Izumi Suzuki was a Japanese science fiction writer of the 1970s and early 1980s with two collections of short stories currently available in English—Terminal Boredom and Hit Parade of Tears. Both are the collaborative work of several translators, and both were widely lauded for their innovation and biting social commentary. When I reviewed Terminal Boredom for the Asian Review of Books, I noted that, “Suzuki’s feminist spirit is as relevant and her stories as piercing today as they were more than thirty years ago.”
Japan
Sunny Seki opens his new children’s book, Hokusai’s Daughter, with Hokusai, the famous painter and printmaker from the Edo period, walking alongside his young daughter.
The diversification of Japanese Literature available in translation means that the release of a new novel by Haruki Murakami is not met with quite the fanfare it once was, but interest in movie adaptations of the author’s work is higher than ever. This is due at least in part to the enthusiasm with which critics have greeted recent adaptations, with Lee Chang Dong’s Burning winning the FIPRESCI Prize at Cannes in 2018, and Ryusuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car taking Best International Picture at the 2021 Academy Awards. Following this success is renewed academic focus on movies based on Murakami’s work, with Marc Yamada’s newly-released Murakami Haruki on Film providing the first English-language overview of the author’s cinematic adaptations.
In the wake of the COVID pandemic, tourism is again booming in Japan. July 2024 saw the highest inflow of visitors ever recorded—more than 3 million entries in the month alone. For many, if not most, tourists, the city of Kyoto will rate a very high priority. The spring and autumn are usually regarded as the best times to visit, because of the pleasant temperatures and the cherry blossom or autumn colors, respectively. By contrast, the summer is very hot and humid. However, those July visitors will have had the chance to see one of the highlights of the Kyoto calendar: the Gion festival.
Ruth Mandujano López starts her book Steamships across the Pacific with, as seems almost de rigueur now for almost any book about Latin American-Asian relations, with the history of the Manila Galleon, but for her, this is a point of comparison and departure.
A much-loved memoir about a Japanese author’s relationship with her cat is translated into English for the first time by award-winning translator, Ginny Tapley Takemori. Writer Mayumi Inaba won many prizes for her stories and poems before her untimely death from cancer in 2014. She was well-known as a cat lover, particularly her calico, Mii. This modern classic—published as Mornings with My Cat Mii in Britain and forthcoming as Mornings without Mii in the US—describes the close bond they shared over the 20 years of Mii’s life.
In the corner of a busy cafe in Tokyo, three men meet over coffee. But the trio of Goto, Takumi, and Sasaki are not who they seem—they are rehearsing carefully scripted roles in a property scam. With real estate values soaring in the city, schemes to make a quick profit are on the rise.
Japanese woodblock prints of the 18th and 19th centuries are, one comes to realize, one of the earliest example of mass commercial art, at least purely secular art, and one that still resonates with modern sensibilities. As testament to their volume, Britain’s Victoria & Albert Museum has, quite literally, tens of thousands of prints, a collection which began with an acquisition from the 1886 Exposition Universelle in Paris and rounded out, if that’s the word, with a purchase in 1886 (“at the height of Japonisme”) of more than 12,000 from the London-based Asian art dealer, SM Franck & Sons. Fortunately, this volume, which features prints from the collection, also testifies to their aesthetics and long-lasting appeal.
In Rio Shimamoto’s prize-winning novel First Love, a young woman kills her father. Her legal defence team must comb through the past and present, exploring her platonic, sexual, and romantic relationships to find a motive for murder. Though the novel begins as a crime thriller, it’s a genre-bending story that transforms into a romance, murder mystery, and, finally, a courtroom drama. First published in Japanese to critical and commercial acclaim—spawning a film adaptation—the novel is now available to the wider world through Louise Heal Kawai’s translation.
Is it a commendation or criticism of the author or translators that one would never have imagined, had one not already known, that Keiichiro Hirano’s Eclipse was originally written in Japanese for a Japanese readership? Set in late 15th-century France and deeply permeated with Christian theology and late medieval philosophy, Eclipse evokes nothing as much as Umberto Eco. This is perhaps the literary equivalent of award-winning Japanese whiskey, an achievement—given the need for a specific literary idiom in English—that perhaps belongs as much to the translators Brent de Chene and Charles De Wolf as the author.
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