*Evil and the Mask, by Fuminori Nakamura

9781616952129
Soho Press, 2013
356 pp
originally published as Aku To Kamen No Ruuru, 2010
translated by Satoko Izumo and Stephen Coates

arc: my most grateful thanks to Soho Press for offering me a copy of this book.

********

 "When human consciousness stops fooling itself and looks at the situation straight on, it can't cope. "

If you haven't read Fuminori Nakamura's first translated novel The Thief, it is a most excellent novel that zooms in on philosophical/existential issues centering around a master pickpocket in Japan. I really loved that book, but his newly-translated novel (the second of three he's written) is even better. The author delves  below the surface to examine whether heredity, environment or a combination of both is responsible for determining human behavior --or the  possibility that a person's future might just be predetermined and unalterable. 

The main character of this novel is Fumihiro Kuki, who the reader first meets at the age of eleven. His elderly father clues him in on a secret -- Fumihiro was born for the special purpose of becoming a "cancer," "a personification of evil" who will "make the world miserable ... make everyone wish they had never been born ... and "make everyone think that the light of virtue does not shine in this world."   The family has its own line of cancers, born to "spread a stain over the light of the world," a tradition that Kuki's father has revived. Fumihiro never knew his mother; he lives alone in the big Kuki mansion with a housekeeper, his father (who is often away for business) and Kaori, a young girl his father adopted from an orphanage. Fumihiro detests his father, and suffers from serious depression, which he covers with a "mask of cheerfulness."  His situation is untenable, but Kaori is the shining light in his life. It is Kaori he sees in his dreams about his future, having kids, making her happy and living in a house by the sea, and he falls for her hard.  With Kaori, he's able to "squeeze his darkness into a tiny piece buried deep inside him," and all of his "pent-up energy," which was "trapped" by his depression goes into caring for her.  He has been told by his father that when he turns 14, he will show him hell.  As Fumihiro moves into his thirteenth year, he and Kaori have become very close, but when Fumihiro realizes that his father has been using her to satisfy some perverted desire, it becomes clear to him that  the hell he promises Fumihiro for his fourteenth birthday has to do with Kaori.  It also becomes clear that the only way he can prevent his father from going ahead with his vile plan is to get rid of him.

Looking back from adult life, Fumihiro tells of being plagued by several questions about acting on what he knows he must do and what society would say about his actions. He wonders whether or not it is a crime to

"kill someone who was absolutely determined to harm you and the person closest to you? Was this just our selfishness? Weren't we being forced to break the rules to protect ourselves from this powerful madman?" 

 After weighing what he knows the outside world would tell him against  his need to protect Kaori, he is more determined than ever. They might think he was "the evil one," but Fumihiro doesn't care.  As he sets his plan in motion, his father tells him that he's "got what it takes to be a cancer," and that he has "all the makings of a real monster."  Was his father right? By killing his father would he be stepping into his predestined role? Is he truly his father's son?  The aftermath of that act haunts Fumihiro, leading him to some pretty drastic measures, one of which is to have his face reconstructed in his 20s, along with other crimes (including murder) all as a way of preventing worse things from happening.  The story is narrated by the adult Fumihiro, plagued by ambiguity, looking back over his past and relating his present, all the while trying to get a grip on understanding himself and the effects of his "rule-breaking" acts in the bigger, wider world around him.   Is his rational examination of his life and deeds a means of confronting the truth or a way to avoid facing it?

Evil and the Mask is an outstanding novel, extremely well written, and I haven't read it in Japanese but the narrative is never halting or awkward so I'd imagine that as a translation it's quite good. There is a lot to this novel and I've pretty much just skimmed the surface here, but from my own casual reader perspective,  it's an amazing book that throws out conundrum after conundrum to Fumihiro and to Nakamura's readers as well.  I don't know that I'd classify it as a crime fiction novel -- while there are certainly some smoky, seedy bars and private investigators that conjure up visions of the darkest noir, and although there are a number of crimes committed during the course of this book,  it's the philosophical that ultimately takes center stage.  It's very dark in nature, so if you're looking to this novel as a beach read over the summer -- forget about it.

Super book, and I loved every second of it. Most highly recommended. I hope Soho plans to bring out Nakamura's third book as well.

 fiction from Japan

 

*Now You're One of Us, by Asa Nonami

9781934287033
Vertical, 2007
originally published as Anki  (暗鬼), 1993
translated by Michael Volek & Mitsuko Volek
(trade paper ed.)

"One thing's certain -- this family isn't normal."

The quotation above, taken straight out of this novel,  may be the understatement of the year.  While the concept of what's weird may be in the eye of the beholder, there's no mistaking that Now You're One of Us definitely belongs in this category. I finished it two days ago and couldn't even pick it up again to write this review.  Ick. Although it's not as strange as say, books by Carlton Mellick III (who, for me, heads up the category of weird), it's pretty out there.  The book is listed as mystery/horror on the back cover,  and  while it's definitely horrifying, it's more of a suspense novel where the author keeps you reading by edging ever closer to what's really going on but never quite getting there until the last moments. And while I liked feeling the tension ratchet as I was constantly scratching my head wondering just what the hell the big reveal is going to be, once I got there, it was a shocker.

 A young woman named Noriko marries into the wealthy Shito family, which consists of four generations living under the same mansion roof.  She can't believe her luck -- they're all so incredibly nice, heaping praise on her for the slightest thing, always calling her their "treasure," and making her life easy in her new home. As a new daughter-in-law, the situation is better than she could have imagined, although she still feels like she's an outsider in many ways and tries desperately to fit in.   But while hanging up the family's laundry one day, a man approaches her, saying there's something he has to tell her.  Noriko wonders what he could possibly have to say, but before he gets the chance, a family member comes out and he clams up then walks away.  The man turns out to be one of the family's tenants in one of their many properties, a former ice vendor who has fallen on harder times.  While Noriko is away on a visit to her family, she learns that the man's home has burned down and the man is dead,  and she begins to wonder if perhaps something not kosher is going on here.  Add to that some strange conversations overheard deep in the night, seeing things she couldn't possibly be seeing, and other odd things, and Noriko's suspicions continue to mount.  After confiding her fears to her school friend Tomomi, things in the Shito household move swiftly into bizarro world, but  Noriko's worries are always countered by the family's constant reassurance, to the point where Noriko begins to wonders why she's so mistrusting and hurtful toward this family who is so good to her, a family as she notes,  she can "trust from my heart." 

I have to admit to being sucked into this book pretty much all the way up until the end. The author's talent lies in ratcheting up the tension and suspense level all the way through the novel, and the reader is compelled to keep turning pages not only to see what's going to happen next, but also because he/she wants some kind of satisfying explanation for all of the bizarre things going on here.  Noriko's oscillation between the real and unreal is a good reason to keep reading, as the creeping doubt in her mind transfers over to the reader, making it a highly-suspenseful story.

But there are also reasons this book bothered me. First, there comes a point where you absolutely must wonder why Noriko doesn't just go leave everything and run home to the protection of her own family,  a question I kept asking myself many times over throughout the story. Any one with half a brain would have gone away and never looked back. Then there's the ending -- I won't say what it is, but my first reaction was literally that of "wtf??" and then a desire to run and take a shower. So maybe in some bizarre context it makes sense, but it's still unsettling even thinking about it now,  two days after I finished it.

If you're really into the realm beyond strange, this one will make you really happy.  The best part of the book is in the getting there, but once you've arrived, don't say I didn't warn you.

fiction from Japan

*The Summer of the Ubume, by Natsuhiko Kyogoku

9781934287255
Vertical, 2009
originally published as Ubume no natsu (姑獲鳥の夏), 1994
Translated by Alexander O. Smith & Elye J. Alexander
320 pp
(trade paper ed.)

"There is nothing that is strange in this world, Sekiguchi."

The Summer of the Ubume is Natsuhiko Kyogoku's first novel, the opening installment of an entire series featuring "Kyogokudo" Chuzenji, the owner of a used bookstore of the same name. Chuzenji is a former priest who  moonlights on the weekends as an eclectic faith healer, curing possessions and performing exorcisms, obliging his clients by acting on their respective beliefs to help put their lives back in order. The book is a mystery story with strong supernatural overtones, one that starts out a bit slow but picks up and gets progressively more weird as it moves along toward its ending, which is the most bizarre solution to a mystery I've run across in all of my years of reading.   And I've been reading a long, long time.

The year is 1952, the place Tokyo.  The war is over, the American Occupation has ended, people are trying to get back to "normal" life but quite yet haven't figured out just what that entails.  Buildings are still in ruins, the black market has recently been outlawed, and tabloid papers are all the rage.  The novel is narrated by Sekiguchi, a freelance tabloid reporter who used to study slime molds but gave up his unprofitable research to focus on his writing and to make some money.  He has come to visit his friend Kyogokudo to ask him his opinion about a story he's recently heard about a woman who has been pregnant for twenty months and has shown absolutely no signs of giving birth.  Her parents are members of the Kuonji family, whose descendants have been practicing medicine since Japan's feudal period. The current Kuonjis  run the Kuonji Clinic, once a prestigious institution, but one which has now fallen on hard times since the war, not only due to damage from air raids, but because of stories about babies disappearing from there shortly after their births.  The pregnant woman's husband disappeared about a year and half earlier, never to be seen again after locking himself into a room in the annex of the clinic.  After the indomitably rational Kyogokudo spends a great deal of time expounding on such topics as quantum mechanics, religion, collective delusions and the truth (as he sees it) underlying the supernatural, he suggests that Sekiguchi go to see their friend, a private investigator.  There, by sheer chance, Seki meets Ryoko, the sister of the pregnant woman, a pivotal event in Sekiguchi's life and in the rest of the story, as she agrees to let the private investigator and Sekiguchi visit the clinic. From there the novel takes a number of bizarre twists and turns,  all leading to an even more bizarre ending. 

Despite Chuzenji's pervading rationality, there is a very potent creep factor at work throughout the novel and supernatural overtones form a frame for this story.    The reader sees the story through the eyes of Sekiguchi, who  is highly impressionable; his own  infallibities work together with things he sees and hears, creating an atmosphere that keeps the tension at a high level.  Among other things, he witnesses his private-eye friend's ability to "see" memories and posit questions based on his "visions;" when he goes to see the Kuonji clinic, evidence turns up of strange experiments; witnesses are either reluctant or missing;   he has bizarre dreams, strange recurring memories and he periodically fades in and out of reality. The author's passion for strange yokai folklore that is woven throughout the novel also helps set the tone so that even though the reader starts wondering  if there isn't  more here than meets the rational eye.

This is such a bizarre story that I couldn't help but really like it.  I can honestly say I've never come across anything quite like it; it is not only an intriguing mystery with a strange, twisted ending, but it's also odd enough to feed my weird monkey.  Beyond the mystery story however, the author also offers his readers a look at a changing Japan which now has an opportunity to consciously detach itself from its old, destructive traditions and philosophies and move into the modern world.  However, readers should be aware that much of this analysis is accomplished largely through the long discussions between Kyogokudo and Sekiguchi that begin this narrative (and are also found throughout the novel), taking up several pages of dialogue on various topics. While my strange brain digested all of this joyfully, unprepared readers may find it stuffy, boring or dull and wonder what it all has to do with anything.  Hang in there: a) it has a lot to do with things, and b) the action picks up shortly afterwards.
 
I'll give The Summer of the Ubume an NFE rating, meaning not for everyone, although readers who embrace the strange or who already have an interest in Japanese writing will definitely appreciate it.  Mystery readers looking for something outside of the ordinary may like this book, but it's not the usual crime fare most readers of that genre are used to and may prove a bit challenging.  Now let's hope Kodansha will see fit to translate some of the other books in this series.

*The Lake, by Banana Yoshimoto

9781612190891
Melville House Publishing, 2011
originally published as Mizuumi, 2005
translated by Michael Emmerich
188 pp (trade paper ed.)


The most recent of Yoshimoto's novels to be translated into English, The Lake is a good read, one that won't take you long to finish.  However, don't let the brevity of this book fool you: in its short length, it manages to touch upon issues of grief, trauma and family, and it offers a powerful surprise that is revealed near the end.  It's a blend of the real and the fantastic; in some parts of the story you need to be prepared to suspend disbelief and just go with the flow.  

The novel follows Chihiro, a young artist living in Tokyo whose mother has recently passed away.  Her unmarried mother owned a bar, where she met Chihiro's father; the lack of a "normal" family structure didn't prevent Chihiro from having a good childhood, but thinking of what people might be saying about her -- "Sure, she’s the daughter of a prominent local figure, but c’mon—he knocked up the Mama-san of a bar, right?" --  left her feeling "oppressed." Chihiro leaves for Tokyo as soon as possible to go to art school;  soon after moving from home her mother gets sick and ultimately dies. While dealing with her grief and looking back on her family life and her relationship with her mother,  she meets Nakajima, a man with his own  troubles.  She senses right away that he has been through some terrible trauma, but never pushes the issue.  Eventually she comes to be "awed by his terrible depths," but at the same time, she's drawn to this man, with whom she shares a number of similarities. Their relationship proceeds slowly and carefully; taking a new turn after Nakajima brings her with him on a visit to some old friends at his former home on a lake.  As Nakajima's history is revealed, some interesting questions come to light regarding the importance of perspective -- one of the themes that runs throughout this novel. 

The Lake is a mix of positives and negatives, but after all is said and done, what's good about this book outweighs what's not.  The prose is understated and very simply expressed, while  at the same time it is powerful enough so that the reader gets a clear picture of Chihiro as she tries to come to terms with her childhood, her family life and  the death of her mother as she moves into another phase of her life.  Nakajima is also drawn well -- a man of great intelligence, yet hampered from moving on  by the effects of a mysterious trauma that consumes him.  While ultimately his story is heartbreaking,  the author is very clever not to make it the central focus of the novel and reveals it only toward the end of the story, making it all that much more powerful once the facts are brought to light.  Chihiro is a likeable narrator, coming across as a real person throughout most of the story, using language normal people would use.   Another very positive point about this novel is the lake, not only in terms of amazing description which throws the reader right into its misty atmosphere, but also in Chihiro's growing attraction to it and to the inhabitants of the lake house, one that even finds expression within the context of her mural as it increasingly becomes a part of her consciousness. On the other hand,  I found the section on her refusal to incorporate a sponsoring company's logo within the mural she's painting a bit preachy and clichéd to the point of being very obvious; the same goes with her comments against homogeneity.  Good messages both, but a little overplayed here.

I'd recommend The Lake, especially to people who have read Yoshimoto in the past, but with the caveat that compared to say, Kitchen (which I really, really liked), this one comes across a bit flat. I'd also recommend it to readers of Japanese fiction -- it maintains that edginess that is so characteristic of Japanese writing. It's a good read, very brief, but powerful.

*The Sea and Poison, by Shusaku Endo

 

New Directions Publishing

0811211983

1992, originally published 1958

trans. Michael Gallagher

167 pp.

Even though Endo wrote this novel in 1958, it is still appropriate all these years later, as it touches upon matters of current debate. The story is based loosely on an event which happened in Japan in May of 1945, just three short months prior to the dropping of the first atomic bomb. A group of American soldiers who survived the crash of their B-29 were taken to the Kyushu University hospital in Fukuoka where they became the subjects of vivisection.

(Fukuoka, Japan)

 In a nutshell (and there are many, many places on the internet that discuss this novel so I'll be brief):
as the novel opens, the author introduces Dr. Suguro, now a physician in a very small town, leading a quiet life. A man who has just moved and needs a physician for pneumothorax treatments asks about a doctor and is directed to Suguro, who is the only doctor around.  Finding out that Suguro is from Fukuoka, when the man goes to a wedding there, he asks about his doctor and learns that he was one of twelve people who took part in the vivisections.

Flash back to WWII and Kyushu University Hospital, where Suguro works as an intern working with tuberculosis patients. The war has taken its toll on the Japanese, both military and civilian.  It has also taken a toll on some of the doctors of the hospital. In a largely dehumanized environment, Suguro genuinely cares about the patients under his care, especially an elderly woman who should have an operation, but it gets put off in favor of surgery on a relative of the late Dean of Medicine. Tension in the hospital is high - two doctors are both vying for the vacant position, so Suguro's boss, Dr. Hashimoto (aka The Old Man) realizes that if he can perform a successful operation, he'll be looked upon with great favor when election time rolls around. However, things don't go as planned - and The Old Man and his group are set back when the surgery does not go well. The Old Man has one chance to fix things for himself and the bid for the position of Dean - and it involves scientific experimentation on a few of the recently-arrived prisoners of war.  Suguro is asked to participate, and he agrees.

Endo examines the questions of conscience, morality and personal accountability for one's actions -- or in some cases, nonactions -- under circumstances that demand participation in an act that one knows is immoral. What pushes people to the point where one's conscience stops being a factor, and how is "conscience" defined for different people? Is one who does nothing in these situations as guilty as those who play an active role?  And, after committing these acts, how does one retain (or is it even possible to do so) one's own sense of humanity when coming to terms with what he or she did?  And where does God come into all of this?

Endo wrote this book in the late 50s, but the questions the novel poses remain relevant when examining such events as the My Lai massacre of the 1970s,  the practice of genocide and ethnic cleansing around the world, or even the recent focus on torture at Abu Ghraib. Although the book is quite short, it's rather deep and extremely serious in tone.

The Sea and Poison is easy for me to recommend. It is a book you will definitely not stop thinking about for a while after you've read it.

 fiction from Japan