After the many quotes I’ve offered from Lafcadio Hearn’s classic I thought I’d wrap things up with a brief review of his two volume work, Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan.

If you have never been to Japan, this book will probably be of little interest to you. The intended audience was foreigners who had never been to Japan (indeed very few had when it was written in the 19th Century). I don’t see how they could have grasped much of the contents though.

The parts I enjoyed the most were for places that I have visited or for places which brought back memories of other places I have lived in Japan. Oddly enough, most of the places Hearn describes are not places foreign tourists visit. Kyoto and Tokyo, for instance, are barely mentioned. Much of the book deals with areas east of Himeji (where I have never been, yet)–especially Matsue and areas near it. So, for that reason, it wasn’t as interesting as it could have been had he dwelt mostly on regions more familiar to me.

The parts I enjoyed the most were his impressions. For instance, the chapter entitled something like, “My First Day In Japan” is fun for those who haven’t been to Japan to read as well as for those who can reminisce. What wasn’t as interesting, for me, was his relating of Japanese tales, especially ghost stories, superstitions, etc. Some were entertaining, but most weren’t to me. Apparently he wrote numerous books on that subject after this book. I have no interest in reading them.

It takes an imagination to fully appreciate Hearn. I enjoyed imagining him in pre-car, pre-train Japan riding in a rickshaw and rowing around the country. He laments Japan’s rapid changes at the time. I wonder what he would think if he could see it now?

Posted on January 4th, 2009 under Japan. Tags: book review, lafcadio hearn, reviews. Comments Off on Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan

This was my third Mishima novel in the past month. As I read it, with only a few exceptions, I felt that Mishima had mellowed in this work compared to Confessions of a Mask or The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, both of which were written earlier than The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. The last few pages, however, reveal that Mishima was as sick and twisted as ever, maybe even more so. And that’s what makes his books so fascinating to read. I’m addicted and can’t stop.

20 years ago I was a big fan of Steven King. I probably read 10 or more of his books in the space of a few months. I don’t think I’ve read any Steven King since that brief episode in my life though. I think Steven King would be proud of the ending in The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea. I’d love to tell it to you, but for those who haven’t read it yet my telling would spoil everything for you.

Why this was named The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea when the Japanese title is 午後の曳航 I have no idea.

Next up is Spring Snow. Are there any other Mishima titles that I should absolutely not miss?

Posted on November 21st, 2008 under Japan. Tags: book review, yukio mishima. Comments: 3

After reading The Temple of the Golden Pavilion I felt like I needed more of Mishima so this is where I randomly turned next. Unless you are into S&M or a homosexual you probably won’t fully appreciate the first half or so of this book. I found the last half of the book to be far more enjoyable myself. This is Mishima’s first major work, and in some ways it shows. I liked The Temple of the Golden Pavilion more, but I still found much of Confessions of a Mask to be interesting–fascinating even, and I have no regrets about reading the whole thing.

In fact, those two works weren’t enough for me so now I’m reading The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea which was much later than either of the above two books. Well, maybe not much later but Mishima’s career was so short that it was relatively much later given his brief life.

The setting for Confessions of a Mask is from pre-World War 2 through just after the war. Therefore, those interested in Japan during the war years from the Japanese, common-person perspective will at least like this account for that reason.

How much of this is autobiographical? I don’t know. You do see many similarities between the main character in this book and the main character in The Temple of the Golden Pavilion. Given Mishima’s later views you can certainly see his troubled, earlier mind in his early works. Mishima’s end should have been very predictable by those who read his works and considered them to be at least partially autobiographical. From his account here, his later militaristic views almost seem as if they could have partially been the result of guilt–guilt over avoiding service time in WW2.

In summary, if you plan to start reading Mishima, Confessions of a Mask is probably not the best place to start. Don’t skip it entirely though unless you are seriously homophobic and can’t stomach such thoughts.

Posted on November 11th, 2008 under Japan. Tags: book review, yukio mishima. Comments Off on Confessions of a Mask

Having visited kinkakuji last year, I had heard the story of the monk who burned down the prior version of the temple but not in any detail. Reading Donald Keene’s memoir got me interested in Mishima. The two interests combined finally got me to pick up a copy of the English translation of The Temple of the Golden Pavilion and read.

And what a curious read it turned out to be! The book is said to be historical fiction. I’ve read reviews that claim that Mishima did research and actually interviewed the arsonist so maybe it’s more historical than fiction. In any event, I became thoroughly engrossed in this book.

I won’t go into any plot lines here as you can read them elsewhere on the internet, and I don’t want to provide any major spoilers for those who haven’t read it yet.

As I read the book, I felt like there were some of Mishima’s autobiographical elements coming out in the arsonist’s character. For instance, Mishima has the arsonist say that living to an old age is a curse. (p. 128) He takes special care to emphasize physical limitations (something Mishima, himself, seemed obsessed with). And the thought of suicide is rather glorious to Mishima’s mentally unstable arsonist. Mishima worked tirelessly to become a physical specimen (through body building), thought old age was not a good thing, and committed suicide at a relatively young age.

I thought the story line near the end sounded strangely like Mark David Chapman and his preparations to murder John Lennon. Mark Chapman identified with Holden Caulfield in The Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield is not too unlike Mishima or the arsonist in The Temple of the Golden Pavilion. The Catcher in the Rye deals with adolescent aimlessness, a dissatisfaction with everything, being disgusted with the phoniness people, themes of anxiety over sex, the feeling that everything is soiled, and lost innocence–all items touched on in this work of Mishima’s.

Both the arsonist and Chapman went to prostitutes and spent the last of their money before committing their crimes. Both affiliated with a book. For Chapman it was The Catcher in the Rye. For the arsonist in The Temple of the Golden Pavilion it was Crime and Punishment. The similarities seemed so eerie that I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Chapman had also read Mishima’s book.

I give this work two thumbs up and highly recommend it–especially if you have been to Kyoto.

Posted on November 2nd, 2008 under Japan. Tags: book review, yukio mishima, 金閣寺. Comments: 1

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (川端康成) is considered a classic of Japanese literature. I became interested in reading it after reading Donald Keene’s memoir which mentioned Kawabata’s suicide and Nobel Prize.

I was a bit surprised Snow Country wasn’t required reading in BYU’s Japanese program I went through. However, given that the book deals with Onsen Geisha and the consuming of adult beverages and BYU censors what their students read, it isn’t too surprising that we were left reading Christian Japanese authors like Shusaku Endo instead.

As I started reading this book I read about 10 pages in English and then the same 10 pages in Japanese. This proved very interesting. Eventually I read it all in English and only certain passages that seemed strange in English in Japanese as well. Not that the translator, Edward G. Seidensticker, did a poor job, but some things just don’t come across as well in English. For instance, in Japanese you can clearly tell who is speaking in the male-female dialogues as females speak differently than males in Japanese (ending sentences with wa, kashira, etc.) In English, Seidensticker doesn’t add “he said” or “she said” at the end of the quotes since that isn’t what it says in Japanese; nor is it necessary in Japanese to figure out who is saying what. However, it can be tricky, or at least unclear, to figure out just who is saying what at times in the English translation.

Also, with respect to the translated version, the writing doesn’t seem very smooth. The Japanese has a better flow. Again, this isn’t really Seidensticker’s fault. I’m not saying I could do a better translation. Rather, some things really need to be read in their original tongue to be fully appreciated.

I don’t imagine the English version of this book is for everyone. In fact, most people who read the English translation will probably say, “He won the Nobel Prize for Literature for that??” But if you enjoy highly symbolic writings, have had experiences with a Japanese girlfriend who left you puzzled, or wish to reflect on experiences you may have had in Japan then Snow Country is certainly worth a quick read (and quick it is at well under 200 pages).

Assuming you are reading the English translation by Edward G. Seidensticker be sure to read the Introduction after you read the book as he packs his Introduction with spoilers for some unknown reason.

Posted on October 5th, 2008 under Japan. Tags: book review, books, geisha. Comments: 3