I wanted to write a short story about going to a festival (‘Omatsuri’ in The Cat and The City) and the cat was an integral part of it. After I’d written it I thought I could do lots of these and I could connect them all. So that was the beginning of The Cat and The City.

SKB: I’m surprised. Wouldn’t you have found it easier to write it in Japan?

Bradley: I found it much easier to write about Japan having left the country. I worked on a couple of novels when I was living in Tokyo and I sent one to a friend who had never even visited but she said, “It just doesn’t feel like Japan.” The problem with that particular book was that I was trying to write a novel about a foreigner who lives in Japan but everything seems normal to him. I realized that wasn’t going to work for English-speaking readers. I found that the stuff I wrote in Japan was a bit mundane, a bit boring. When I came on the MA I didn’t want to write about Japan but, funnily enough, I think a homesickness for Japan kicked in and I started to really miss lots of things about the place. And I think that helped me to write the book because my memories were coming back to me like mad. I was thinking about all these things that I used to do and that spurred on the direction of the book.

SKB: I recall you had some problems workshopping some of those early chapters.

Bradley: Some of the things that are realistic about Japan, people in the UK didn’t believe them. The perfect example of that was the idea of a Tokyo elementary school kid riding the subway. But that’s completely normal and people who’ve lived in Japan or been there will have seen it and would understand that. But some of the very mundane elements of the books, people would question. I don’t know if they were questioning my knowledge of Japan or just the realism of a young boy taking the subway by himself. I don’t blame the people workshopping the piece – they meant well and were asking great questions. But at times it felt hard trying to convince people of what Japan is really like.

SKB: This must have made you realize that some western readers may not know so much about Japanese culture. Did this affect how you wrote the book? And your idea of who you were writing it for?

Bradley: Yes, completely. But ironically, this also ended up being the kind of motivating factor for writing the book. I started to think that there was a real need to write a book which portrayed the Tokyo I knew – the outsider’s view of the society, from the inside. Like the cat in my book I spent a lot of time viewing Japanese companies, culture, and society from the inside. I often felt an affinity towards the cats who silently watched the goings on of the big city. I love reading Japanese literature, and I read a great deal of it, but I always get a sense that Japanese writers ignore what to them is mundane, but to non-Japanese people is extremely interesting. So I can say for sure that I wrote this book not just for those non-Japanese who are already familiar with the country but also as a kind of gateway drug for non-Japanese who are interested in getting to know the country (and its literature) better.

SKB: Is there any advantage to writing about Japan as a foreigner?

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The English edition will be available in Japan Aug. 1, 2021

Bradley: I think Japanese writers have to be careful about what they say because they’ll be criticized for certain things. In my position I can write about certain elements without any fear of criticism. For example, the book Tokyo Ueno Station which is about a homeless guy living in Ueno Park in the lead up to the Olympics, I don’t think it’s surprising that the person who wrote that was Yu Miri who is a Zainichi Korean. I think she’s already a marginalized person in Japan and that affords her a slight freedom because she can write about grittier or darker elements of Japanese society without fear of being criticized.

I have freedom in being a non-Japanese writer writing about Japan that is not afforded to a lot of Japanese writers who have to be far subtler than I am. I was quite heavy handed with some of the things that I was writing about. Natsume Sōseki’s I am a Cat is subtle because the criticism of Meiji society comes from a comical cat and it’s very difficult to get angry with this cat. I think Sōseki was very clever to use this cat as a kawaii decoy who you can’t get angry at, even though the cat is making fun of people and being silly itself.

SKB: In what ways has living in Japan affected your writing style?

Bradley: Before I moved to Japan I think my writing style was convoluted and overly complicated. I don’t know how much of that was due to the fact that I was a brash dude in his early twenties but one thing Japan did for me was it simplified my sentences when I was writing prose. For which I am ever in its debt. I think the act of having to learn Japanese from scratch and being forced to work with a limited vocabulary but learning to use it effectively, that actually helped me with my writing. Because it started to make me think that simplicity is sometimes the best way to convey powerful emotions. The act of writing fiction is not necessarily the display of a prolix style. It’s trying to convey emotions through simple language. And I think the act of moving to Japan and learning Japanese taught me that skill in writing.

SKB: Most of the characters in your novel are Japanese. In what language did you hear them speak?

Bradley: My characters very much spoke to me in Japanese and I translated what they were saying into English. In earlier works, I translated to a more literal extent but for this I tried to make it sound like a more natural translation. Certain characters I would translate into American English and others into British English. So even though their dialogue was based in Japanese I was creatively translating it into the ‘feel’ that I wanted it to have. Post-Second World War, the American influence on Japan has been massive and the English that students learn in schools is American English. You only have to read a Murakami novel to get a sense of that American influence. So for the office worker in my ‘Street Fighter II’ story, an American English accent suits him better because he is a young guy and contemporary Japan has more in common with America than it does with Britain. The detective, Ishikawa, I wanted him to sound like a ‘Chandleresque’, hard-boiled detective, so obviously American English worked better for that too. Other characters spoke with a British accent. It suited them to be more British and old-fashioned. So the homeless guy, Ohashi, I translated his Japanese in my head into a British accent.

SKB: There are a lot of Japanese words in there too. How did you decide which words to translate and which words to keep in Japanese?

Bradley: I did have rule for myself that, other than the Japanese dialogue, any Japanese words that I’ve used, if someone were to go to Wikipedia and type those words in there would be a thorough entry in English which would explain that word or concept to them.

SKB: Halfway through the novel a manga cartoon appears. What was the thinking behind that?

Bradley: I wrote this story where it cut to dialogue only and then, after workshopping the piece, I started to think about how that dialogue could go straight into a manga. And it was one of the most satisfying things. It was quite tough, the collaboration process, but I’m really happy with how it came out. Mariko Aruga is a British-Japanese illustrator with a nice fusion of British and Japanese sensibilities in art. One of the things I like about her work is that it has a quirky crossover feel, that looks like it could have been drawn by a very talented child. [In the story ‘Hikikomoro, Futoko and Neko’, the manga is meant to be the work of Kensuke, a high school student.]

SKB: Why are all the stories connected by a cat?

Bradley: In the western parts of Tokyo where I lived, every time I tried to write a street scene there was always a cat in it. And in all the photos I used to take of those neighborhoods there were always cats. The number of stray cats in Tokyo made it impossible to not put a cat in there. There were so many of them roaming the alleyways.

But also, all the Japanese literature that I have been reading ever since I moved to Japan in 2006, so much of it has cats in it or cats who are a key theme. So it was the reality of Tokyo and how many cats there are, plus an established convention in Japanese literature that involves cats.

And then the reason I thought cats were good was because I think—and lots of animal theorists have said this—animals tend to provide a mirror or reflection of humans. So especially for writers, when you write in a cat you’re really mirroring the interiority of the characters in your book. Characters express their inner feelings through their attitude towards the cat. So the cat becomes a living, silent set of eyes that can go anywhere and see anything and can be party to all these dramas but it’s not really taking part in them. It’s like a third person narrator.

SKB: Why is your cat a calico cat?

Bradley: The narrator of Sōseki’s I am a Cat is a ‘mike neko’ [三毛猫] which translates as tortoiseshell or calico, so I wanted to make my cat calico as a nod to Sōseki.

SKB: Will your next novel be set in Japan?

Bradley: I think I might be one of those writers who doesn’t like to talk about their next project, so I’ll keep quiet about this one for now. All I will say is that having finished my PhD, I’m glad I can immerse myself in writing fiction again. It really brings me so much pleasure.

The Cat and the City (Atlantic Books, May, 2020) is available in hardback and e-book versions. The paperback will be out in Japan in August, 2021.

About the Author:

Nick Bradley is a graduate of the UEA Creative Writing MA who holds a PhD in Creative & Critical Writing, focusing on the figure of the cat in Japanese literature. The Cat and the City is his first novel.

About the Interviewer:

Visit Dr. Susan Karen Burton’s website or follow her on Twitter (@drskburton)

 

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Review—Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia: Navigating the Turning Points in Postwar Asia

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How Japan navigated independence movements and revolutions in Southeast Asia during a fractious postwar period.

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Review by Chad Kohalyk

A rising China and receding America has Japan once again focused on the confluence of the Pacific and Indian Oceans. Yet the recent Free and Open Indo-Pacific (FOIP) vision — to promote a new regional security environment anchored by India, Australia, Japan, and the United States — is in stark contrast to Japan’s previous, and successful, “southward advance” described in Taizo Miyagi’s highly rated Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia: Navigating the Turning Points in Postwar Asia.

In this book, the author recounts how Japan navigated independence movements and revolutions in Southeast Asia during a fractious postwar period. Outside powers continued to pursue their own agendas in Southeast Asia: the U.S. was deeply involved in Vietnam, the U.K. was busy mitigating the fallout of a series of independence movements, and China was striving to be the vanguard of communist revolution in Asia. Among these competitors was Japan, a former colonizer itself, who had a strong interest in “depoliticizing” Asia for the purposes of nation-building and economic development.

The book opens at Bandung in 1955, at the first Asian–African Conference, which saw the attendance of twenty-nine new nations and not a single Western country. The remarkable event was “permeated by an overwhelming energy that emanated from the aspirations for independence.” It was also the first international event that Japan attended after its defeat in the Second World War. At Bandung, Japan faced a stark choice about its own future: continue following its Western path, or choose the East. The author shows how Japan developed a “national mission” to act as a bridge between the two, and proceeds for most of the book covering the decade between the Bandung Conference and the overthrow of Sukarno in 1965, which marked the end of the Indonesia–Malaysia confrontation.

Indonesia is the major supporting character in the book. Japan targeted the “anchor of maritime Asia” and the biggest country in the region for partnership, encouraged by the US who thought the combination of Japan’s industry and Indonesia’s resources could rebuild both economies without any cost to itself. It worked, and Indonesia has been a key partner for Japan to this day. In 2020, newly minted prime minister Yoshihide Suga made Jakarta his first official foreign visit.

Miyagi relies principally on diplomatic documents, some only recently declassified, to give a blow-by-blow account of Japan’s attempts to influence the situation in Southeast Asia. Originally a bunkobon, or trade paperback, Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia is a short book written in conversational style using rhetorical questions to lead the reader forward. Despite this, it is not a particularly easy read. The commentary spans a number of countries and events and Miyagi has no space to fill the reader in on each and every event. It will help to have refreshed your background knowledge of postwar events like the Indonesian War of Independence, “Britain’s Vietnam,” and the Borneo Confrontation before reading. Although difficult, it is rewarding. Miyagi  binds disparate stories, punctuated by the occasional Easter egg (Zhou Enlai asked Japan to help develop simplified Chinese characters!?), like a comic book crossover or the season finale of a Netflix miniseries.

Japan’s Quest for Stability in Southeast Asia is an instructive lesson in engagement. Although geographically at the center of the newly conceived Indo-Pacific region, Southeast Asia is being sidelined by outsider visions. Countries in the region would rather not build ideological walls to constrain China at the behest of outside powers. Based on the good relationships it has built over the decades, Japan is in a valuable position to work with Southeast Asian countries again in the face of rising tensions with China. Japan now has a new choice: continue building bridges, or choose walls.

Review—The Woman in the White Kimono

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A promising debut novel by Ana Johns

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Review by Renae Lucas-Hall

Set in both the present day and the 1950s, Ana Johns’s compelling debut novel with well-developed characters will appeal to readers who enjoy light commercial fiction. Naoko, a young Japanese girl, falls in love with an American sailor much to her parents’ disapproval. When her family discovers she’s pregnant the story takes on a much more serious tone, disentangling a plot that is truly shocking. Years later, Tori, the American daughter of the sailor, learns from her dying father that she’s connected to Japan in ways she never expected so this protagonist travels to Tokyo to learn more about her family’s history. The two timelines fuse together when Tori unravels the past, making emotional connections that keep the reader riveted.

Johns is an accomplished writer and it’s easy to see why this book is so popular. But if the reader is familiar with Japanese society, history, language and customs they’ll notice some chapters sweep over important and deeper issues. There’s also a problem with the dialogue. The Japanese characters’ speech is continuously punctuated with well-known Japanese proverbs making them appear wise and profound but most Japanese people don’t speak like this.

This book is loosely based on a true story and Johns’ own family and it’s a hell of a ride but Naoko’s character comes across as naïve and her actions sometimes appear improbable. Would a young Japanese lady from a good family really be so willing to give up her privileged lifestyle to live amongst the burakumin outcasts, even for love? Would she have been so quickly accepted by those who were considered the lowest level of the Japanese social system? Would a Shinto wedding have been financially possible for her, considering the choices she makes?

The fact The Eugenic Protection Law is mentioned in the ‘Author’s Note,’ but not explored in more detail, gives the writing less traction and makes light of the situation in Japan in the 1950s. This may have been deliberate on the part of the author and the publisher; the truth would have watered down the romance. The book fully covers the topic of abortion but skims over society’s opinion of “blood-mixing”. It was a hot topic in those days and the prohibition of American men marrying Japanese women as part of this Eugenic Law was a subject on everyone’s lips, including the press, teachers, and social activists. If it had been examined in more detail, it could have deepened Naoko’s character and the story would have been more authentic.

The writing style and characterization are on the most part excellent and a joy to read:

“He would trust Grandmother, as a woman, to know best. She has created a lie with more than feet; it has sprouted scandalous wings and flown beyond my forgiving reach. To imagine, my father knows otherwise is the foot of a lighthouse. Dark.” (pg. 208)

The birth scene is also very touching and beautifully written. The Japanese culture and language take decades to decipher so Johns has done a remarkable job as a novice to write this book.

Overall, this story is well-worth reading. Johns’ command of the English language proves she’ll continue to be a successful writer and a rising star in the world of commercial fiction.

 

Review—Hōjōki: A Hermit’s Hut as Metaphor

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Japanese Buddhist literature is filled with the struggle to overcome the pain of transience.

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Review by Leanne Ogasawara

The Hōjōki, written in 1212 by the Buddhist monk Kamo no Chōmei, is one of the most beloved works of medieval literature in Japan. The opening lines of his chronicle are familiar to most Japanese people:

The flow of the river never ceases

And the water never stays the same.

Bubbles float on the surface of pools,

Bursting, reforming, never lingering.

They’re like the people in the world and their dwellings.

Japanese Buddhist literature is filled with the struggle to overcome the pain of transience. There is no escape, as we all know, for bad luck is an equal-opportunity act.

In a country that is no stranger to calamities, the late 12th century was particularly rough. Devastating earthquakes and fires, windstorms and famine were exacerbated by continued political upheaval and violent battles in the streets. Chōmei watched as the capital of Kyoto was rocked by a mega-earthquake, in which “mountains crumbled, filling rivers with rubble,” and then later as disease and famine meant “starved bodies lay strewn about the street…” Horrified by the suffering and anguish of this broken world, he decided to leave the capital and take up a life of contemplation in the mountains. For, as the great literati of China before him knew all too well, when the going gets tough, the wise head for the hills!

Eight hundred years later, as we are facing our own calamities in the form of a worldwide pandemic and endless political instability, historian Matthew Stavros, an academic at the University of Sydney and former director of the Kyoto Consortium of Japanese studies, has just released a new translation of this Japanese classic.

The Hōjōki has already been translated several times, notably by Burton Watson in his book Four Huts, published by Shambhala in 1994. This edition contains four famous works by Buddhist recluses, including Bai Juyi (or Po Chü-i), Matsuo Bashō and Yoshishige no Yasutane as well as beautiful brush paintings by artist Stephen Addiss. Another prominent translation from the 1990s was by Kyoto-based translators Yasuhiko Moriguchi and David Jenkins. Stavros’ new translation is marked by the literary quality of his English. Choosing to render Chōmei’s prose into verse, the English is lyrical and sounds beautiful when read aloud (there is a wonderful narration by MG Miller on Audible). The text is complemented by photographs of Kyoto taken by the author.

Opening the pages of the Chronicle, readers journey along with Chōmei, the sixty year-old Buddhist monk, as he leaves his privileged life of rank in the capital and builds his very simple hut “deep in the hills of Hino”. In contrast to the endless string of calamities that filled the pages of the first part of his book, the second section details the great pleasure he takes in his new home:

In the spring,

Wisteria flowers bloom like purple clouds in the west.

 

In summer,

The chattering cuckoos guide me,

Toward the mountain pass of death.

 

On autumn evenings,

The cries of cicadas fill my ears,

Lamenting this empty husk of a world.

 

And when the winter comes,

Snow covers the earth.

The book gets its name from Hōjō 方丈, an architectural term representing one square 丈—about ten-foot square. This word, conveying a small, cell-like space, is also used to describe a monk’s living quarters, especially in the Zen tradition. The hut is tiny, but somehow there is a living area, along the eastern wall in the form of his “dried bracken for a bed”. This bed is but a hand’s reach away from his musical instruments—his lute and koto—that sit beside a shelf holding his music and poetry, and a few books, “like Genshin’s The Essentials of Rebirth in the Pure Land”. This is the section of the hut assigned for the arts:

A little to the west,

There’s a shelf for offerings,

Not far from an icon of Amitabha.

 

When bathed in evening light

A warm glow emanates from Amitabha’s forehead.

And so, Chōmei—born to privilege and talent—gives it all up to become a Buddhist recluse in the Hills of Hino. And there, in his ten-foot square hut, he realizes that everything in the world comes down to the state of one’s mind.  As he says, rendered so beautifully by Stavros:

Palaces and mansions:

If the heart is not at ease,

These worldly treasures bring no pleasure.

 

I love my lonely dwelling,

This simple, one-room hut.

 

About the reviewer

Leanne Ogasawara has worked as a translator from the Japanese for over twenty years. Her translation work has included academic translation, poetry, philosophy, and documentary film. Her book reviews have appeared in Kyoto Journal, the Dublin Review of Books, the New Rambler, and 3 Quarks Daily.

This review was first published in Asian Review of Books

Review—From the Ruins of Empire: The Intellectuals Who Remade Asia

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Asian intellectuals fighting western colonialism in the 19th and early 20th centuries offer points that we can learn from today

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As part of our Books on Asia Top Books of 2020 series, we’re introducing our top picks one book at a time. For the whole list of 12 books, see Our Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020.

Mini Review By Chad Kohalyk from Goodreads

Pankaj Mishra delivers a sweeping account of the intellectual history of anti-colonial thought in the early years of Western colonialism. He builds this narrative through mini-biographies of two lesser-known intellectuals: Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī and Liang Qichao. These early thinkers diagnosed the challenge of Western imperialism faced by Asia. The evolution of their thought is influenced by historical milestones such as the Indian Rebellion of 1857, a failed uprising to gain independence from the West, and the 1905 Battle of Tsushima, where an Asian nation defeated a Western military power for the first time. Japan’s victory was a turning point for optimism in the oppressed Asian psyche, celebrated by anti-colonialists like Gandhi, Ataturk, and Tagore. Here was an Asian country beating the West at its own game.

This part of the nineteenth century was a cosmopolitan moment for Asia. The subjects of Mishra’s work were inveterate travellers, moving throughout the Islamic, Indian and East Asian worlds, contrasting Western political intellectuals who philosophized about Asia almost exclusively from the comfort of their overstuffed chairs. From the Ruins of Empire follows the above Asian intellectuals on their travels where they meet and influence a new generation of activists like Sun Yat Sen. The author also traces how their thinking on Pan-Asianism transforms—from initially advocating that Asian nations modernize by mimicking the West and adopting its scientific and industrial advancements—to expressing their horror at the First World War which turned them away from so-called “Western progress.” This frames the ultimate dilemma facing Asia in the book: to be more like the West (which is what Tsushima teaches) or to progress with Eastern alternatives which are more suited to the multi-ethnic, multi-religious reality of Asia, a form of modernization sans Westernization.

Despite the successful anti-colonial movements in the post-World War II era, the story Mishra tells is ultimately a tragic one. Asian nations may have won out over political colonialism, but they lost against intellectual colonialism. India and China are very adeptly wielding the power of centralized nation-states, effectively replacing the role previously filled by Western imperial overseers. The “South to South” dialogues of the intellectual network described by Mishra did go on to inspire later revolutionaries. Mishra makes these connections, showing for example how the ideas of al-Afghānī have been twisted into the narrative of political Islam.

This book originally came out in 2012 amidst the Arab Spring and Colour Revolutions. That time also saw a surge of revisionist histories of empire by writers like Niall Ferguson which helped to justify the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. From the Ruins of Empire demonstrates how people can be motivated by humiliation, and in it you can see the seeds of Mishra’s later book Age of Anger (2017) centering on the politics of ressentiment, so prevalent in our era.

Reading From the Ruins in Empire in 2020 I was amazed at some of the nearly 200-year-old critiques of the West. You could copy-and-paste them directly into today’s media. Mishra has done a brilliant job excavating these perspectives and tying them together with his usual smooth writing skill. The author offers no specific solutions, but reading about such intellectual journeys outside the standard one of “Western progress” is fascinating.

This was probably the most thought-provoking book I read this year. With the waning of liberalism and democracy described by Edward Luce in The Retreat of Western Liberalism, it feels like we are at another turning point. Discussions of what happens next are occurring worldwide, but what does the fall of liberal internationalism mean for Asia? What are the indigenous intellectual legacies that might fill the void? From the Ruins of Empire shows that there can be imagination outside the box of Western political thought, alternatives rooted in history, that are possibly more viable than completely new or alien systems.

For the complete list of top books we read in 2020, see Our Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020.

Review—The Forgotten Japanese

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A well-known ethnographer in Japan reveals voluminous details about countryside living before WWII.

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Miyamoto Tsuneichi, is author of many ethnographical books on Japanese society, but this is the only one I know of that has been translated into English (transl. Jeffrey Irish). Miyamoto is a well-known scholar and author in Japan. The Forgotten Japanese is a necessary read for anyone interested in Japanese lifestyles in the countryside from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. From the book description, I was under the impression the book was about the author’s travels through Japan. It is that, but there is voluminous detail about countryside living, including statistics and chapter studies on certain villages. But Miyamoto writes in an engaging way so as not to focus too much on statistics or theory. Most of the book is oral story-telling from the villagers themselves.

In The Forgotten Japanese, we learn about Black Hoe laborers, the origin of distrust of outsiders, honke-bunkei, ujigami local gods, fox spirits, rural samurai, the shift from tenant farming and land reforms of 1946, sericulture, the Tempō Famine of 1833-1836, women’s himaya sheds, and much, much more. It’s a treasure trove of information about life in Japan just before WWII.

This is a keeper for the book shelves as I am sure I will refer back to it often.

This book was included in the article Our Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020.

Mini-Review by Amy Chavez from Goodreads

About the Author

Tsuneichi Miyamoto (1907–1981), a leading Japanese folklore scholar and rural advocate, walked 160,000 kilometers to conduct interviews and collect the songs, stories, and images of a dying way of life. He was an advocate of social and economic invigoration of rural Japan. This collection of photos, vignettes, and life stories from pre- and postwar rural Japan is the first English translation of his modern Japanese classic. From blowfish to landslides, Miyamoto’s stories come to life in Jeffrey Irish’s fluid translation.

About the Translator

Jeffrey Irish is a scholar and translator who has long been immersed in life in rural Japan. A contributing editor to the Kyoto Journal, Irish has been a columnist for a Japanese newspaper and is the author of the Japanese-language books Prewar Kagoshima and Island Life. In 2010 he was elected “mayor” of his 28-person village.

Review—Japanese Death Poems

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An invaluable book for anyone interested in Japanese culture as well as poetry. — Amy Chavez

Support BOA by ordering Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death through these links:

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Bookshop U.S.

Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

Japanese Death Poems is one of those invaluable books for anyone interested in Japanese culture as well as poetry. The lengthy introduction alone is important for the plethora of information on the history of Japanese poetry and in particular, the death poem. From tanka to haiku, written by princes, court nobles, samurai, Buddhist monks and priests, the death poem became a widespread practice among the common people in the Meiji Period (1868-1912). Kamikaze pilots and officers in the Japanese Imperial Army all wrote them too.

The title of the book implies that the poems may be morbid, but this is not the case. In Japan, where life is often compared to a flower that soon withers, you can be assured that death is a journey at the end of which we all become enlightened. The poems tend to focus on nature, the change of seasons, and Buddhist imagery. Some are intentionally light and humorous. Others take your breath away:

Moon in the water
Somersaults
and streams away.

—by Oshima Ryota (1718-87)

Hakuro’s death poem imitates Bashō, and poet and Zen master Ikkyu (who “avoided neither taverns nor brothels, and never held his tongue”) penned his at the ripe age of 88, asking “Where is he who understands my Zen?” A good number of the poems are followed by explanations of poetic phrases and minutiae to help the reader understand deeper meanings.

The book is divided into three parts: the very thorough Introduction, Death Poems by Zen Monks, and Death Poems by Haiku Poets.

Between the covers of this book, you’ll find death poems of Yamato Teru no Mikoto (hero of the Kojiki), Hitomaro (from the Man’yōshū), the poet priest Saigyo (1118-90), Taira no Tadanori (1144-84) of Heike Monogatari, Yosa Buson (1716-83), Kobayashi Issa (1763-83), Hokusai (37 Views of Mt. Fuji), and oh so many more. You’ll discover plenty of other figures too, through their enlightening last words on life.

The book includes a valuable “Index of Poetic Terms” as well as a general index.

Review by Amy Chavez

This book was chosen as one of the top books of 2020. To read the entire list, see Our Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020.

 

 

Our Reviewers Pick their Top Books for 2020

We read lots of books here at Books on Asia, so we asked our reviewers to give you their picks for the best books they’ve read this year! For more information on a particular book, click on the book cover.

Chad Kohalyk‘s Top Picks

Biography

The Great Successor: The Divinely Perfect Destiny of Brilliant Comrade Kim Jong Un by Anna Fifield (PublicAffairs, 2020)

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A revealing account of the upbringing and exploits of Kim Jong Un, Anna Fifield delivers even more value by unveiling the entire cast of his family, including his power player sister Kim Yo-jong, who we might be the next successor.

Pop Culture

Pure Invention: How Japan’s Pop Culture Conquered the World by Matt Alt (Crown, 2020)

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Filled with funny anecdotes and behind-the-scenes stories of some of your favourite products from Japan, Matt Alt connects the (American) nostalgia of yesteryear with the politics of today.

Fiction

Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami (Vintage, 2006)

The sheer skill in storytelling for the opening incident of 16 schoolchildren picking mushrooms on a hill had me hooked, but the “buddy movie” road trip with the trucker and cat detective made me stay.

History

From the Ruins of Empire: The Revolt Against the West and the Remaking of Asia by Pankaj Mishra (Picador, reprint 2013)

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The Asian intellectuals fighting western colonialism in the 19th and early 20th centuries have many points that we can certainly learn from in the 21st — and it makes me wonder if Japan can be the beacon it once was. Read Chad’s review.

Renae Lucas-Hall‘s Top Picks

Fiction

The Last Tea Bowl Thief by Jonelle Patrick (Seventh Street Books, 2020)

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This well-written mystery set in feudal, wartime, and modern-day Japan deepened my understanding of Japanese pottery, haiku, tea ceremony, Buddhism, and social customs.

Novella

Ms Ice Sandwich by Mieko Kawakami (Transl. Louise Heal Kawai) (Pushkin Press, 2020)

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A hyper-visual adolescent’s innocent crush on an older lady who works in a sandwich shop is coupled with the blossoming relationship he has with Tutti, a young girl in his class. This allows for a charming story that’s easy to read thanks to the superb translation by Louise Heal Kawai.

Young Adult

Indigo Girl by Suzanne Kamata (GemmaMedia, 2019)

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Kamata’s writing is engaging and empowering in this story of a teenage girl with cerebral palsy who travels from Michigan to Shikoku to spend the summer with her Japanese father.

Non-Fiction

World Class: One Mother’s Journey Halfway Around the Globe in Search of the Best Education for Her Children, by Teru Clavel (Atria Books, reprint 2020)

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I graduated from two universities and taught English for over 15 years. For me, this book focusing on education in Hong Kong, Shanghai, Tokyo, and the USA was fascinating.

Amy Chavez‘s Top Picks

Non-Fiction

The Forgotten Japanese by Miyamoto Tsuneichi (Transl. Jeffrey Irish)(Stone Bridge Press, 2010)

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Renowned ethnologist Miyamoto Tsuneichi traveled around Japan interviewing villagers to learn about their traditional lifestyles of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Fascinating! Read our mini-review.

Fiction

No-No Boy by John Okada (University of Washington Press, 2014)

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One of the best books I’ve ever read, John Okada’s novel is about a ‘No-No boy,’ the term used to describe Japanese-American men who would neither denounce their Japanese heritage nor fight for the U.S. Army during WWII. A real eye-opener that every American should read.

Poetry

Japanese Death Poems by Yoel Hoffmann (Tuttle, reprint 2018)

book coverFrom tanka to haiku, written by princes, court nobles, samurai, Buddhist monks and priests, the death poem became a widespread practice among the common people in the Meiji Period (1868-1912). Here you’ll find the death poems of famous poets such as Yamato Teru no Mikoto, Hitomaro, Saigyo, Taira no Tadanori, Yosa Buson, Kobayashi Issa, and Hokusai. Read our review.

Travel

Looking for the Lost: Journeys Through a Vanishing Japan by Alan Booth (Kodansha Globe, 1996)

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Booth’s Looking for the Lost is flawless travel writing and a reminder of what the genre should deliver among a plethora of worn, first-person travelogues brought on by the age of the internet.

 

Waking to Snow — Poems by Robert MacLean

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Three Poems from Robert MacLean’s new book Waking to Snow (Isobar Press, Oct. 2020)

 

My First Guide to Kyoto

Next-door neighbour’s
pug-nosed Sakura
tied up all day
whimpering beneath
the stairwell: no
way to treat the
earliest cherry blossoms

in Kyoto.
So I take him for a walk –
rather he takes me,
charging like a stunted
rogue elephant
to the Kamo river’s
ecstasy of in-

visible smells where
he poops three times, each
with more strain,
panting and slobbering as
he drags me along
at the end of his
taut leash. Oh

we’re sailing now
past some thin old folk
playing a kind of croquet
near the bridge in the ancient
newborn sun,
past some kids crouched
bouncing a ball and chanting,

past endless blocks of
jumbled houses,
blue-tiled roofs glinting
like dragon scales. By now,
Sakura’s zonked, able
to scrawl his faint
signature only at irresistible

spots, so we wend
our way home:
small dun dopey boggle-eyed
dog with fur
radiating in tufts,
deep gaze thank you
to each other.

 

snowy river
Photo: Paul Rossiter

 

Sweeping Leaves in the Cemetery at Ryōkō-in, 4 a.m.

Bamboo broom
stone lanterns
dead leaves

I’ve travelled
halfway around the world
to be here

 

autumn leaves
Photo: Paul Rossiter

 

Crickets

I hear the survivors
ancient & brittle
squatting in October light:

wizened black-
robed monks

chanting the sutra
of Earth-Beginning-to-Freeze
slower
each night.

*
empty exo-
skeletons

little huts
filling with snow

 

jizo statues
Photo: Paul Rossiter

 

Waking to Snow book cover

About the Author

Robert MacLean was born in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada. He lived in Kyoto for twenty-five years, where he taught at Ritsumeikan University, meanwhile continuing his lifelong zazen practice. He has studied and sat with Robert Aitkin Roshi and Joshu Sasaki Roshi and latterly at Tofukuji in Kyoto where Keidō Fukushima Roshi was abbot. He now lives in the North Okanagan, B.C. with a Renaissance viola da gamba, his wife Wakana, and ‘a luminous little girl Akane born on a snowy December morning, my resident Zen master.’

Waking to Snow is available in paperback from Amazon Japan and Amazon International outlets. If you’re in Tokyo, the book is available from Books Kinokuniya near the south exit of Shinjuku station.

 

(Feature photo of sunrise compliments of gratisography.com. All others Paul Rossiter at Isobar Press).