“Paris is a movable feast," Hemingway said about his bohemian days on the Left Bank in Paris. It's no wonder. With the Eiffel Tower and the spires of Notre Dame setting the scene, he could muse metaphysically in a cafe with like-minded companions from dusk ‘til dawn, while fashionable mademoiselles strolled by with their equally fashionable pet poodles. If he got bored, all he had to do was switch cafes and enjoy another feast, whiling away the day on either beer or coffee, depending on his whim. Papa sure had a life.
Like Hemingway's Paris, the English-language scribes who make up the scene here in Tokyo are diverse in their own way. "There are the Sumo groupies, for example, or there are those who follow Buddhism, while there are others who are into the great outdoors, living in the countryside and commuting between places like Tokyo and Gunma, and there are the onsen groupies," according to Mark Schrieber, a free-lance writer/translator/copywriter based in Tokyo, who also pointed out that the scene, while diverse, is compartmentalized.
The scene in Tokyo isn't nearly as vibrant as Hemingway's Paris, though. "The Left Bank scene in Paris in the 20s and 30s had a lot of Americans and English feeding off of the French culture; they were very interested in Paris. People don't get enough spark from living in Tokyo," comments John Cross, editor of The Human Body, a low-budget, high-concept Tokyo zine.
Tom Dow, poetry editor of Printed Matter, a Tokyo literary magazine, has a good reason for this seemingly staid state of affairs. "I'm afraid this environment, like many others, is overwhelmed by middle-class values and lifestyles and appearances, so it tends to put a lot of pressure on people and detracts from, let's say, a real nurturing environment, unfortunately."
For a long time Japan, as presented through the English-language media, was an enigma. "There are these writers whose vision of Japan is somehow frozen in pre-bubble times. The ones that have a fascination with public baths, tea ceremonies or whatever. They're trying to ride the wave that came in with the bubble, inspired by Pico lyer's Video Night in Katmandu," said Louis Templado, the editor of Tokyo Time Out, a publication that went completely online recently.
Dan Papia, an editor and satirist who speaks for the expatriate mindset at Tokyo Journal added, "The Japanese are fond of saying that their country's so different, and people around the world eat that up. They want to know the connection between the tea ceremony and the prime minister's policy on Korea and apologizing for the war."
Mark Schilling, movie critic for The Japan Times and foreign correspondent of Screen magazine, isn't optimistic either, reflecting on this country's deficit of cross-cultural interactions in comparison to a place like Hong Kong. "Japan is so isolated in some ways. I mean, what relationships do you have living here with Korea, Siberia or China? You're in your own head," he said.
But other writers feel that Tokyo couldn't be more conducive to pursuing their craft. "There's something about being a foreigner in Japan. One doesn't really have to conform because one can't conform. I suppose I feel free, and it's easier for the creative juices to flow," says Papia.
In the neoconservative nineties, the literature coming out of Tokyo appears to be taking a more sober look at the Land of the Rising Sun.
A magazine published and edited by Shawn McIntosh, one of the founding members of the Library poetry readings (see Poetry article), is probably exemplary of this new genre of writing. Mclntosh titled his magazine Lost & Alone, a phrase that very likely approximates the predicament of many Tokyo-based foreigners in the nineties, and he believes he's onto something. "I wanted something for people who have lived in Japan, who like Japan, and realize that it has faults, basically like any other country. Sure, there are the ikebana (flower arrangement) kinds of articles in the magazine, but you know, I didn't want the "Oh, look at this weird country, this and that" or for that matter, the kind of hipster's voice that some other magazines have."
This "lost and alone" edge is definitely not lost on Leonard Koren, the author of many books on Japan, including Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers, an exploration of Japanese aesthetics. "The advantages of the peace, quiet and physical amenities in Japan offers the opportunity to turn off the noise from someplace like Berkeley where you're constantly bombarded with trends, and things of fashionable import that might pollute your work in a different way," he said. "So being in a different culture with different cultural priorities helps me to focus on what I'm doing. It's an oblique advantage."
Perhaps Tokyo, the city of neon kitsch and commercial ostentation, does have a thriving literary scene after all, that is, more in the vein of William S . Burroughs' interzone than Hemingway's Paris.
"I think being in Japan is more of a journey of self-discovery than learning about the Japanese per se," Mclntosh said.
Ms. Shiho Kishimoto, the author of the novel I Hear Them Cry, is a strong proponent of neuro-linguistic programming. A therapist herself, she has employed this technique to help women navigate through turbulent divorces while also helping so-called "corporate warriors" of Japan ease into retirement when they tend to have a tough time reinventing themselves at home. According to Ms. Kishimoto, that's the time when they really need to make the transition from left-brain thinking to a right-brain one. But more importantly, she believes that's when empathy and understanding can begin to blossom, a key theme explored in I Hear Them Cry, which won the prestigious Toyo Shuppan Literary Award.
Mr. Koji Chikatani, TranNet’s senior agent, and I met up with Ms. Kishimoto recently in her charming well-appointed apartment overlooking a spectacular view of Tennozu Isle, a vibrant waterfront in Tokyo linked to the rest of the metropolis via the quaint monorail. With insight and passion she gave us an illuminating glimpse into her worldview and so much more, including the reason why the word "understand" is so profound to her.
What inspired you to focus on characters with personal experiences of abuse?
My family, I suppose. Ever since I can remember my home was a battleground where my pre-Meiji era mother in law, my father the serious scholar, and my mother who was constantly bullied, waged their wars.
As a child I was completely baffled. I could understand my father's feelings, I could see why Grandma was possessive over my father. He was her only surviving child after all and she was very proud of him. But I also understood how difficult it was for my mother who was this fish-out-of-water character there. She had to raise three children and we weren't that wealthy. It was odd that I couldn't see anyone who was really bad among them. Essentially, they were all good people. There was no one who was like an arch villain or anything. Yet they hated each other. They just kept fighting, hollering at each other. I thought to myself, what a world adults live in!
So that's the kind of childhood I had, and then I went on to work in a trading company and was stationed in its Hong Kong branch. And what I realized then and was surprised by was how tough it was to succeed in business. How tough the environment of socioeconomics really was. My father had spent forty years in such an environment to provide for us and raise us, making enough money for our education. It was eye opening.
I had seen things more or less from my mother's perspective until then, but once I was out there in the workforce as a working member of society, I immediately came to realize my father's troubles, his hardships. And then when I started to speak in defense of my father-- telling my mother to stop putting him down so much, pointing out that she didn't understand the trials and tribulations of my father, that she was having three meals a day after all--all she could see was that I had become a traitor to her! She really took offense and started to say things like, "Who's responsible for your happiness now?"
Our rapport deteriorated and she began complaining that I wouldn't be leading a happy life if it weren't for her. She'd get really vicious like that. So I was feeling really mixed up, wondering what my mother was all about when I came across a book written by Sayoko Nobuta titled "My Mother is Unbearably Heavy" (Ha Ha Ga Omukute Tamaranai). I came to realize that my concerns weren't unique. There were many in the same position as mine.
Next I read "The Way I See It" by Patti Davis, President Reagan's daughter's insider account of what it was like to have President Reagan as a father. Reading this book, you can clearly see how a relationship enters into a destructive spiral. I very much related to what she was saying. She's basically rejected by her mother, you see. Everything about her, the mother rejects. Now the mother it seems was afflicted with what's called the "Münchausen syndrome by proxy." In other words, a person with this affliction would make her child ill on purpose and take him or her to the hospital. They'll stay close to the child day and night, taking care of the child, comforting the child. The doctors and nurses begin praising what a lovely mother she is and that's when she's most happy, having found her place in the world, feeling her sense of self-worth in such a situation, you know. Then when the child recovers, her work is done right? So she goes on to make the child ill again, slipping some poison into him, see. That's the Munchausen syndrome by proxy. In other words, the child is used as bait to garner attention and appeal herself to the world.
Anyway, in the book it was said that the mother was diagnosed with this affliction, and when I read it, I was reminded of my own mother. She would always say things like I was a good for nothing, and that she really had a hard time raising me, recounting all these incidents that proved her point to my mother-in-law, and in front of my children. The book really showed me that there was a world like this, that I wasn't alone. And then there was another book titled Toxic Parents by Susan Forward. It's really famous and a bible for women in their thirties.
Can you talk about the connection between healing and religion?
The message that God loves you is powerful. That is a fundamental idea that can drive a person's life. Sometimes I feel Japanese people lack this drive and lead shallow existences, cocooned in the trappings of affluence, living in blissful ignorance, see. So the things they say sound shallow sometimes, ha, ha, ha. I've had men who got divorced in their later years visit me for counseling. They find themselves at a loss as to what mode of thinking they should adopt after retiring from their corporate-warrior days, you know. It’s such a shame. All they have to do is stoop to a lower position and understand. Such an attitude will simply relax any marital tensions, you see. The English word "understand" is such a lovely word by the way.
How so?
When I first learned English, I was struck by how odd this word seemed, literally meaning, "to stand under." I was like what's this all about? From my perspective, it seemed like two blocks of meaning just layered on top of each other. In Japanese, on the other hand, the word for understand is rikai, which is formed by combining the character for "logic" and the character for "explain." So I used to think, ‘Oh what a nice word.'
But when I was in my mid-thirties, I read an article in the Asahi newspaper that said it was a mistake for the Japanese to translate the word "understand" as "rikai."It should have been translated more literally to something like "stand under" as in assuming a lowered stance in relation to another person. It's an act of humility at heart, you see. Ms. Michiko Inugai, the granddaughter of Tsuyoshi Inugai, the former Prime Minister, who's a philanthropist, wrote the article. She's active in providing aid to refugees.
Anyway this two-page spread article was a commentary written by her and she was pointing out that in an ASEAN conference the talks that were underway between the First World nations and the Third World nations were at loggerheads. The developed countries were pursuing their own vested interests and the developing nations were there to seek aid. To come to a resolution, Ms. Inugai suggested each party must take a lower stance, or in other words, assume a more humbling standpoint so as to see eye to eye. That's exactly what the word understand implies. Stand lower, stoop if you have to in order to be able to see eye to eye. Without seeing the other person at eye level, understanding cannot arise. It was an aha moment for me. I saw what understand truly meant. You know, I wonder if English-speaking people actually appreciate the true meaning of the word understand when they say it themselves. I'd really like to ask if they're conscious about such a connotation, that to understand, you have to stand under someone, that you have to humble yourself.
In the first part of I Hear Them Cry, Mayu is in France where she is portrayed as a sort of an incarnation of Joan of Arc, or the spirit of crusade—the spirit of rectifying the rampant wrongs in life. Do you suppose this sense of crusade carries through even when she finds herself in Japan in the second part of the story?
Yes, all the more so since Mayu realizes that life can't just be pigeonholed as a romantic notion in the end. At least not until one puts up a good fight. That's got to happen, you see, if you want to show your moral fiber, show the world that you are indeed good.
Mayu is attracted to religion because of its symbolism for purity and piety?
Yes. The thing about religion is that, no matter who you are, it will accept you. Its capacity to do so is huge and such a space is essential in human existence. I really think Japan should have something equivalent as well. I want to say to the Buddhist and Zen priests here in Japan to try harder, you know. I mean all they do is appear now and then just for funerals. What's with that, right? They should hold more events in their temples, events like seminars featuring talks on end-of-life issues. Japan's on its way to becoming an empire of the elderly, and since most people will have a lot of time on their hands, I really think many will go to such events. You see, the priests here don't have many opportunities to make public appearances. But in the case of Christian priests, they have their churches and the custom of confessionals and every week they have mass. Their activity is really focused on sending out the message that they are accessible, that they are always close to anyone who needs them. In Japan, the obo-san, the Buddhist priest, doesn't enjoy such a favorable image.
I suppose art and religion are similar in that they both can help the individual transcend the mundane, all the petty worries that are a part of daily life. Is that how you feel Mayu views religion?
Yes, she had been pretty much self-centered but then she becomes awed by what she sees in Jean, the priest who appears in the story. It's something she doesn't have: a power that's not in her, a big, big, vast reserve of love, if you will. She gets attracted to this. To her it's an eye opener, as an instance of culture shock often can be.
Do you see differences between American and Japanese perspectives when addressing abuse and recovery?
Well you know the thing about these well-intentioned initiatives is that you really need funds to make them work. The civil servant may visit the house of an abuser but more often than not he ends up giving up after trying something like three times, after which he simply reports that the family was absent before closing the book on the case. He should be actually doing a bit more, like actually waiting around for the family to show up or bang on the door loudly or stake out the premises to find some evidence of a crime, like hearing someone cry out and then going in for the rescue. But since they have to work within a limited budget, or an hourly wage of a few thousand yen, it becomes quite untenable.
In America, I think a good amount of money goes into supporting such types of activities. There, religion is in the background, serving as a reminder to people to aspire to be noble, to be charitable and helpful. Such an environment really goes a long way for care workers. In Japan, cases of abuse and such are still seen as just "someone else's problem, not mine." If an abuse occurs, people will say, "Oh how sad, how pitiful," and that'll be all. There are so many incidents that need to be examined.
The author of Fujisan, Randy Taguchi, recently held a launch party for the release of her new novel, “In the Zone (Zone Ni Te in the original Japanese).” The title is a reference to the 20km evacuation zone around the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant, decommissioned due to the meltdowns that follwed in the wake of the 2011 Tohoku earthquake andtsunami disaster. Populated with characters based on Ms. Taguchi’s probing, personal interviews with the displaced, the novel sold more than two hundred copies within three days of its release.
The launch party took place at a newly opened airy restaurant-cum-library called Waterras, located in the vicinity of a number of Japan’s major publishing houses in Tokyo. Ms. Taguchi was dressed in a flowing cotton ensemble and a bead necklace, making her reminiscent of a benevolent new age mystic from the island in Lost, the TV series. Petite in stature, she began her talk perched on a stool before a sizable audience of her devoted fans like Ms. Mie, who had come all the way from, as it happened, Mie prefecture, wearing her two little boys in baby slings; one strapped behind her and the other in front. Moments later though, Ms. Taguchi stopped speaking and jumped off the stool to stay true to her Earth Mother persona. “I need to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground,” she said before moving on.
In the course of her lively talk, she announced her tie-up with a local bookstore to help revive more of its kind in this day and age of one-click convenience, introduced “Deserted" by Toshifumi Taniuchi (a vivid photgraphic account of life [or the lack therof] in Fukushima's danger zone), presented a slide show of package tours (led by Ms. Taguchi herself) to destinations such as Sri Lanka, and introduced Chita Grandy, her fan club. With this enterprise, she hopes to not only build a community of fans but also co-author works of literature with them. As if to commemorate the beginning of such an experimental, grass-roots, artistic collaboration, one of Ms. Taguchi’s assistants--an animated young man--appeared on stage and performed a dynamic, improvisational dance. Incidentally, yours truly ended up providing rhythmic accompaniment and had a great time reliving his rock-band days, banging away on a lectern with his bare hands.
The highlight of her talk, however, was an anecdote about her meeting with her late idol, the prominent Jungian, Dr. Hayao Kawai, whose renowned works include, “The Japanese Psyche: Major Motifs in the Fairy Tales of Japan.” Ms. Taguchi's agent was also present at this meeting of the minds and he dropped the question, “How did you like Fujisan?” The psychologist's response indicated that he was more interested in Randy Taguchi the daughter than in Randy Taguchi the author. In fact, he remained terse throughout the sesstion until it became clear that Ms. Taguchi's relationship with her father, an alcoholic, was a tumultuous one. For some reason, this revelation, along with other stories about her father, fascinated the reflective scholar and prompted him to convey one rather enigmatic tip just before parting company. “When you go out meeting people for your research and such, just let your mind get hazy, my dear,” he said to Ms. Taguchi, leaving her annoyed and puzzled.
But many bestsellers later, and after meditating over the years on Dr. Kawai’s message--long after he had passed away--she concluded with teary eyes that she finally understood what the doctor had meant, and that she was truly grateful to him for the wisdom he had shared that day.
The Japanese word the doctor had used for hazy was “bonyari.” While this could also be translated to “vacant” or even “absent-minded,” the word also implies “out of focus.” If a writer’s life could be about gaining a lateral perspective on reality to arrive at resonant truths, Ms. Taguchi has most evidently mastered the art of shifting her mind out of focus from time to time--of slowing down to stop and smell the metaphysical roses.
From left to right: Yours truly, Randy Taguchi, and Koji Chikatani
The inaugural Tokyo International Literary Festival was a fantastic dream come true, treating Tokyo's literati to live readings and panel discussions on various topics, ranging from otaku romance and global travel to jazz writing, monsters, the future of books and reimagining Tokyo. There was even a live writing performance that saw the author Shinji Ishii improvising a short story while riding a train. "It swayed, writing in there," he said, commenting about both the train and his spirit.
And boy were spirits swayed! Junot Diaz, the highly
acclaimed author of "This is How You Lose Her," talked about how the story of love is basically about two people when it works, but about society at large when it fails. Pico Iyer, the inimitable and intrepid postmodern travel writer with skyrocketing frequent flyer miles, talked about traveling to become young fools again in his discussion with John Freeman,the editor of Granta and a true polymath, and Geoff Dyer,an eclectic and delightfully humorous author of many books, whose topics range from the backstories of jazz legends to aircraft carriers.
An open mike session at Super Deluxe, one of Roppongi's most happening bars, featured Power Point enhanced poetry readings by the edgy, iPadwielding Bin Sugawara, a rap session by DJ Misoshiru & MC Gohan, a charming, squeaky clean artist of the"kawaii" school paying tribute to the glory of food, and a poetry reading by Wen Yourou, a vivacious multiculturalwriter who claimed to be neither Chinese nor Japanese, but"Chapanese" (a straddler of both Chinese and Japanese worlds).
Chip Kidd, the exuberant, stylish and trailblazing bookdesigner and author, was also there to talk
about the intricacies and wondersof a good book design that can't be
reproduced on a kindle (yet). JonathanSafran Foer, the highly acclaimed author of Everything is Illuminated, spokeabout "writing to see your thoughts," and Michael Emmerich, the eminent translator of many Japanese works offiction, including Monsters---a wonderfully manic short story by HideoFurukawa---delved deep into a discussion about voice and tone, using theanalogy of an airplane to shed light on the finer points of those literarydevices.
Deborah Treisman, the fiction editor of The New Yorker and JohnFreeman of Granta were brilliant moderators (along with many others), steering discussions with their thoughtful questions and comments,and Lexy Bloom, a senior editor at Vintage and Anchor Books offered some greatinsights into the process of producing works in translation. NicoleKrausstruly shined in the session titled Memory, Love,Words and in an another one titled Encounters at the Crossroads of Culture.
David Peace, an ex-Nova English teacher turned celebratedauthor of works such as Occupied City and Tokyo Year Zero, made an impassionedperformance, while the world-renowned poet Shuntaro Tanikawa recited verses that captured tender and bittersweet moments, but the highlight of the event was the Nobel laureate J.M.Coetzee's readings of excerpts from his upcoming novel, The Childhood of Jesus. Accompanied on stage during his final reading by a Japanese reader---the dashing Japanese actor, Shosuke Tanihara,whose golden voice had that familiar baritone urgency shared by many narratorsof Japanese television documentaries covering UFOs, ghosts, and prehistoricsubaquatic dinosaurs---Mr. Coetzee's eloquent and poignant reading reallybrought the event to a touching finale.
Perhaps the next installation could see the participation of other luminaries as well, such as Haruki Murakami,David Mitchell,Roland Kelts,Banana Yoshimoto and Randy Taguchi (of Outlet and Fujisan fame 😊). But all in all I had a giddy time, feeling like a kid lost in a candy store. Thank you, Japan Foundation, for making it happen. The team led by DavidKarashima---an accomplished translator himself---did an absolutely marvelous job.
Be sure to check out Tokyo-based journalist, ChristopherJohnson's take on the event as well. He provides great context.
As a child, Mount Fuji was an exciting getaway to me, an escape into the
green and airy wilderness far removed from the orderly, plastic confines of Yokohama city. My father, a free-spirited, traveling bard wearing the guise of a
family man and silk exporter, would usher my brother and me on a sunny Saturday
into the back seat of a brown, four-door Toyota Crown, as my mother prepared
some “grasshopper-green” chutney sandwiches. Once she and the tasty morsels made
their way to the passenger seat, my father would sing out a hymn to praise the
Overseeing One in the sky prior to revving the engine and driving off
southbound toward Shizuoka prefecture, home to the world’s most flavorful green
tea leaves and Mount Fuji.
To pass the time on our two-hour
road trip, Father would be crooning Indian classical ditties called ghazals, which were mostly philosophical
musings about life's vagaries and the despair arising from self-pitying broken
hearted romances. They seemed more fitting as soundtracks to sandstorm-swept
desolate expanses of the Khyber Pass than to the straight and relatively narrow
route down the sanitary tree-lined expanses of the Tomei Express Highway, one
of Japan's many visible signs of the “economic miracle” that was gaining
momentum back in those halcyon days. But as we approached the countryside,
where the air was fresher, cooler, and crisper, Father would start singing one
Bollywood number that served as the perfect soundtrack to the majestic sight of
a rather unearthly mountain looming in the distance.
The song was from a Hindi movie titled Aa Gale Lag Jaa (Come,
Embrace Me) and the tune continues to occupy a special place in my heart as
a song that celebrates the warm and fuzzy winsome magic, the sacredness, the
“material and immaterial” beauty of Mount Fuji, Japan's one and only
sacred peak that not only inspired monks and artists of yore, but also my
father to faithfully salute the mountain every time he caught a glimpse of it,
even while driving us kids to school.
Many years later, after doing my
time as mostly a rush-job hack translator of marketing proposals, I came upon
the good fortune of working for TranNet, a literary translation agency that
used to be headquartered in Jinbocho, the heart of Tokyo's used-book stores and
publishing houses, and came across the front cover of a book titled Fujisan. It
featured a caricature of a wide-eyed girl, rendered in a style that was a cross
between the one seen in a shojo manga
and the psychedelic pop art style of Yellow Submarine. For this fan of Alice in
Wonderland, the Beatles, and Haruki Murakami, it was love at first sight. I instantly
envied the person who would get to translate this beauty and wished a plague on
his or her house before moving on with my work-a-day life.
So you can imagine the Jolt-Cola
surprise I experienced when that person I cursed turned out to be myself in the
end, as AmazonCrossing, Amazon Publishing’s imprint dedicated to international
literature, came knocking on my door. At the time I was just grateful that I
actually still had a door that anyone could knock on. Really. It was such an
exciting and woozy experience. But once the contract was signed, I was able to still
my mind and spend some of the most memorable moments in my life up to now——about
four months of it, in fact, losing myself in Ms. Randy Taguchi’s rarefied world
populated by a disillusioned ex-cult follower trying to reengage with society
while seeking refuge in the brightly lit, tabula rasa purity of the convenience
store; three erudite teenagers desperate to catch a glimpse of the other side
before they crossed their shadow lines into adulthood; a cynical Adonis who
discovers truth and beauty in the life of a mysterious, aged hoarder residing
near Mount Fuji; and a young nurse filled with remorse for working at an
abortion clinic. I pretty much lived and breathed these characters, drawing on
my method acting know-how I acquired during my college years to transmute them
from one world to another. In short, I was acting on the page, with the great literary
alchemists at AmazonCrossing illuminating the stage. In the end, my method
acting had taken on an epic earnestness, immersing me so deeply into the world
of Randy’s stories that I’m convinced I was climbing Mount Fuji together with
the characters in the final story, Child of Light, as I was translating. You
see, by the time I finished, my right foot was sprained and I had to limp my way
to the clinic with a walking cane in hand. No joke. But I was elated nonetheless.
Another blessing that transpired
in the course of translating Fujisan was actually getting to meet Randy
herself. It’s one thing to think you know the author through her work and
completely another to know her in person. But she was as amazing in person as
she was on the page. In fact, she struck me as a modern-day Alice, full of
wonder and curiosity, and very open to my out-of-the blue, leftfield suggestions.
I was also thrilled to find out that Randy and I were pretty much on the same
wavelength, discovering that, just like myself, she’s a card-carrying fan of
David Lynch. Once that was settled, the direction for my translation in terms
of tone and style was pretty much set in stone I think.
Without a doubt, Randy’s stories
prioritize characterization over plot, just as many works of contemporary Japanese
short fiction do. Perhaps this stylistic trait can be traced back to Japanese
literature’s haiku roots, where the entire enterprise is geared towards
stimulating your imagination than in delivering a sense of narrative closure: the
staple of the three-act blockbuster fiction. But even so, in translating
Fujisan I was also reminded of what Aristotle said about plot; namely that a
good one is where the character is plot and vice versa. In this sense, I
believe Fujisan——one of many of Randy’s works of deep explorations into the
psyche of modern-day Japan, which is really a festive confluence of both
Eastern and Western memes in my humble opinion——paints a vivid character
portrayal of a majestic, snow-capped, ethereal mountain, sending out life-affirming
signals to all who seek answers, gently singing, “Come, Embrace Me.”
Along with anime and manga, contemporary Japanese literature continues to grow in global appeal. While this is hardly surprising, considering that Japan’s literary landscape is home to such international luminaries as Haruki Murakami and Banana Yoshimoto, producers of popular culture in Japan tend to be lukewarm about promoting their intellectual properties overseas. As pointed out by Mr. Roland Kelts, the author of Japanamerica, a highly acclaimed treatment of the layered relationship between Japanese pop culture and the American cultural mainstream, this reluctance appears to be symptomatic of a nationwide, isolationist trend, coined "the Galapagos syndrome."
Nevertheless, a growing appetite across the world for works of literature from Japan that go beyond the usual Zen and martial arts fare are prompting a good number of the doubters in the J-Lit world to think again. Enter TranNet, a literary translation agency based in Tokyo whose primary focus is to promote the works of Japanese authors to a broader international audience. To this end, in addition to attending book fairs on behalf of the authors they represent, they have been circulating an email newsletter to around 1,800 overseas publishing firms in fifteen countries to help expose them more directly to the diverse world of Japanese publishing.
Some of the works TranNet is currently promoting include Hajime Yorozu's The Art of Pinching a Seat on a Train, a how-to guide drawing on the powers of psychoanalysis to help you become a better seat hunter;
Fujisan, a collection of four short stories by Randy Taguchi reflecting four different views of the iconic Mt. Fuji;
Tengu, by Keiichi Michihira, a mystery thriller revolving around an investigative reporter's quest to unearth the truth behind a series of murders believed to have been committed by a creature of mythical lore known as Tengu;
Live with Meaning/Die with Passion by Fumitada Naoe, a moving account of the author’s life-affirming odyssey from a poverty-stricken boy in an Asian shantytown to a business superstar in Japan. Featuring poignant photographs that offer glimpses into the human condition, and translated by yours truly, this work has been released by One Peace Books, a US publisher of “visually compelling” literature.
Tengu and Fujisan may soon be released under the AmazonCrossing imprint, which aims to redress the current dearth of literature in translation in the anglophone world. Hopefully, with TranNet also in the fray, the Galapagosization of Japan may become a thing of the past sooner than expected.
by Fumitada Naoe, a moving account of the author’s life-affirming odyssey from a poverty-stricken boy in an Asian shantytown to a business superstar in Japan. Featuring poignant photographs that offer glimpses into the human condition, and translated by yours truly, this work has been released by One Peace Books, a US publisher of “visually compelling” literature.
