Review—Spirit of Shizen: Japan’s Nature Through its 72 Seasons

June 29, 2022

Review by Tina deBellegarde

Spirit of Shizen: Japan’s nature through its 72 seasons, edited by Robert Weis, is a profound and sensitive collection which captures the impermanence and wonder of the micro-seasons. Spirit of Shizen was prepared in conjunction with the exhibit of the same name at the National Museum of Natural History in Luxembourg. Running from July 1 to August 28, 2022, it is an interdisciplinary multi-media experience with accompanying virtual and in-person workshops. Considered an exhibition catalogue, this book is closer to an anthology that easily stands alone, yet is a perfect companion to the exhibition.

Traditional Japanese culture has always honored and respected the paradox of the destructive and nurturing power of the seasons. But the Japanese relationship to the natural world outpaces that of the West’s four seasons. The Japanese include seventy-two micro-seasons that mark the almost daily transmutations of their surroundings. For example, the micro-season of June 21 to June 25 acknowledges the withering of the utsubogusa (prunella spike). It blooms at the winter solstice, but in this particular week, its death announces the summer solstice, ushering in the shortening of the days as we once again head toward winter.

This collection, with essays by over 17 Japan experts, guides us towards a more profound and enriching understanding of our world. Pico Iyer, renowned for his travel writing, keen eye and spiritual insight, opens each section with an inspirational essay which orients us into the spirit and mood of each of the four seasons.

Iyer tells us that autumn is “the secret heart of Japan” and so we begin there. In this section you will find a meditation on momiji-gari (autumn leaf viewing) written by Rebecca Otowa which, she explains, is more contemplative than the celebratory cherry blossom viewing. “The reminiscence of the autumn light fills” Robert Weis as he shares an appreciation of the concept of nagori – nostalgia of a season that has just left us. Edward Levinson encourages us to use our five senses to live in tune with the rhythm of nature, and Mark Hovane examines the cultural and artistic impact of the 72 micro-seasons.

The next section includes an essay by Patrick Colgan describing his first winter in Japan. He speaks to “…the peculiar music of snow, an added softness, a sheet of silence.” Jann Williams shares her experiences on pilgrimages to Mount Ontake and expresses how “…a part of my soul is now one with the sacred mountain.”  Kawaharada Mayumi explains how the seasonality of haiku sharpens her senses “to observe the slightest changes in nature…that are so easily taken for granted.”

Sébastien Raizer closes the winter section with his essay “Nature is Culture” which could easily be the title of this anthology. He quotes the 18th century scholar Motoori Norinaga’s description of the Japanese spirit as “the fragrance of a mountain cherry tree on a frosty morning”. Doesn’t this definition capture the essence of the Japanese culture in tune with nature?

Amanda Huggins opens the third part with her moving insights on the spring rains:

“This acceptance of the nature of things, our embracing of impermanence…defines the philosophy behind hanami (flower viewing) celebrations. Every single one of us is a petal on a wet black bough.”

Naoko Abe follows with a look at the famous cherry blossoms and introduces Collingwood Ingram, the man responsible for bringing Japanese cherry trees to the United Kingdom in the early 20th century.

Amy Chavez ushers us through the seasons of the Seto Inland Sea. Her piece is a meditation on the villagers’ interactions with the seasonal cycle. She begins when the fragrance of plum blossoms entices the residents out their doors, and she ends after the New Year bonfires when the “elderly amble home in the evening, step onto their wooden verandas and into their homes, not to emerge again until the fragrance of plum blossoms mingles with the smell of the sea.”

Yuri Ugaya explains how Japanese gardens require the viewer to approach them with an active imagination, to fill in the negative spaces for a heightened and personal experience. She reminds us that “the history of Japanese gardens is the history of people who have revered nature.”

The book ends in summer. Marc Peter Keane starts us off with an essay on Zen rock gardens “…a meditative reflection on nature that pares down the complexity of the natural world to certain elemental parts.” Bruce Hamana discusses how slow food and slow eating focus awareness of the seasons in the tea ceremony and the kaiseki meal. Karen Lee Tawarayama reflects on moss and how it represents “…timelessness and harmony with nature.” Ikebana, the art of flower arranging, Mark Hovane tell us, is a moving meditation that is meant to facilitate an inner transformation. Edward Taylor closes the section showcasing the paradox of the rainy season, how on one hand it is claustrophobic, and on the other hand produces an incomparable green lushness.

The photography of John Einarsen is the perfect visual accompaniment to this reading experience. His contemplative images capture more than the surface of every season, but something deeper, more elusive, much as the essays do not speak to just the details of the cultural manifestation of the seasons but to the sense, the tone, the intense relationship between the Japanese and their acute understanding of the seasons. His photographs invite the viewer to see our world in a new way just as the narrative pieces and the exhibit do.

Spirit of Shizen benefits from being read one small narrative at a time, stopping to reflect and internalize each glimpse of wisdom and inspiration. This collection is concise yet profound. It captures the ephemeral nature of the micro-seasons. It also provides a warning to those of us who live before a computer, that while we may situate ourselves by a picture window as we work, the window is still a barrier between us and the natural world. The window merely provides a beautiful view.

This anthology begs the question, what is nature?” As Keane points out, it is a moving target. Bruce Hamana sums it up for us here:

In spring, hanafubuki (blizzard of flower (petals)) describes the falling cherry blossoms. In summer, kunpu (fragrant breeze) conveys the feeling of the refreshing wind. In late autumn, kogarashi (tree-drying (wind)) denotes the first winter wind that blows all the leaves from the trees. In winter, botan yuki (peony snow) describes the heavy, wet snow that falls not in flakes, but in large, fluffy puffs. The phrase Ichigo, Ichie (a singular unrepeatable moment in time) reminds us that the seasons are beautiful because of the uniqueness of each fleeting experience. (p.125)

Micro-seasons, in their reduction, expand our connection to the natural world. Committing to living by the 72 seasons is an exercise in mindfulness and an invitation to see the world with deepened awareness. Robert Weis has composed a brief but profound book, much like a micro-season, and I now find myself suffering from a form of literary nagori – a nostalgia of the book that has just closed.

Note: The catalogue can be bought onsite from the museum store in Luxembourg or online. Read an excerpt here.

Podcasts

BOA Podcast 22—Cody Poulton Introduces Japan’s Performing Arts

June 10, 2022


Podcast host Amy Chavez talks with author Cody Poulton about Japanese theater, in particular Noh theater. Poulton recently retired from University of Victoria in Canada, where he taught Japanese literature, theater and culture for over 30 years. He is also a translator of Japanese fiction and drama. He is author of Spirits of Another Sort: The Plays of Izumi Kyōka (2001), A Beggar’s Art: Scripting Modernity in Japan, 1900-1930 (2010), and he is co-editor of The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Drama (Columbia University Press, 2017) with Thomas Rimer, Mitsuya Mori, et al.

Cody Poulton

Ep. 22 Show Notes:

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Review—The Widow, The Priest and The Octopus Hunter

June 4, 2022
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Portraits of the lives of 31 members of a small community on a tiny island in Japan’s Inland Sea, spanning the Taisho to Reiwa periods (the past 100 years).

Where to Buy

Support BOA by ordering The Widow, The Priest and The Octopus Hunter through these links:

Amazon U.S.
Bookshop U.S.
Amazon Japan

Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

The Widow, the Priest and the Octopus Hunter: Discovering a Lost Way of Life on a Secluded Japanese Island

Review by Tina deBellegarde

With The Widow, the Priest and the Octopus Hunter, Amy Chavez has presented us with a gift of cultural preservation. The author conducted a year-long oral history project on the Island of Shiraishi, the place she has called home for over twenty five years. In so doing, she has revealed to us a culture that has disappeared in most places in Japan and may soon disappear on Shiraishi as well. Not since Donald Richie’s The Inland Sea have we had the privilege of seeing first-hand the traditions, superstitions and folklore of a Japanese island culture that has all but died out.

At the heart of her journey was the quest to revive the memory of Eiko, a war widow, in whose home Chavez has lived for all these years. She met her but once and even attended her funeral, but the rest of the details of Eiko’s existence was lost on the author.

I became accustomed to living amongst the belongings of this woman I never knew…A woman whose presence was still keenly felt in the lacquered zelkova table I placed my tea cup on, in the wall-hanging of Mount Fuji at the end of the hallway, the hanging scroll in the tokonoma alcove and the picture of the Showa emperor, Hirohito, looking ominously down from the cornice of the ceiling (Page 24).

During those early years as a tenant, Chavez felt obliged to maintain all of Eiko’s personal items. The years passed, she purchased the home, but it wasn’t until a recent renovation that she sorted through it all with the intention of returning Eiko’s belongings to the family. Rather than a house cleaning project, Chavez discovered that by sorting through Eiko’s things, she felt closer to her and more curious. She set out to understand just who this woman was.

Although the goal was to learn about a specific person, what Chavez accomplished was a thorough oral history of the last one hundred years of Shiraishi Island. Through the introduction, we experience the dawning of the day on the island, and by the end of the chapter we are firmly planted on the island’s boulders and ready to meet the villagers. She interviews many residents: among them are two ferry captains who moonlight as Shinto priests, a Buddhist priest, an innkeeper, a postmaster, a tombstone cutter, four Chinese brides, and an octopus hunter.

We learn about fishing methods no longer in use, about the history of the quarry families, and about the festivals with their unique traditions and dances. Most of all we hear the voices of the individuals. We share tea or a beer with them as they reveal their most intimate moments, hopes, desires, and disappointments. We participate in their regret at the probable loss of this peaceful existence. Above all, we learn that these are not just individuals but members of a community, and it is the community that makes this island life so special. Residents who arrived sixty years ago are still considered outsiders.

With a diminishing and aging population, the closing of the school and the lack of a doctor, the writing is on the wall. While reluctant to accept change, they are also unable to stop it and too old to take on the burden of preservation.

The island life has lasted this long partly because of the yutaan (U-turn) movement of residents who left the island for jobs in the city then moved back in their retirement. Although not young, they are younger than their parents and able to extend the village lifestyle one diminishing generation after another. But soon, these will be too few to make a difference.

It’s worth noting that the Buddhist priest considers the most important moment of his ministry the end-of-year visits to the families.

“During those visits the old people talk to me. They want me to listen to their stories, so I do. And their stories are important. They are once-in-a-lifetime experiences and it’s sad that people will soon forget these things.” (Page 188).

For the last interview, Chavez selects the Stay-at-Home Dad very intentionally, for he is the only resident with children on the island, and he has a clear vision of the island’s future. He believes that remote work and a repurposing of buildings as affordable housing for younger people could be the future for Shiraishi. He leaves us with hope.

Her final chapter is an “interview” with the war widow Eiko. This is the crowning moment of the book; it is an entry in which Eiko speaks to us. Here Chavez has meticulously composed a fleshed-out picture of our war widow. The author uses the words and experiences of her neighbors to piece together who Eiko was, what her trials and tribulations were, and how she managed through the war and post-war difficulties on the secluded island.

In giving Eiko a voice she is also giving all war widows a voice.

We hear about the soldiers who returned, the kamikaze pilots who didn’t, the survivors of Hiroshima, Nagasaki and the Tokyo air raids. We read about POWs, the military police, the comfort women, and the pan-pan girls of the Occupation. We have heard about the Japanese women who married foreign soldiers and moved to their countries. But the war widows vanished from everyone’s consciousness, and remain disembodied voices of the past. Eiko was never meant to be seen. (Page 182).

Chavez has corrected this oversight.

As much as the oral history is fascinating and intimate, I found the Foreword, the Introduction, the Epilogue and the penultimate chapter about Chavez herself to be the most poignant, and the most immediate. Her love and appreciation of her surroundings is so deep, she captures the sights, smells and sounds so vividly, that she has made me nostalgic for a world I have never experienced.

Chavez reflects on her twenty-three years as a resident:

On this island, I have sat in the eye of a typhoon, seen how octopus are hunted, learned to dance under the moonlight, and wandered like the poet Basho on an ancient pilgrimage trail….Something prevents me from letting go of the past, Eiko’s past, with neighbors who still live it, who spend long afternoons chatting over tea, collecting seaweed, bracken and bamboo shoots, and where I can hear the distant bell of a rotary dial telephone. A place where time is measured not in years, but by the height of a Chinese fan palm, which is now taller than my house. (Page 213).

Some villagers still have hope that the island will draw people to its unusual existence. After all, it did draw Chavez, and she remains under its spell, and before very long, readers will be enthralled as well.

 

Podcasts

BOA Podcast 20: Abby Denson talks Japan via Comics

April 7, 2022

Today we have with us Abby Denson, award-winning author of Cool Japan Guide: Fun in the Land of Manga, Lucky Cats and Ramen, Cool Tokyo Guide: Adventures in the City of Kawaii Fashion, Train Sushi and Godzilla  the Kitty Sweet Tooth series (with Utomaru) and her upcoming book which we’re going to talk about today, Uniquely Japan: A Comic Book Artist Shares Her Personal Faves – Discover What Makes Japan The Coolest Place on Earth! (April 5, 2022).

Abby has scripted comics for Amazing Spider-Man Family, Powerpuff Girls comics, Simpsons comics, Sabrina The Teenage Witch, Josie and the Pussycats, Disney Adventures and many others.

Ep. 20 Show Notes:

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Podcasts

BOA Podcast 19: Novelist David Joiner talks “Kanazawa”

February 14, 2022

In this episode of the Books on Asia Podcast, sponsored by Stone Bridge Press, podcast host Amy Chavez talks with novelist David Joiner about his new novel that takes place in Kanazawa, a city in Japan’s Ishikawa Prefecture.

The novel introduces the city of Kanazawa, its connection to the famous Japanese literary master Izumi Kyōka, and provides the setting for a story that revolves around an American married to a Japanese, and the Japanese family’s dynamics. Highlighted are some of the differences between traditional and modern Japan and the foreigner’s place in it.

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At the end of the podcast, Amy asks Joiner what his 3 favorite books on Japan are and he elaborates on his choices:

Sound of the Mountain and Snow Country, both by Yasunari Kawabata.
Dawn to the West by Donald Keene
The Roads to Sata, by Alan Booth

Read a review of David Joiner’s novel Kanazawa by Tina DeBellegarde on the Books on Asia site.

The Books on Asia Podcast is sponsored by Stone Bridge Press. Check out their books on Japan at the publisher’s website. Amy Chavez, podcast host, is author of Amy’s Guide to Best Behavior in Japan and the upcoming The Widow, the Priest, and the Octopus Hunter: Discovering a Lost Way of Life on a Secluded Japanese Island (May, 2022). Don’t miss out on upcoming episodes with authors and translators on Asia by subscribing to the Books on Asia podcast.

 

Podcasts

BOA Podcast 18: Liza Dalby on geisha, kimono, and translating Setouchi Jakucho’s “Places”

January 14, 2022

In this episode of the Books on Asia Podcast, sponsored by Stone Bridge Press, host Amy Chavez talks with anthropologist, shamisen player, author and translator Liza Dalby about her books and her new translation of the recently deceased novelist cum Buddhist nun Setouchi Jakuchō’s memoir Places. Liza is author of the Geisha, Kimono: Fashioning Culture, East Wind Melts the Ice: A Guide to Serenity Through the Seasons, and  Hidden Buddhas: A Novel of Karma and Chaos. Her previous translations are: Little Songs of Geisha: Traditional Japanese Ko-Uta.

Ep. 18 Show Notes:

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Review—Kanazawa by David Joiner

January 5, 2022
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In Kanazawa, David Joiner delivers a slow-burning family drama reminiscent of a film by Yasujirō Ozu or Hirokazu Koreeda.

Where to Buy

Support BOA by ordering Kanazawa through these links:

Amazon international
Bookshop U.S.
Amazon Japan

Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

Review by Tina deBellegarde

In Kanazawa, David Joiner delivers a slow-burning family drama reminiscent of a film by Yasujirō Ozu or Hirokazu Koreeda. This is a modern tale that, like its protagonist, keeps one foot in the past. It tells the story of Emmitt, an ex-pat, who is seeking a connection with Japan’s history and tradition. He loves the city of Kanazawa with its history and traditions intact, and he dreams of settling into a machiya, a traditional home that represents Japan’s past as well as Emmitt’s idea of his future.

While Emmitt looks to the past, his wife Mirai is more inclined toward Tokyo, where her sister is accomplishing her dreams and where Mirai hopes to recapture her own missed opportunities. For Emmitt, Tokyo represents the opposite of what he seeks. The disparity in their needs and how they seek to resolve it is at the heart of the story.

When we first meet Emmitt and Mirai, they are living an uneventful existence with the protagonist’s  in-laws in a not-so-new but modern home. While Emmitt and Mirai are navigating their plans for their future, his in-laws are having a similar marital tug of war over their past. Slowly the older couples’ history bubbles to the surface and needs to be addressed. Climbing Mount Hakusan becomes an imperative for the father-in-law and we come to learn it is connected to his secret. The mountain journey is where the narrative unravels and is the catalyst for the characters to start untangling their problems.

This is a domestic drama about family units, about homes (especially modern versus traditional), and about the cities that house these homes, particularly Kanazawa, Tokyo and Shiramine. Each family member is tackling at least one issue, but each is handling it in their own quiet way. This does not mean there isn’t conflict, but the conflict is muted since all four characters care deeply for one another and are navigating their issues while carefully avoiding hurting others.

At the heart of the story is Emmitt’s search for purpose. He leaves his teaching job without lining up another position so he can find his way. When asked how he feels about the risk he has taken, he responds, “I want to branch out into something new, where I can test myself in a way I never have before. I don’t mean just a new livelihood, which is part of it, but a new way of living. … Everyone needs a sense of purpose. I had none until I quit. Risking that was no risk at all.” (pp161-162)

He finds his way via Izumi Kyōka’s literature and Kyōka’s city of Kanazawa, both of which have the power to stir within him a longing for the past. Kyōka (1873-1939) had an aversion to contemporary society of his time and Emmitt also looks to the past for meaning and purpose.

Joiner adds a layer of reading pleasure by intertwining key aspects of Kyōka’s works into his own narrative. Even I, who was only able to access a couple of Kyōka’s stories, could enjoy the homage.

Emmitt commits to the challenging project of translating Kyōka and discovers an unexpected sense of fulfillment. “The idea that writing could be sacred made Emmitt approach translating with a deeper sense of purpose. More importantly, working with Kyōka’s writing helped Emmitt feel he was evoking the past, even keeping it alive. And in doing this he realized he was finding a place for himself.” (p184) I see this reflected in Joiner’s writing as well, where he treats language as sacred and uses it with delicacy and respect.

Emmitt is trying to absorb the culture, history and literary legacy of Kanazawa. He has the benefit of the eyes of an outsider. The Japanese culture is fascinating, beautiful and long, and for a non-native, the possibilities of investigation are endless. For a life-long learner such as Emmitt, this is ideal. In the end, Emmitt concludes that he finally discovered where he stands in relation to the past. This is what he had been seeking.

Kanazawa is a gentle tale. It is not chaotic and swelling with noise or action. Each scene is quietly painted and, even in distress, holds some comfort. There is no big conflict upon which the story turns, rather, there are a series of important decisions with consequences and after each one, the characters reshuffle and readjust to the new normal. The Japanese narrative structure of Kishōtenketsu is easily recognized here by the subtle shifts and the slow evolution rather than a destructive conflict.

This book is a reminder that there is meaning in our day to day existence. Literature of this sort encourages us to see the beauty of our mundane lives and to embrace our daily routines. Alex Kerr refers to Kanazawa as a “graceful novel of a graceful city” and indeed, it is just that.

Joiner has expressed his hopes that Kyōka’s readership spreads, that his work will not disappear. I for one, have had my interest piqued. I intend to visit Kanazawa and Shiramine. I want to read more Kyōka. And isn’t that what any author wants? To have readers think, and learn and investigate as a result of their art?

 

Review—Places, by Setouchi Jakuchō

December 13, 2021

Few authors have led as storied a life as Setouchi Jakuchō. Writer, translator, feminist, peace activist, and Buddhist nun…

Where to Buy

Support BOA by ordering Places, by Setouchi Jakuchō through these links:

Amazon international
Amazon Japan

Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

Review by Chad Kohalyk

Setouchi Jakuchō—energetic nun, outspoken activist, and prolific author—passed away last month at the age of 99. Spending nearly half her life as a Buddhist nun of the Tendai sect, Jakuchō charmed the Japanese public with her television and public speaking appearances. Prior to 1973, the year she went forth into monastic life and took the Dharma name Jakuchō, she was Setouchi Harumi, a prize-winning author as well as a biographer of Japanese feminist pioneers such as novelist Tamura Toshiko. How did Harumi become Jakuchō? That is the question she sets out to answer in Places (University of Hawaii Press, Oct 2021), translated by author Liza Dalby, who counts herself as one of Setouchi’s many fans.

Places could be said to be just the beginning of an autobiography. Setouchi originally published the book in Japanese in 2001, at the age of 79. Yet she is only interested in showing us vignettes from the first 51 years of her life, entirely skipping the twenty-eight years of her experience as a nun. This tale is about the journey, rather than the destination. And though it is autobiographical, decades-old memories are enhanced by Setouchi’s venerated literary skill. Setouchi herself writes, “plausible-sounding lies are the stock-in-trade of a novelist.” Not wanting to doubt the veracity of our narrator, I favour Dalby’s assessment: “All autobiographies are fiction; all fiction is autobiographical.”

Places weaves a story with two entangled strands: the personal relationships of Setouchi Harumi, and her development into a successful novelist. The former had much influence on the latter, as Setouchi is known for her “I novels” involving intimate details and straight forward descriptions of sex that some critics at the time branded “pornography.”

I have to admit that the number of my love affairs is nothing like what has been rumored and whispered, but it isn’t limited either to what I have written about in my novels. —Setouchi

As the title of the book indicates, the twin threads of Setouchi’s early life are framed by revisiting places that represent significant milestones of her career or life. Liza Dalby explains Setouchi’s intention “to summon memories from the physical traces of that former time.” This delightful premise turns the book into more than a mere autobiography. We are treated to slices of daily life in rural Japan, as well as Kyoto and Tokyo, during the immediate post-war and high growth period of the 1960s. In her Endnotes, Dalby provides additional context on each location for non-Japanese readers.

Readers familiar with twentieth century Japanese literary history will be delighted by a string of celebrity cameos woven throughout the book: Shinsho Fumiko, Niwa Fumio, Mishima Yukio just to name a few. Dazai Osamu’s suicide casts a shadow over a middle section of the book, just as Setouchi is entering the elite community of Japan’s literati. One place featured is an apartment building Setouchi lived in. The tall building overlooks the New Edogawa Park in Tokyo, with a clear view of Mount Fuji, suggesting her career is reaching new heights. Other resident authors included Hirabayashi Taiko, Enchi Fumiko, and Setouchi’s hero Tanizaki Junichiro himself. She dotes:

If there was nobody in the hallway, I would sometimes touch his door with my forehead, or rub my palm on it, whispering, “May I share your good fortune.”

Each chapter follows a basic pattern. First a location from Setouchi Harumi’s past is introduced with rich, historical detail:

My recollection of the tactile sensation of my mother’s breast, velvety soft in its smoothness, is always accompanied by sound-the echo of the steamship whistle as the boats departed the wharf at Nakazu Harbor, not far from our house. That heart rending sound, ripping the night, came rushing up from the wharf straight to our bedside.

With the scene set, Setouchi spins a tale of dramatic events. She had much drama in her early years—divorcing young, leaving her child, living in poverty, having multiple affairs (sometimes simultaneously)—as she built up her independence. Such experiences are why so many people, especially women, sought out Jakuchō’s counsel. Unlike relationship advice from other monastics unable to speak from direct experience due to their vows, it is well known that Setouchi went through the highest highs and lowest lows. She speaks from both wisdom and experience.

After relating an illustrative vignette of her life and musing on the significance, each chapter draws down with a visit to the location in the present day. Setouchi, by now a Buddhist nun in her late seventies, regards the location and its elicited memories from a new perspective of experience and wisdom. The chapter then takes on a new dimension becoming a parable of impermanence.

I have experienced the height of pleasure in sexual love, but in the end it never fulfilled a spiritual need.

Setouchi Harumi’s path to Buddhism was not straightforward. From an early age a relation from Kobe dubbed “Amen Aunty” would “read the Bible to my sister and me, and enthusiastically teach us hymns.” She attended Sunday School. Late in the book, describing her nervous breakdown, a desperate Setouchi telephones her friend Endo Shūsaku, asking his advice on how to be baptized. Yet during Bible study she comes to the realization that having been raised Buddhist, “Intellectually and culturally, it was hard to extricate myself from that.”

Most readers picking up Places will be familiar with the smiling visage of Jakuchō, the “unlikely nun”, dressed in her robes. Such a radiant image indicates the book is not merely a story of Setouchi the writer achieving fame despite the odds. It is also about Setouchi the nun showing us the workings of the “monkey mind” and how she was finally able to tame it. Places is a braid of success stories: female independence, authorial achievement, and a mind taken to the brink of suicide, and back. Setouchi Jakuchō ends the book expressing her desire to wander, to leave the material world behind, which she achieved as a nun for the last 46 years of her life—until a very impressive age of 99. May she rest in peace.

Review—Heaven, by Mieko Kawakami

December 7, 2021
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A heartbreaking, yet uplifting, story of two outcasts who find and protect each other through a year of school bullying.

Where to Buy

Support BOA by ordering Heaven, by Mieko Kawakami through these links:

Amazon international
Bookshop U.S.

Thanks for helping support Books on Asia!

Review by Tina DeBellegarde

Heaven by Mieko Kawakami (translated by Sam Bett and David Boyd) is a heartbreaking, yet uplifting story of two outcasts who find and protect each other through a horrible year of school bullying.

The narrator is targeted because he has a lazy eye. His classmates call him “Eyes,” and the reader knows no other name for him. Kojima is bullied for her lack of hygiene. They bond over their common experience and learn to understand each other and themselves better through the process. They find comfort in exchanging notes and in the handful of times they meet in person.

The story is told from the boy’s perspective but is propelled by the girl. Kojima initiates the notes, arranges the meetings and she plays life coach to them both. This story demonstrates how social interaction is a necessary component for self-understanding. Neither has had sufficient positive social interaction, so that their new relationship is revelatory for them. Their missives become long and meandering. They evolve into a means for them to delve into their own feelings. The few meetings they can safely maneuver develop into the same kind of emotional exploration.

The boy gives in to his role as a victim. Kojima, on the other hand, does not see the two of them as victims. She pities the bullies who are stuck in their ways, not knowing what they are doing, not having any real motivation, and blindly following others. Kojima sees her pain and sadness as having a purpose.

“But it isn’t meaningless. When it’s all over, we’ll reach a place, somewhere or something we could never reach without having gone through everything we’ve gone through. Know what I mean?”

Kawakami manages to place us squarely in the heads of these adolescents. Reader beware, your empathy will be stretched to its limits by the scenes of bullying, but the poignancy of the relationship between the two main characters is too beautiful to miss.

The translation is rendered masterfully by Sam Bett and David Boyd. They were able to achieve the difficult task of capturing the language of young teenagers for a readership in different cultures and make it believable.

In an era when we may be dropping our defenses around bullying, having implemented so many programs to address this scourge, do we believe, perhaps, that we have done all that we can do? Have we become complacent? Heaven is a harsh reminder that the suffering has not stopped. Although the subject may seem worn out, Kawakami manages to make it new. These children have unique attitudes towards their plight, and the author manages to include enough humor and heart to make the reader believe in some hope, without resolving the story in a neat bow. With Heaven, Mieko Kawakami has proven once again that she can produce a social critique while remaining entertaining.