A Work in Progress

As Close to Us as Breathing, Elizabeth Poliner

Sometimes it is the unexpected, the unplanned for, that is the most rewarding and ultimately the most satisfying when it comes to stories.  When I set myself the prompt " A Day at the Beach", I really had in mind something light and frothy.  An easy story with a certain charm and lightness.  I had no idea what I was in store for with Elizabeth Poliner's As Close to Us as Breathing.

It is a book I have long had on my shelves and would pick up and look at but never quite get around to reading.  A story set in a place known warmly by the families who spend their summers in Woodmont, Connecticut as "Bagel Beach" for the influx of Jewish families who assemble there.  For the Syrkin sisters it is their special place to escape to.  1948, however, would be a pivotal moment in all their lives.  There were the years before, and then the world after, and the moment that changed everything.  That moment, and you find this out in the very first sentence, was the moment the youngest son dies in an accident.

So there is always this weight somewhere at the edge of your imagination as you are reading the story, but it is so well told and so engaging are the characters you just allow yourself to be drawn in to the lives of this extended family.  It is told mainly by the younger daughter of one of the three sisters.  Molly is Ada's daughter--sandwiched between the elder Howard and the forever young Davy who you grieve for even before the accident happens knowing the end before the story has a chance to play out.  The story shifts in time and place, but you never quite lose track of things so tightly is the telling.  You fall into the rhythms of the lives of this family--the men who stay in the city to work during the week.  The children who find their summer freedom, yet the restrictions placed on them both literally and figuratively.  Their little squabbles and happy discoveries.  The lives of the three sisters, their histories and disagreements that set the tone for everything that follows.

Vivie, Ada, and Bec are the three Syrkin sisters who are equal owners of the cottage they return to each summer.  Their parents didn't get to spend quite as much time there as they would have liked but it is a respite from regular life for the sisters and their families.  They arrive each summer and not even taking time to open the house properly they walk down to the beach and reclaim their space.  Ada and Vivie both have husbands and children; Vivie's daughter Nina just a little older than Molly and forever in competition with Howard.  Bec, though, has a career and a few secrets of her own.  Bec isn't the only one carrying a secret or two and over the course of that summer some secrets remain hidden deep inside and others come out crashing down.  So many small things come into play the day of Davy's accident, which will forever change the lives of the family.

The Syrkins are Jewish and their religion dictates how they shall live and behave--at least for the elder family members is it accepted as such, but the children are ready for a new world and new choices and opportunities that are not so closely tied to their faith.  1948 is not just a life changer for the Syrkins, but also for Israel, and while the action is mostly taking place at the beach, hovering on the periphery are the events that take place that year abroad.  There is the independence of a small country which changed the lives of so many refugees from the war and the earth shattering event that occurs in one small community at home.

When you have a good reading experience, like I had with As Close to Us as Breathing, you tend to look up the author and want another story by them to read.  Elizabeth Poliner, though, is a poet.  She has a book of interlinked stories and a book of poems.  I am not surprised to hear she is a poet, so beautifully done is this narrative.  It was not quite the breezy story I was expecting, but it was much better--a story of a family that feels flesh and blood touched by tragedy and making the best of life as they can.  Life doesn't always work out the way we hope and dream, but sometimes it can be just as satisfying.

July in Stillmeadow

Doesn't the name Stillmeadow, as a place that is, evoke peace and quiet.  A place outside the city where nothing but aspects of nature stop the eye's gaze.  Maybe the road, and it should be a road and not a street, passes by, but not too close by.  A still meadow.  Now that has a lot of appeal to me at the moment.  My monthly forays into the pages of this book, and into the inner space of my imagination are a very welcome distraction from how frazzled I have been feeling of late.  

July is lazy in my opinion, or it should be anyway.  It has a lazy feel in this chapter, too.  Gladys Tabor writes about July at Sillmeadow in her usual meandering way.  Some family news and reflections on the weather and nature in general.  A few recipes are included, and a story or two about the dogs and grandchildren (not that I mean to pair them like that, but it seems in her eyes they are all equal.  Everyone is family and so worthy of mention).

I think sometimes I reach for older books, books published in the early part of the twentieth century, to get away from the noise of today.  I am finding that watching or listening to the news is increasingly dispiriting.  I need to listen to it, but I don't want to.  Part of the charm of Stillmeadow is the feeling of nostalgia the book has.  It is a lovely escape, but Tabor is critical, too, of the world about her as much as she appreciates her family and home and the natural world.  I sometimes think why didn't we listen harder then (this book was published in 1967) and do more, and every day I wonder if now it is too late and we are heading so quickly down a path that I wonder if we can ever turn back from.

So I have only two excerpts to share for July.  One is a gentle critique, which now in hindsight feels even more critical for our lack of action.  But I will also share one that is a bit more hopeful, as Gladys Tabor seems a most hopeful person.

"Nature replenishes herself unless man interferes.  It was a man who made he dust bowl.  As I read Stewart Udall's book The Quiet Crisis, I wished it were required reading for every American.  It is a beautiful book, although parts of it are heartbreaking.  It maybe that no country in the world has such varied natural beauty and wealth of rivers, lakes, mountains, plains, and forests.  But we have been busy destroying it since we first took it from the Indians.  It is time, now, today--not in fifty years when it will be too late--to realize we must conserve every resource.  The quick dollars we acquire ruining the land will not feed our children and their children."

*****

"Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone.  It is good to listen, not to voices, but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen.  If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity.  And then, in some unexplained way, we share some of it with others."

Many Lives & Close Calls of Kinsey Millhone

I wish that when I started reading Sue Grafton's Alphabet Mysteries, I would have noted more details of Kinsey's adventures from each new book.  If anyone has the advantage of nine lives it is surely Kinsey Millhone.  It's funny--as I often will read the description of the next book and think how pedestrian the case/mystery seems.  Just how exciting is it to investigate insurance claims, which she often does, anyway?  Half the time she is just doing a small, simple (it is never simple with Kinsey, though) favor for a friend of a friend.  But then, wham, she is either fast talking herself out of some serious problem or being chased by someone with a gun--maybe in a deserted hospital or an empty house, or why not even while trying to navigate a burning building.  Bingo. 

How does she end up in a Dallas hotel, climbing catwalks and trying to avoid a man with a gun complete with silencer attached?  She agrees to do a small favor for her landlord Henry Pitts is how, which is how L is for Lawless starts out.  The story opens very simply and a favor she is ready to write off as soon as it looks like the case is a dead end.  Anyway, the man who "hired" her (I use that term loosely) ends up firing her when a trip from Santa Teresa seems to dead end in Dallas with an empty duffel bag.  Well, not empty per se, but without any money that she anticipated would be there.

Maybe I should backtrack just a little.  Really this should have been a matter of a little fact checking and the untangling of a request for military benefits for a recently deceased neighbor.  The dead man's family has been trying to wring out the death compensation for their war hero father, only the government agency keeps coming up empty when trying to find proof of the man's identity and proof of service.  He was a war hero with all the tales of bravery to show for it.  The family starts wondering if his war duties were of a clandestine nature, hence no record of his wartime service.  And then there is this mysterious safe with a key hidden away.  Maybe proof that the government is trying to cover up espionage activities.  Only Kinsey has a few other ideas of what the man was up to.

For such a pedestrian case she has had to keep one step away from a killer (or, at the very least wife batterer who is also on their tracks for that hidden money).  Only Kinsey Millhone would leave home for a quick trip to the store for milk and end up catching someone in the throes of an illegal activity--follow him and his very pregnant wife or girlfriend to the airport and then proceed to shadow the woman and the duffel bag to Dallas and then road-trip it to Kentucky.  Whew.  And she had not a piece of luggage, but thankfully with that reliable bag of hers complete with clean underwear and toothbrush and toothpaste.  Not so pedestrian at all.

What I love most about these books, of course, is Kinsey herself.  The mysteries are great, too, and Grafton rarely fails to surprise me.  I mostly read this at the gym and parts of the story made me chuckle rather audibly, which meant I had to take a quick look around and see if anyone caught me.  So I have to share a few excerpts here, though taken out of context they might not be quite as humorous.  I mentioned she ends up in a Dallas hotel?  In order to get her hands on that duffel, or at least be able to look inside at its contents, she swipes a maid's uniform . . .

"I grabbed a dust rag and a vacuum cleaner, found an electrical outlet in the corridor, and began to vacuum my way toward Laura Huckaby's room.  The carpet was an extravagant  meadow of geometric shapes, triangles overlapping in a bright path of high-low gold and green.  Vacuuming is always restful: slow, repetitive motion accompanied by a low groaning noise and that satisfying snap when something really good gets sucked up.  Never had the wall-to-wall carpet been so thoroughly cleaned.  I was working up a sweat, but the effort did permit me to loiter at will."

***

"Here's what I learned being a maid: People seldom look you in the eye.  Occasionally someone's gaze might accidentally glance off your face, but based on the interaction, no one could identify you later in a line up.  Good news for me, although even in Texas I don't think impersonating a maid would be classified as a crime."

***

When she finally gets access to the woman's room . . . and I did wonder why she bought those peppermint patties . . . 

"My uniform made an efficient little rustling sound as I folded the spread in half and then in half again.  I made a hefty jelly roll of it and tucked in one corner.  I turned the sheet down halfway, plumped pillows, and left one of the paper-wrapped Peppermint Patties on the bed table."

In case you were wondering.  Kinsey does get a peek inside the duffel.  She pulls off, not without a bit of humor, her ploy as a maid, but I suspect she best rely on her work as an investigator from here on out.

Yes, another more than satisfying cast solved by the inimitable Kinsey Millhone.

All the Beautiful Girls, Elizabeth J. Church

I admit it.  I am a sucker for a nice book cover.  And while the story appealed to me anyway, it was even more attractive when I found the cover illustration so elegantly designed.  Elizabeth J. Church's All the Beautiful Girls was my choice for last month's prompt, "I could have danced all night'.  It was and wasn't a difficult story choice.  I have lots of good books that in some way have a dancing theme, but I knew going into the selection that the Church novel had been sitting at the top of my reading pile for a while.  

A story with dancing.  When I came up with the prompt the book that was the impetus was Rosamund Lehmann's Invitation to the Waltz, which I read just last year.  The story is a coming of age novel set in post-WWII England about a younger sister who is preparing for her first dance.  I could and should read it again, but with so  many other books waiting for a little attention I decided on something a little bit different. 

Different setting, different era and different circumstances.  I had no idea just how different it would all be.  It's funny how our perceptions of a story can end up being a world away from the reality of it.  With such a pretty cover I was expecting something charming and slight, but it was so much more in so many ways.  Even the cover with the girls elegant but bright dresses weren't exactly on the mark.  And that's okay--sometimes subverting expectations is a good thing.

All the Beautiful Girls ended up being a much more serious and occasionally even darker read than I anticipated.  The setting shifts from the conservative midwest to the heady excitement of Las Vegas.  The era is the anything-goes Bohemian 1960s.  And the dancing is not your mother's waltz but showgirl style glitter of the world of entertainment.  If you are willing to bare a little skin, it's a place you can make a lot of money and live a whirlwind life, though not one without cost.

Possible spoilers in the next paragraph.

Lily Decker has not had a good start in life.  The only surviving family member of a horrific car accident, she is left to be raised by an aunt ill-equipped to raise children and an uncle who takes advantage of a child by visiting her on the sly in her bedroom.  Needless to say Lily is confused and doesn't understand her situation.  She doesn't know how to cope and takes to cutting herself to feel something other than the dirtiness her uncle heaps upon her.  She has only one 'savior' in the form of the 'aviator'--the man who was involved in her parents accident.  He carries a burden on his shoulders despite the accident being only a matter of unhappy circumstances and not intentional.  He tries to make reparations by sending her books or helping financially so she can do the one thing she is drawn to and is good at--dancing.

End of spoilers.

Lily is ready by the time she graduates to reinvent herself in a new place and in new circumstances.  A teacher, knowing her ability to dance well coupled with her attractive looks, suggests she try something new--Las Vegas is all the rage and their are opportunities for dancers that might suit her.  So the first day she gains her independence she sets off for a new city and takes on the guise of a new identity hoping to leave behind her scarred childhood. 

Lily becomes Ruby Wilde.  Her intention is only to dance in the chorus, fully clothed and respectable, but her style and looks are not what the casinos are looking for.  Rather, she has all the looks for stardom--a full and proper showgirl--clad in far less than the girls shown on the book's cover.  Ruby is reluctant to take such a leap, but as her money runs out and her opportunities dwindle she feels she has no other choice.  When Ruby takes that grand leap, she becomes a star, but it is not an easy lifestyle and she finds it is not so easy to leave her childhood unhappiness behind.

I really enjoyed the story, though it was surprisingly more sobering than I thought when I picked it up.  I was happy to discover it actually had far more substance and was more thoughtful and thought-provoking than a simple fluffy entertainment.  Lily/Ruby was an interesting character, sometimes prickly and not always easy to warm up to but understandable considering her situation.  Despite the hardships life presented her with, and the occasional really bad choice, I had a feeling she would ultimately be triumphant.  Happy endings are not always in the cards, but sometimes satisfying endings, which this story had, are even better.

Points and Lines, Seicho Matsumoto

Seicho Matsumoto was a prolific Japanese writer of not just crime novels but short stories and history books.  He won numerous awards and had a number of his novels adapted to film (I watched one over the long weekend, but unfortunately the book was never translated into English).  His famous crime novel, Points and Lines (Ten to Sen translated from the Japanese by Makiko Yamamoto and Paul C. Blum) is only my first foray into his world of Japanese crime novels.  Alas, I better take my time with his books since there are so few available in English.

I think it is the case with many contemporary crime novels that the mystery, in a really good story, is informed by the ills of a society.  It might all come down to greed or lust or passion, but a story likely reflects the injustices in a society.  I always think that to get good insight into any culture, it is always a good idea to read some crime stories.  In the case of Matsumoto, his work from what I have read about him, deals with the dark undercurrents that occur in politics and business and he does not shy away from showing corruption in any segment of society including the police.  

In Points and Lines, though, while there is plenty of deceit, our detectives are after the truth, and it is all set against a backdrop of what to me seems quite exotic 1950s Japanese culture.  This is a carefully constructed and craftily thought out murder mystery of what at first glance appears to be simply a case of a love-suicide pact without a hint of any wrongdoing.  One tiny slip up that only by chance was caught--a dinner ticket on a train for one when, had this really been a suicide and not a murder should have been for two--results in a set of deaths that look suspicious.

It takes some very meticulous investigating and piecing together of clues to solve this crime.  Literally many, many careful hours are spent sorting through detailed lists and timetables from train journeys and lots of simple hitting the pavement and following in the footsteps of the man they suspect of the crime to come up with any tangible evidence.  Suspect him, they may, but none of their leads seem to pan out and offer any reliable proof, so utterly careful has the murderer been to cover his tracks.  This is more of a slow burn detective story rather than racy thriller, but it is a satisfying mystery and peek into the worlds of a Japanese salaryman and corrupt government officials.

So the premise--the story opens with a businessman having dinner with two colleagues in a traditional style Tokyo restaurant that he often frequents.  He is a regular client and knows his waitress who often takes care of the parties he brings.  His business finished, he will return home the following day.  He talks two waitresses from the restaurant into meeting him and accompanying him to the train station the next day with the offer of a free dinner, so he won't have to wait alone. 

Curiously as they are waiting on the train platform they spot his waitress boarding the train with a man they have never seen.  She has what appears to be a lover?  Of course this causes much surprise and no little amount of gossip.  She had never been known to have a boyfriend, they must get closer to get a better look.  Trains come, they depart, their view is blocked save for a few moments in between departures.  Indeed she is their coworker.  Soon their curious surprise and gossip will turn to mortification when they discover their friend and this man have committed suicide on a lonely beach far from Tokyo.  Unexpected it may be, but everyone has secrets and apparently she did as well.

It will come down to those few moments between train departures and that strange single meal ticket that don't add up.  Sounds almost implausible, doesn't it?  Such small things, tiny details when everything else points to a sad but not criminal case of suicide.  This was such an interesting peek into Japanese society as well as a classic crime/detective story.  There was a lot of detail on how the detective sussed it all out and the solution all tied into the dirty dealings of the business world.  I will be reading the other books by Seicho Matsumoto that I can get my hands on.  

I am now reading another, this time contemporary (rather it is set in the late 1980s) crime novel by Miyuki Miyabe called All She Was Worth, which was a Japanese bestseller, and has been hailed by the Christian Science Monitor as a "suspenseful tour of the 'new' Japan.  However, as this is about identity theft and possibly murder (so far no body but only two missing women--the real Shoko Sekine and her impersonator), maybe all that corruption is not so new.  She goes into some detail about the credit industry, so once again this is a novel of social consciousness.  The detective, Honma, who I really like, is a widowed father of a young son.  He is on leave from his police department due to a leg injury and agrees to look into the disappearance of the girlfriend of his nephew.  I am at that point of no return with the story and can't wait to finish.  I plan on reading more by Miyabe, as I love her storytelling.  It looks like she has a handful of books translated into English.  My next reading Japan choice, however, will be a regular novel--either historical or contemporary fiction.  I already have a few books set aside to choose from!

June in Stillmeadow

I blinked and June was over.  I wish I could do the same for July.  July is the roughest month (for me) of summer.  I am always happy to see the back end of it.  I should not complain as the heat, the real hot stuff, did not arrive until just this past weekend, though it seemed to make up for the lack of it last month.  So now I am hurrying to get in my June reading about Stillmeadow.

The chapters in Stillmeadow Calendar inevitably begin the same way with an eye on the weather and what nature is offering the inhabitants of Stillmeadow.  She reflects on the state of the garden and the plants and flowers that are making an appearance.  Why did it surprise me that even in the mid-60s when this was published that even then they were dealing with Japanese beetles.  I thought this was a relatively new invasion, but I was wrong.

"I remember the days before the Japanese beetle when the Quiet Garden at Stillmeadow glowed with color.  Now it takes hard work to preserve the specimen blooms.  There are a good many remedies for the beetle invasion.  But it takes a concerted effort on the part of a whole state to conquer any pest."

She does not give suggestions unfortunately, though she is hesitant to approve the use of insecticides and laments the wholesale use of pest killers for the fallout and all the nature that is destroyed by its use.

Although I do love the bits about her garden and what is in bloom, it is always the meandering bits about family and community and just whatever odds and ends she is dealing with or reflecting on at the moment.  I had a chuckle over this and actually think I do quite agree with her (at least I would not be one to walk about in my swimsuit outside of the beach).

"I cannot explain why summer people seem to think it is a fine idea to go shopping in bikinis.  And most of them are barefoot.  Even men appear in bathing trunks and nothing else.  I just have a feeling that in their own home towns they do not shop without having some clothes on.  I don't like it at all, for I think it shows a lack of respect for the inhabitants of the places they visit.  As far as I am concerned, nudes belong in oil paintings and not by the roadside."

However, opinionated she may be about the wearing of bathing suits, she seems very polite nonetheless.  She goes on to describe one young lady in particular who she spotted in a drugstore wearing a bikini with gold spangles, and toenails lacquered in gold to match.  She had a cigarette in a gold holder, too, but it was the gold earrings that just seemed too much, yet all it elicited from Gladys was an "Oh!" in a too loud voice! 

She digresses into the area of antiques (having to fix a collapsing antique bed), and I liked this image she offered.

"My so-called double bed would not comfortably accommodate two people, although it does very well for an Irish setter and a cocker or so.  Plus a stack of books for my night reading, and a bevy of pillows.  And, well, it is lovely to look at when the June moonlight falls on the pineapple posts." 

It may be June in Stillmeadow, but this is something that can be taken through the rest of the summer, too.  Something to ponder!

"I think we take too much for granted, and no doubt this helps us to get our work done, whatever it may be; but I believe an hour looking at a Silver Moon rambler is a well-spent and exciting hour.  It is important to sit in the leafy shade, and think long, slow thoughts about unanswerable questions, and find serenity.  Like the opening bud on a rosebush, a new response to life unfolds."

Reading Japan: Update

Ito Ogawa's The Restaurant of Love Regained is a curious and unusual read.  A story that subverted my expectations and wandered into the realm of the sensual and fantastical.  It reminds me of novels by South American writers who dabble in magical realism.  The premise made me think of a cozy story of love lost and found (or if not love found at least a sense of contentment)  and the delights of food as way to heal emotional wounds.  There was something of all that, but, too, there was more than a touch of the foreign and exotic that bumped up against my western sensibilities and 'fear' of the 'trying the unknown' (and here I mean--Japanese cuisine).

Rinko has been unceremoniously dumped by her Indian boyfriend.  She returns home to find her apartment emptied of everything she held dear to her life save a vase (she had tucked away in a closet) of rice bran (fermented vegetables) she used in her cooking.  There is nothing left but to return to her home village and her mother, a place she left as a schoolgirl.  She finds she has been replaced by her mother with a pig named Hermes, but her mother offers her a space where she can do the one thing she is good at--cook. 

Rinko has lost her voice, but not her talent to prepare meals as special as they are restorative to their diners.  With the help of an old friend who had worked at her school, she sets about transforming a shed of her mother's into a special place, The Snail, where she will prepare just one meal a night tailored to the person or couple who have booked the table.  And it is a magical experience, one that, mostly anyway, makes dreams come true--restores life and love and gives happiness.  

It's a lovely story, bittersweet in some ways, and for me anyway, quite different from the stories I am used to.  Of course, I am indeed virtually traveling here by way of stories, and Japan is a culture that is still quite foreign to me.  So where my experience of western culture butted up against eastern culture, I do admit, there were some meals that did not appeal to my own sensibilities.  I can't fault the author for that however, it just gives me a glimpse of the unknown.  The universal appeal, though, is the redemption she finds by returning home and reconnecting with her mother.

While I might forego a few of the meals she prepared, I will say I wouldn't mind a version of the fruit sandwich she makes for one of her customers.  She bakes a perfect raisin bread, on which she spreads a thin layer of melted milk chocolate then perfectly whipped cream and topped with pears at just the perfect moment of ripeness.  

If you are looking for something a little bit different, a story that will be both familiar and yet foreign you might try Ito Ogawa's story.

I am ready to pick up another novel but I am first concentrating on two mysteries.  I am mostly spending time with All She Was Worth by Miyuki Miyabe, published in 1992 and named a best novel and best mystery of the year in Japan.  I really like the detective in the story, Shunsuke Honma, who is off work recuperating from an accident.  He is a single father of a young son who has agreed to look into the disappearance of a woman.  She is the fiance of his deceased wife's cousin.  It turns out to be like dropping down the rabbit hole as it is a case of stolen identity.  The mystery is to find out who the two women are and which or maybe whether both women are dead.  I am really enjoying this as it is a puzzle with, again, the slant of being both familiar yet foreign.  There is a lot about Japanese culture in the story and I hope to write more about it when I finish.

On temporary hold is Seicho Matsumoto's most acclaimed novel, Points and Lines which was written in 1958.  Another puzzle of the Agatha Christie class.  This is an unusual mystery--a couple is found on a beach, dead.  It appears they have committed a love pact suicide.  But something is not quite right. The pair were spotted on a train together yet the woman got off and only much later met back up with the man and shortly thereafter they were found posed and dead.  It might come down to a four minute window of opportunity when their express train was waiting to pull out of the station--just moments before and after the departure and arrival of two other trains.  Sound tricky?  I know all the facts are there but I have not sussed things out yet.  I can't wait to get back to it.  Now I want to read more of Matsumoto's books, and he was quite a prolific writer, but I think there are only a small handful translated into English and easily available.  Also, some of his books have been filmed, about which I will share more later.

Slowish progress in my Japanese reading, but all quite satisfying and I have a stack more (bought and borrowed) to explore.  Since it is going to be far too hot to be outside for the coming week, I plan on armchair traveling to Japan!

Masks by Fumiko Enchi

There are some books that are meant to be read slowly and deliberately and sometimes meant to be read multiple times.  In the case of Fumiko Enchi's Masks, both are true, but I will add that in this case there are other works to read and study alongside the text that will only enhance the enjoyment and meaning. 

Enchi is really a remarkable writer and I am not sure I would have picked this book up had I not set out to read Japanese literature in particular this summer.  In the past I've not really been drawn to that part of the world as either a real or bookish destination.  Not one that I searched out anyway rather than simply by chance.  Maybe it has always felt so foreign (and not just in the literal sense).  The language feels a little bit impenetrable to me and the culture unlike anything else I have ever encountered. 

I am finding that the more I read and look and watch (I have been watching quite a few films by Yasujiro Ozu as well--and he is amazing) that the more fascinated by it I am.  Watching Japanese films alongside my reading has given me a visual reference that has been really helpful.  The Ozu films have covered the years of the first half of the twentieth century in Japan, so I hope to expand and watch more contemporary films, too.  

So I have read the novel and have set it aside to let it percolate and hope that as I read other books that I can return to it later with a better understanding of the culture and history and literature to make a second reading (I hope sometime later this year) better.  Just a few things now, however, to tidy up my experience (and to come back to later).

Fumiko Enchi is, according to the Dictionary of Literary Biography I referenced, one of those most renowned in Japan.  She won more postwar prizes than any other woman writer.  She wrote not only novels, but plays, essays and translations of Japanese classics into the modern language. 

"She associates sexuality-and, in her later works, the problems of aging-with self-identity and self-expression, and she thus exposes the hidden world of women who have been taught to suppress such feelings and needs."

Her father was a Japanese linguist and professor at Tokyo University.  She was the youngest child and apparently "at the center of her father's affection", which meant she spent much time with him in his study surrounded by literature and scholarly works.  Her grandmother on her father's side told her bedtime stories from the Edo (1600-1867) period, and interestingly both exposed her to Kabuki plays.  Her mother wanted her to have more ladylike hobbies and must have shook her head at such a bookish daughter.  Enchi also read Japanese classics like The Tale of Genji and the works of Junichiro Tanizaki (both are on my reading wishlists).

Considering her background and early literary influences it is not surprising then, that Masks, such a slim story is quite rich in Japanese culture and literature in the telling.  The novel is split into three sections, each title references the masks used in Noh dramas.  The story is essentially a revenge tale at its most basic.  it is about a wife wronged by her husband and seeks retribution via her own daughter.  Sounds complicated and a little messy?  It is, but interwoven are references to The Tale of Genji and the meanings behind those Noh archetypes.  It is not impossible to read the novel and understand it without prior knowledge of the literary references, yet an inquisitive reader will be drawn to learning about those deeper meanings.  I don't feel equipped to tackle a reading of all these things, but I do want to share those masks with you.

The first section is "Ryo No Onna" which means "spirit woman".  This is represents the spirit of "an older woman tormented beyond the grave by unrequited love". 

The second section is "Musagami" which means "that of a young woman in a state of frenzy".

The third section is "Fukai" which means "deep well" or "deep woman".  The mask is meant to show a middle age/mature woman who understands the inevitability of death.

Spoilers here.  So, it all follows.  Mieko, a writer, the mother/mother-in-law has been wronged by her husband.  Her son has died in a mountain climbing accident, but her daughter-in-law, Yasuko, still lives with her.  Also, Mieko's daugher, Harume (a twin of Yasuko's deceased husband), who was born with intellectual disabilities, is cared for at home.  Yasuko is a love interest of not one man but two who happen to be friends--one a psychologist and the other a university professor.  I won't try and go into details or try and describe some of the nuances of the story, but Mieko and Yasuko sets up one of the men to unknowingly sleep with her daughter Harume.  The intent is to carry on the bloodline of her lover over her husband who had been unfaithful but at a very tragic cost.  The set up of the man is dreamlike and otherworldly and he does not realize he has slept with someone other than Yasuko, so you can see (though I am not explaining it well) the use of the Noh masks in describing the arc of the story.  

I borrowed a couple of books about Noh Masks that were very helpful in discussing Noh Theater and the meaning of the masks (which are used in the plays but seem to be somewhat interchangeable depending on who is staging the play) as well as offering lots of great visuals: The Secrets of Noh Masks by Michishige Udaka and a wonderful two-volume set, Heaven Has a Face, So Does hell: The Art of the Noh Mask by Stephen E. Marvin.

I want to try one of Fumiko Enchi's other works, but I will be choosing carefully as I suspect another book will only branch off in many other directions.  What I most loved about this reading experience is getting a feel, though barely dipping in a toe, of what classic Japanese literature and culture is like.

Just So Happens by Fumio Obata

Lately I seem to be very hit or miss when it comes to graphic novels and especially with comics.  I see something that looks potentially really good, but when I start reading it just does not click with me.  I started out strong with the Saga series, but it got a little too weird for me, and as much as I was liking the Papergirls story my enjoyment just waned.  Maybe I will get back to them later, but for now I think I like a story that is more reality based.  Something I can relate to more than it being so fantastical and pure escapism.

So, many thanks to Ms. Smithereens for suggesting this one, Just So Happens by Fumio Obata.  It fits in so nicely with my other reading at the moment, Fumiko Enchi's Masks as well as Monica Sone's Nisei Daughter.  Obata was born in Japan and now lives and works in England.  He is an animator and comic book artist, though this seems to be his only graphic novel.  I want to explore his work--the Guardian called the illustrations in this book "elegant"  and the publisher notes their "delicacy" and I wholeheartedly concur.  I made myself read only a few pages at a time in order to linger over the story and illustrations, but I think now, I need to sit and read it in one slow sitting to take it in as a whole. 

It is beautifully illustrated and indeed elegantly told--very understated.  The prose is quite spare but fittingly so.  This is the story of a young woman who has been living in London where she feels contented and happy--fitting in with this new lifestyle and a true cosmopolitan Londoner.  She is called home to Japan, however, on the death of her father.  It is perhaps reverse culture shock.  She has adapted to her new home and lifestyle but is dropped again into the world of her youth, so different from her life now.  The story is steeped in the culture and traditions of what seems to me a very formal Japan.  

I am only now learning about Japanese culture.  Fumiko Enchi's novel relied heavily on classic Japanese literature and culture and there were many references to the masks used in Noh Theater, which also makes an appearance here.  It is not wholly foreign to me, but I think I don't quite appreciate the references and sentiments behind the visuals.  I have been watching films of Yasujiro Ozu, which are absolutely gorgeous and very evocative.  So, slowly I am taking in aspects of Japanese culture and find I quite like it and feel very comfortable there.

I'll share a few illustrations here as they are so elegant and will give you a small taste of the story.

This is one I will be revisiting and can warmly recommend!

Nisei Daughter by Monica Sone

I wish Monica Sone had written more books, as I would happily read more about her life and experiences.  Her memoir, Nisei Daughter, published in 1953 is easily going to make it onto my favorite books of the year list.  It is one of the best memoirs I have ever read.  If I could, I would press a copy into your hands right now and suggest you read it too.  If you are a fan of memoirs, curious about Asian-American culture, life in Seattle and the Pacific Northwest around the period of WWII or just like good writing and storytelling, I can warmly recommend it.  It is still in print and I imagine very likely will be in many library collections as it is really a classic of the era and Japanese-American culture as well as the immigrant experience.

Nisei is the Japanese word for a first generation Japanese-American.  Sone's parents emigrated from Japan in the early 1900s.  Her father worked as a cook for a while on a ship that traveled between Washington and Alaska.  Her mother came to the U.S.  when she was only 17 and notes that she was still a girl, too young to have had a mature Japanese culture/outlook impressed on her (yet still very firmly Issei--which is the term for those born in Japan but immigrants to America).  She was still a young woman filled with energy and curiosity.  Sone's father had started studying in Japan and wanted to become a lawyer, so was more of an intellectual, though ultimately he become a hotel proprietor in Seattle before the war where the Sone family was raised (monica had three siblings).

The memoir follows Monica (born Kazuko Itoi) from her early girlhood through the end of WWII and her years at a Midwestern college.  There is a happy sense of nostalgia yet the memories are also peppered with the reality of life for an immigrant from Japan at a time in U.S. history where Asian immigrants were very decidedly not welcome (does that sound familiar still?).  In the 1920s there was a law which prohibited Japanese from emigrating to the U.S., so almost a whole generation was barred from entry.  In the introduction to my edition it was noted that there was a gap between Japanese of Monica's parents and that of Monica herself.  So she very much felt an outsider to both cultures.  She was not fully Japanese, nor was she fully accepted as an American either.  As a matter of fact she didn't even understand the concept of being Japanese and any different than anyone else until her parents made her go to a Japanese school where she could learn the Japanese language at the age of 7 or so.  

She shares many happy and often humorous memories, but there are many that while 'funny' are not funny at all.  Prejudice against Japanese was rampant (all Asians I am sure, but more so Japanese during the war years) to the point that they were not allowed to rent rooms or apartments or were not welcome in jobs.  Of course it only was made worse by the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor.  All Japanese on the West Coast (I'm not sure ho far inland this stretched), even those born in the U.S. were required to move to internment camps.  Sone and her family were moved to the Minidoka Camp in Idaho, where the camp was essentially run in almost every aspect by the Japanese internees.  Before the end of the war some, and this included Monica and her siblings, were able to leave the camp and move east if they could claim either a job or a spot in a college or university.  

I was gushing about the book to an acquaintance and fellow reader and she asked to read the book, so I have passed it on to her, but all my notes went with the book.  I have a library copy, but it was hard to remember which passages that struck me and I had wanted to share, but I have a few excerpts that might grab your interest.  I tend to be attracted to food mentions as that is always a fun way to experience an unknown culture.

"From a corner near the kitchen window, a peculiar, pungent odor emanated from a five-gallon crock which mother kept filled with cucumbers, nappa (Chinese cabbage), daikon (large Japanese radishes), immersed in a pickling mixture of nuka, consisting of rice polishings, salt, rice and raisins.  The fermented products were sublimely refreshing, delicious, raw vegetables, a perfect side dish to a rice and tea mixture at the end of a meal."

"Among the usual pots and pans stood a dark red stone mixing bowl inside of which were cut rows and rows of minute grooves as n a record disc.  The bowl was used to grind poppy seeds and miso (soybeans) into a soft paste for soups and for flavoring Japanese dishes.  I spent many hours bent over this bowl, grinding the beans into a smooth, fine paste with a heavy wooden club.  For all the work that went into making miso shiru, soybean soup, I thought it tasted like sawdust boiled in sea brine.  Mother told nothing could be more nutritious, but I could never take more than a few shuddering sips of it."

Sone's mother cooked both Asian and Western dishes, however, so she had steaks and potatoes, ham and eggs and even apple and pumpkin pies.

When you think of the U.S. you tend to think of it being a place of opportunities, but it was really difficult for Asian immigrants.  Monica was hoping to get into a vocational school and then find a job, but this was not an easy thing to do at the time.  As most businesses were not likely to hire a young Japanese woman, in order to even get a spot in a school they had to show proof that they had a job to go to when they finished their studies.  It was a catch-22, as the only places hiring Japanese workers were those run by Japanese and the community could only offer so many positions.

"I did (understand the school's policy), and I was gateful to Miss Thompson for her straightforward approach.  She left no trail of embarrassed excuses, nothing but clean-cut wounds.  I knew that the Nisei girls competed fiercely among themselves for white-collar jobs in the Mitsui and Mitsubishi branch firms downtown, local newspaper establishments, Japanese banks, shipping offices and small export and import firms.  Opportunities were limited.  If a girl did not go to business school, the only other occupation open to her was as a domestic in a home.  More fortunate girls went on to college, and so postponed their job hunting for four years."

I'm not sure if I can find another memoir like this, but I would love to read more and will be on the lookout.  Surely there must be other books about this era and the world of Asian immigrants in the Northwest.  A perfect read for my summer reading project, which has been off to a very good start.