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Book Review, Geraldine Harcourt (Translator), Japanese writer, Territory of Light, Yuko Tsushima
Delicate, bleak and disturbing
Though it could be said this is a ‘slight’ book, it is not without its own uncomfortable power. I found myself thinking of The Bell Jar, at times, transported to a different culture (Japan) where not so much is stated or shown, and the narrator’s emotional and existential fractures have a kind of varnished, disguised quality to them, even from within her own expression
Set in Tokyo in the 70s the slim book charts a year in the life of a woman who has rented a fourth floor apartment, the ‘territory of light’ in a mainly abandoned commercial property
The unnamed narrator is a young woman with a toddler, separated from her wastrel husband. The only name we have for her is her last name, her married name, coincidentally the same surname as the building’s landlord. It is totally fitting that we do not know her name – she is a demographic – young woman, separated, single mother, struggling to keep finances together, juggling the requirements of work and childcare. She is isolated and the separation from her unsuitable partner (her mother advised against the marriage) is something shameful. She is outside society.
This is a deeply melancholic book, with a strange, dissociative, dream like quality. The rhythms of the writing are somehow both spare, slow and clear. Reading, in my head I could hear the evocative, misty soundscape evoked by the shakuhachi flute, and see in my mind’s eye some typical Japanese calligraphy and artwork featuring a mountain and a crane – a kind of still, sad beauty constructed over sadness.
I wanted to read and surrender to the ‘nothing happens, everything happens’ sensibility of this – little high drama, much recounting of everyday, but in a way which set down roots into depths, shoots into light – but it took me far longer to read than its short length should have taken. And this was because the atmosphere was pervasive, misty, and the spare writing invited the reader to stop, reflect, let the images build
To the west, at the far end of the long, thin apartment, a big window gave onto the main road; here the late sun and the street noise poured in without mercy. Directly below, one could see the black heads of pedestrians who streamed along the pavement towards the station in the morning and back again in the evening. On the footpath opposite, in front of a florist’s, people stood still at a bus stop. Every time a bus or lorry passed by the whole fourth floor shook and the crockery rattles on the shelves. The building where I’d set up house with my daughter was on a three-way intersection – four-way counting the lane to the south. Nevertheless, several times a day, a certain combination of red lights and traffic flow would produce about ten seconds silence. I always noticed it a split second before the signals changed and the waiting cars all revved impatiently at once
Geraldine Harcourt is the translator of this strange, subtly unsettling novella, originally published in a Japanese monthly literary magazine, in the late 70s. I have never read any of Yuko Tsushima’s work before, or, indeed heard of her. Something I intend to rectify – there are a couple of other titles, either pending publication or already published by Penguin Modern Classics. I have fallen under this writer’s spell
I was lucky enough to receive this as an ARC via NetGalley. Amusingly, though the published Kindle seems properly formatted, the ARC had some curious errors – any words containing any of the following letter combinations, had those letters missing, which added to the strange, elusive, not quite graspable spell of the piece – ff, fl, fi – so office floor became o ice oor. At times it was like trying to piece together a fine cracked piece of porcelain!
This is now on my TBR, and I’m looking forward to reading it. Your review was very helpful. Also, ‘nothing happens, everything happens’ is such a beautiful, poignant way to describe some genres of writing, it reminds me (perhaps obviously) of Woolf.
Thank you Lakshmi for that thoughtful commnent. Yes, that’s an interesting connection with Woolf. This one was a very strange and fascinating one for me. I have only read some male Japanese authors before, and this was very very different
I haven’t read many at all, apart from Ishiguro and some others. Any you’d recommend?
Mishima and Murakami are the two i have read. Mishima is very much from a different, closed to the West society. He was something of a cult figure, and killed himself, committing seppuku.
Lovely review. I love those books that allow acres of space for emotional tension, in which nothing really happens but everything happens. The Japanese have a concept of ‘Ma’ – negative space – which pervades their architecture and art. It sounds like this book is abundant in ma. I’ll have to look it up, thanks.
Thank you for that helpful comment about ‘Ma’ – yes, that is in exactly – the narrator is somehow the space between far more defined identities
This sounds wonderful. I’m a big fan of novellas and also of narrative where nothing and everything happens, so this is definitely one for me. Great that Penguin Classics are publishing translations- I’ll have to get to know this author.
I think you will love this Madame Bibi
I far prefer novellas to short stories
Lovely review Lady F. I have an ARC too, so I shall no doubt need to negotiate the oddities – but it does sound rather wonderful.
As mentioned, the strange formatting almost feels elusively part of the sense of dissolved edges the book has!
I noticed those oddities in the ARC on Kindle too – and it very nearly put me off reading it! However, I am currently reading it (and like you, finding it a slow, dreamy experience – perhaps the monthly episodes were a good idea), but enjoying it a lot.
Yes, I nearly gave up because of the formatting, but the strange sense of patches of emptiness in the narrator made me half wonder if this was deliberate, and even whether there were incomplete kanji in the original. I was obviously under the spell of the elusive ff fl fi.
Lovely review. I always feel Japanese fiction has a strange elusive quality, and I never know if it’s because they have a particular writing style or simply that I don’t have a grasp on the culture and mindset. But I usually enjoy the experience…
Probably both as I think language itself connects to style
I love the sound of this book and your review has really drawn me towards it. Maybe this style of writing promotes slow reading (in the same vein of slow food, slow fashion…) which gives us the opportunity to be more present (even if unsettled).
Yes, I think so. It demands being in the moment of the experience, not galloping through the adrenaline of action. There is of course ‘action’ but it is internal, emotional, felt sense