Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Japan. Show all posts

Friday, 13 June 2025

Review by Sally Shaw of "The Two Keisukes" by Brian Howell



The Two Keisukes is written in the third person and printed on cream cotton rag feathered-edged paper. The elongated pages are hand sewn to form a beautiful booklet. This short story is written by Brian Howell, author of several booklets and novels that include Sight Unseen

Prior to reading this story I had no knowledge of Howell. The content description provided by the publisher inspired me to read it.

The opening paragraph intrigued me, the words clear and crisp: "He had been here before, no, not here exactly, but then, yes, that building, an old fashioned school building that could have been from almost any period before or after the war."

Howell writes with such precision and beauty. I felt the wonderment he holds for the man, Keisuke Kinoshita, whose identity is given halfway through the story.

The story takes place on an island and yet the reader is made aware of the possibility that it’s being viewed from a distance or on the margins of time. The reader is taken from the shore of the island into a wonderland of past, present and unknown. Keisuke walks through alleyways and corridors, taking in the sights and sounds filled with the forgotten waiting to be rediscovered: "Walking further to the edges of this large park-like area, he saw a very curious group of turquoise sculptures that was both painfully familiar and yet unidentifiable."

Throughout his wanderings of the island, buildings and alleyways I’m drawn to him, I like Keisuke - both of them. I form an insight as to where each Keisuke is, one on the island, the other between the island and somewhere else. Floating in the past, present and unknown, in my mind I have ideas, two to be exact. I won’t say anymore as this would spoil Howell’s story. I will say, that through reading Howell’s words I formed the opinion that Keisuke and the others named were indeed real people (I had no prior knowledge of the Japanese film industry and history), and I sensed the history and connections between them all. I visualised what was possibly happening to the two Keisukes, felt the emotions and the power of recall and realisation of life. The ending touched my heart in a non-sentimental way. 

Around the two Keisukes Howell provides a portrait of the culture and history of Japan and the enchantment of the Japanese film industry. I read this booklet over and over again, each time discovering something new. I have started to research the individuals within Howell’s story, such was the energy of the writing. This is magical storytelling of a country, people and industry I knew nothing about, but now I want to get to know them and read more of Howell’s stories.


About the reviewer
Sally Shaw has an MA Creative Writing from the University of Leicester. She gains inspiration from old photographs, history, childhood memories, and is inspired by writers Sandra Cisneros, Deborah Morgan, Liz Berry and Emily Dickinson. She has short stories and poetry published in various online publications including The Ink Pantry, AnotherNorth, Roi Faineant PressSally lives in the countryside. 

Monday, 26 February 2024

Review by Gus Gresham of "Pictures of Yukio" by Brian Howell



While reading this chapbook short story, I had a sense of moving towards something mystical, poetic and subtly menacing. Three Japanese university students become enamoured of the work of Mishima Yukio, a writer who was considered for the Nobel Prize in Literature five times in the 1960s. 

In the modern day setting of the story, Yukio’s shadowy face appears on the wall of a university building, its clarity subject to changes in daylight and sunlight. Pictures of Yukio is driven as much by the pictures of Yukio on the wall as it is by pictures / vignettes of the three student friends, Yutaka, Kimie and Osamu.

According to some sources, Mishima Yukio was a controversial figure, espousing right-wing views that mourned the loss of Imperial Japanese culture, and his writing was a flamboyant fusion of Japanese and Western styles. By contrast, stylistically, Howell’s prose is clear, spare and understated, but Mishima’s life and motivations are echoed in Howell’s story. There are parallel themes, including the theme of “manifesto.” The manifesto of the friends is also a call to arms for returning to the past, but this modern manifesto focuses around the idea of rejecting the globalised Western-driven trend of digital connectivity and the ills of social media that are in ascendancy in modern societies the world over.

Our narrator, Yutaka, offers an early prefiguring: “once you start texting, it becomes complicated. Misunderstandings pile on misunderstandings that can only really be sorted out in the real world of face-to-face communication.” And there are undertones of casual menace in the everyday: “I had noticed a samurai sword specialist shop adjacent to the love hotel.”

Given that Mishima Yukio was an alumnus of the university where the three friends study – and that Yukio delivered an impassioned political speech followed by ritual suicide – a reader is at once beguiled and fascinated, and wonders where this absorbing story will ultimately lead.

Pictures of Yukio is haunting and beautifully written. It lives on in the memory after reading. It made me want to know more about the inspirations behind it, and more about the author. Brian Howell lives outside Tokyo and teaches in Japan. He is also an established writer of short stories and novels. I have no hesitation recommending this forthcoming chapbook story and I’ll certainly be checking out more of Howell’s work.

 

About the Reviewer 
Gus Gresham has an MA in Creative Writing (NTU) and has worked as a mechanical engineer, construction worker, fruit picker, environmental activist, writer, English tutor, audio-book producer, medical-scenario simulator/facilitator, civil funeral celebrant, and building surveyor. He’s had short stories published in literary magazines including Brittle Star and Under the Radar, and his most recent novel, Kyiv Trance – a dark, twisty, love story and crime thriller – is available on Amazon.


Thursday, 11 August 2022

Interview with Susan Napier



Susan Napier is the author of Miyazakiworld: A Life in Art, published in 2018 by Yale University Press. She is also the Goldthwaite Professor of Rhetoric and Japanese Studies at Tufts University, and a former Mitsubishi Professor of Japanese Literature and Culture at the University of Texas at Austin. She has published five books and numerous articles on anime and Japanese culture. In 2018 she was named "Woman of the Week" by The M Dash magazine. Her 2017 TED talk "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Enjoy Being an Anime Expert" can be found here. 



Interviewed by Mathew Lopez

ML: In the prologue to Miyazakiworld: A Life in Art, you write that the book is an examination of how and why Hayao Miyazaki came to be the preeminent director that he is today, but what inspired you to write such a book?

SN: I suppose the most obvious inspiration behind my decision to write the book was that I had begun to notice that, when I told people that I was researching Japanese animation I increasingly noticed that they would say, "I don’t know much about anime but there’s this director I really like—Miyazaki!” And they would often mention a particular favorite film - the top three would be Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and Totoro, although younger people might bring up Howl’s Moving Castle.

Over the years I have observed anime become increasingly accepted in American society but with Miyazaki I was witnessing something even more exciting, a specific director whose work was being acknowledged and appreciated by mainstream Americans. I began teaching a seminar on Miyazaki at Tufts about six to seven years ago, and was excited to see how much enthusiasm there was for the work of this director. It began to seem increasingly obvious that someone should write a book about him and, given my experience in working on animation, the seminar that I was teaching, and my knowledge of Japanese culture and history, I began to think that I was a good candidate!

When I first started planning the book I was also really pleased with the positive feedback the project received. This included a fellowship to the prestigious Bellagio Foundation in Italy where I was able to “test drive” some of my ideas in front of the other fellowship recipients who were from all different backgrounds with little knowledge of animation or of Japan, and then a contract with Yale University Press, an excellent press that was moving to expand its arts and popular culture offerings. Overall, it was very clear that Miyazaki was being appreciated as a global cultural artist, not just some obscure Japanese animation director. I like to think that the book itself has helped him gain even more recognition.

ML: In Miyazakiworld you use a series of essay-like chapters to mostly focus on one Hayao Miyazaki film at a time. Why did you decide on this structure for the book?

SN: Actually, my editor at Yale, Sarah Miller, helped a lot with the structure. Although I had always wanted to discuss each of Miyazaki’s films individually as they are each so unique and fascinating, it was Sarah who came up with the idea of taking a biographical approach. Not only did this allow me to explore some really interesting aspects of Miyazaki’s life and times but, as I worked on the book with this approach, I was able to get a real feel for how his art and thoughts have evolved over the years (and also what elements have remained unchanged).

ML: How did you approach writing individual chapters knowing they needed to form a cohesive whole for the reader?

SN: From my seminar teaching experience and my own viewing, I was already very aware of each film’s particular distinctive aspects including what was appealing, interesting or sometimes problematic about them. For example, one of the most memorable aspects of Miyazaki’s work - for both me and my students - was his consistent use of strong, intelligent and independent female characters from very early on in his career. I really can’t emphasize that enough. As early as the 1980s when there were very few such female characters in the West, Miyazaki was creating fascinating females who played important or even dominant roles in his films - to name a few from the 80s, there’s Nausicaa of Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Ma Dola of Castle in the Sky: Laputa, Kiki and all her female friends and helpers in Kiki’s Delivery Service - well, I could go on and on. Not only was this interesting from the point of Japanese culture and society but it made for very interesting comparisons with female characters in Western studios such as the Disney “princesses.” So this was an obvious element that could be traced throughout his work.

Another incredibly important trademark was Miyazaki’s consistent fascination with apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic scenarios, from as early as his 1970s television series Future Boy Conan, to his recent Ponyo and even, arguably, his most recent film The Wind Rises. I had already noticed this apocalyptic trend in many anime and manga in my previous research but now, with Miyazaki’s life to draw upon as well, I could really make connections between his life and ideas - the impact of World War II, his youthful embrace of left-wing ideology, that allowed me, again, to make a more cohesive portrait of both the man and his works.

I would also like to mention something that I call a “feel” for the material. By the time I wrote on Miyazaki I had already written four books on aspects of Japanese culture - a book on two politically engaged writers from roughly the same time period as Miyazaki’s youth; a book on fantasy in modern Japanese literature in which I first included research on anime; a book on Japanese animation in which I introduced the particular aspects of anime that made it so distinctive, and which included a chapter on Miyazaki and female characters in anime; and then a book on the Western fascination with Japan from French impressionism to anime, which included a chapter on Miyazaki fandom in the West. I had also studied, read, and taught about Japanese culture for several decades and lived in Japan for eight years, off and on from the time I was seventeen. 

In other words, I guess what I’m saying is that I know my stuff, and I was bringing all this “stuff” to bear on the Miyazaki book, but hopefully in a fairly subtle and reasonably entertaining fashion. I worked very hard to create a user-friendly style.

ML: You dart seamlessly between memoir, biography and analysis in Miyazakiworld, but did blending elements of life writing with more traditional film criticism ever present a challenge to your own voice in the book? Did you ever hear inconsistencies in your writing voice in the different elements of the text?

SN: Yeah, that was actually a bit tricky. Some of the “model” biographies that Yale suggested I read included quite a lot of author’s input from their personal life. I kind of tried that a bit but never felt really comfortable talking too much about myself. One example I remember was for the chapter on Porco Rosso - a movie about a world-weary ex-pilot who had become disillusioned by his experiences in WW1. There were obvious influences from the movie Casablanca in it, and I initially tried beginning the chapter with an anecdote about going to see Casablanca at the Brattle Theater in Harvard Square with my mother and how much I had loved the movie. But, honestly, it didn’t really have a direct connection to either Miyazaki or Porco Rosso and so I eventually scrapped it.

The few other personal references I kept in were mainly about my visiting Miyazaki-related sites in Japan and how I experienced them. I also did keep one anecdote from my first year in Japan about how I lived and worked on my own in Tokyo when I was seventeen because it really did resonate with the Miyazaki’s movie Kiki’s Delivery Service, and it allowed me to bring in my Miyazaki seminar in a hopefully seamless way that might be of interest to readers and be a bit of a break from the film analysis.

ML: Writing creative nonfiction often comes with the unique challenge of trying to represent real, complex people as characters on the page, and that challenge must be all the more difficult when writing about beloved public figures like Miyazaki, Isao Takahata and Toshio Suzuki. How did you approach constructing the characters in Miyazakiworld, and were you ever nervous about how your depictions of them might be received?

SN: Of course I was nervous. And I remain nervous! My next book is going to be a comparison of Miyazaki’s Studio Ghibli with Disney/Pixar studios, so there will be LOTS of opportunities to talk about living persons and potentially offend them. Seriously, I tried to be VERY careful about commenting too much about living people. I am glad that I was able to meet Miyazaki three times over a period of almost ten years which helped form my impressions of him. I also did an enormous amount of reading of his interviews in Japanese - not only was this material not in English and so was more likely to be somewhat more spontaneous but reading the way Miyazaki spoke in often informal Japanese, sometimes with old friends, really helped give me a sense of him as a person.

I was also aware that my last Miyazaki-related visit to Japan, when I met with the director for a formal interview and met with a number of people who had worked with him, occurred only a few months after he had officially retired. This was a tense time for everyone related to Studio Ghibli so I tried to be careful in how much weight I put on certain responses and to be aware of how what I experienced as a palpable sense of melancholy on the part of the director in my last interview may well have been related to the specific time and circumstances.

As for how my depictions have been received - well, I haven’t gotten any letters of protest from Ghibli after the book was published so I guess I didn’t make any truly heinous mistakes. I was actually in Japan when the book came out in Japanese and did a couple of radio and newspaper interviews which were very well received (thank goodness!).

 ML: You mention that you were given the opportunity to interview Miyazaki yourself, ahead of writing the book, and I’ve read some of the fantastic academic essays you’ve published on his films previously, so how did the research process for writing Miyazakiworld differ from writing your more traditional film criticism?

SN: Without doubt the toughest thing was bringing in biography AND of a living subject! I was quite, quite nervous. Being able to read and speak Japanese was a godsend, though, because there is a lot of material on Ghibli and especially on Miyazaki in Japanese - similar to the many books on Disney in English for example. Although god knows it was time consuming, especially reading all those interviews in informal Japanese where you are really trying to get a “feel” for what’s happening between interviewer and interviewee. Kind of fascinating though.

All that being said, I should mention that Japanese society seems far less willing to probe into the lives of its most beloved celebrities and Miyazaki is virtually a national treasure. I will also say that Ghibli, his studio, is very protective of him, and I’ll be dealing more with this in my next book!


About the interviewer
Mathew Lopez is a current PhD Creative Writing candidate at the University of Leicester. His research focuses on anime, ADHD, and modes of memoir and criticism. His short stories and poetry have appeared in both online and print magazines, and he is currently working on his first essay collection. His favourite Hayao Miyazaki film is Porco Rosso.

Tuesday, 31 March 2020

Review by Thilsana Gias of "A Cup of Sake Beneath the Cherry Trees" by Yoshida Kenkō, trans. Meredith McKinney



A Cup of Sake Beneath the Cherry Trees is a short selection of essays taken from Yoshida Kenkō's longer collection called Tsurezuregusa, or Essays in Idleness

Kenkō (c.1283 - c.1352) was a Japanese monk who wrote in the zuihitsu (follow the brush) stream-of-consciousness style, which was often used to create loosely connected personal essays reflecting on the ephemeral aspects of life.

Now, you might be wondering, "What could I possibly have in common with a medieval monk?"

Well, as we now live in times of self-isolation and social distancing, who better to relate to than the introspective Japanese monk?

Whilst monks are typically seen as recluses who are far removed from society in every aspect, what I have learnt from Kenkō is that the musings of monks are still very much about people, society and the connections we can forge through finding the same sparks of inspiration. Kenkō himself reflects on this by saying, "It is a most wonderful comfort to sit alone beneath a lamp, book spread before you, and commune with someone from the past whom you have never met." He then goes on to admire "scholars of former times"  whose "moving" works date to around 6th century - 4th century BC ... leaving us with a rather cosy picture of a monk happily settling down to discuss his favourite authors in the same way that you or I might. 

What's particularly interesting about this concept is that Kenkō reinforces the age-old idea that words transcend space and time. In fact, you almost get a sense that you're physically holding generations of human inspiration in your hands, when you listen to him speak about what people of former times found beautiful or captivating:

"Should we look at the spring blossoms only in full flower, or the moon only when cloudless and clear?"

"Could poems on the themes of 'Going to view the blossoms to find them already fallen' or 'Written when I was prevented from going to see the flowers' be deemed inferior to 'On seeing the blossoms'?"

"It is natural human feeling to yearn over the falling blossoms and the setting moon - yet some, it seems, are so insensitive that they will declare that since this branch and that have already shed their flowers, there is nothing worth seeing any longer." 

Kenkō's vivid imagery gives us moving glimpses of what humanity was and still is. He chooses to discuss the "spring blossoms" and "setting moon" -  things that are unchanging with time, making his essays read like conversation starters with us. He paints pictures of the smallest striking moments and decides to share them with none other than your good self. 

Now, it is easy to feel intimidated by such grand portrayals of nature and mankind. Those of you who were initially wondering "What could I possibly have in common with a medieval monk?" may now be thinking "How could I possibly relate to someone as cool as this monk?"

Fear not.

Kenkō very clearly says: "No-one could be less enviable than a monk. Sei Shōnagon wrote that people treat them like unfeeling lumps of wood, and this is perfectly true." I challenge you to find anything more relatable than that.


About the reviewer
Thilsana Gias is an MA Creative Writing graduate from the University of Leicester. Her favourite Shakespeare play is Macbeth. She is an English tutor and will train to teach Secondary School English soon. She's also hoping she'll finish re-working her dissertation into a publishable piece of writing.


Friday, 16 October 2015

Review by Lloyd Wright of “Lost Japan” by Alex Kerr


Many first time foreign visitors to Japan arrive with an impressive set of delusions about their new surroundings, but American writer Alex Kerr avoided that fate by spending the best part of several decades there, from 1960s schooldays to middle age in the compelling and award winning Lost Japan (1993).

The upshot is an eclectic, insightful and very enjoyable collection of essays which take the reader into areas such as kabuki, calligraphy, to his sterling efforts renovating an abandoned old farmhouse in rural Japan.

He beautifully weaves intellectual curiosity with personal frustrations and trenchant opinions about contemporary Japan and its shortcomings (e.g. Kyoto). “After centuries of political intrigue ... the people of Kyoto have developed the technique of never saying anything.”

He unravels myths and celebrates the best aspects of his adopted country in a chatty and engaging style. Along the way, the reader is introduced to some key friends and associates who shaped his understanding such as his first Japanese teacher in America who chastised him in an early lesson for introducing himself as “Alex-san” (i.e. Mr Alex) because “san” is a value-laden honorific suggesting a degree of self-promotion that would not go down well in modest, ego-suppressing Japanese society.

One impressive feature of Lost Japan is the way that pan-Asian perspectives, whether Burmese mandelas or Chinese temple design, are dropped in to remind the reader of a much larger context beyond Japan. He states: “I realised I could never understand Japan if I did not know something about China.”

This book is a gloriously honest and passionate piece of writing which repays multiple readings. So, should you be lucky enough to find a copy, let “Alex-san” take you on a memorable journey up, down and through one of the most fascinating places on the planet.     

About the reviewer
Lloyd Wright is an under-employed EFL teacher who values engagement with students and others from across the globe – Chile to China – and especially their quirky views about British life. He writes occasional articles for diverse outlets and was briefly on the Disney payroll while writing about the unfolding drama of the 2002 World Cup.