1.
A lifetime of manual labor and poverty—and a string of painful losses culminating in the tragic death of his only son, finally breaks the protagonist Kazu, in Yu Miri’s Tokyo Ueno Station. The book opens when Kazu is already homeless, in his sixties, living out of a makeshift shelter made of cardboard boxes, under a tarp roof in Ueno Park.
I will always associate Ueno Park with the cherry blossoms. The first time I ever saw them was in Ueno Park. I was twenty-one and had just arrived in Tokyo in a blur. But somehow I found myself in Ueno and was astonished by those huge pink clouds of blossoming sakura—everywhere, it was like waking up in Wonderland. Despite it being the middle of a work week, the park was jam-packed with crowds of people wandering up and down the paths, while countless others picnicked under the blossoms. Those crowds! And those blossoms!
Despite the fact that I love the park and wanted to read this National Book Award winning translation by Morgan Giles, I hesitated to read Tokyo Ueno Station—mainly because of the central trauma of the book. I am sure many parents feel the same but it is almost unbearable for me, even now with an adult son, to read books about parents losing their children. Especially of only sons, which inevitably reminds me of my own son, an only child.
Fast forward to a few days ago and my friend Erin mentioned it, and I thought I should sit down and read it— since somehow over the years, I had purchased this book I wasn’t going top read on Audible, Kindle and hardcover!
2.
また、あの音が聞こえる。
あの音—。
聞いてる。
でも、感じているのか、思ってるのか、わからない。
One of my favorite Substack newsletters is Bunsuke’s. Usually they are snippets from literature with his translations. I always stop everything when a new one arises.
音 sound omou
聞 hear or listen kiku
感 feel kanjiru
思 think omou (想 same pronunciation also means think as in imagine)
Again, I can hear that sound.
That sound.
I hear it.
But I don’t know if I am really hearing it or imagining it.
Above is my stab at it—even having read the whole book. The confusing part is the last bit— I think if given permission I would have translated the last sentence along the lines of “I don’t know if I am really hearing it or just imagining it…”
Here is Morgan Giles’ (the translator’s) version (of course much better than mine)
Here’s that sound again.
That sound—
I hear it.
But I don’t know if it’s in my ears or in my mind
3.
The book is exquisitely crafted moving in and out of time frames, as Kazu haunts his own life.
A believer in Pure Land Buddhism— and yet upon his death, he does not find himself on the Other Shore but rather in a state of limbo—tied to the park and his memories that resonate like poetry unfolding in the book.
I read the Tibetan Book of the Dead when I was in university—and even now I can conjure those scenes of the dead wandering in the bardo from the book. Yu Miri somehow evokes this state of floating in her sentences that move in and out of Kazu’s consciousness as he wanders, overhearing conversations of women at an exhibition of French paintings, of the paintings of roses, of the museum building and his memories, all this written like a stream-of-consciousness… it is stupendous writing and the translation is superb!
As is often mentioned, the author is Zainichi Korean—born and raised in Japan but not accepted as she was growing up. She attempted suicide several times. I always focus on how clean and safe Japan was for me, and how life has a harrowing quality here in California for me…. but reading the novel, I am reminded that this picture I have of Japan is not the whole story. No place is perfect— and this book is a profound examination of luck, fortune, and Providence. After all, Kazu was born the same day as the Emperor and his son the same day as the Crown Prince. He thinks about this as the police are removing the homeless camps from the park in preparation for an imperial visit to the museum.
++
Ueno Park is huge— and I would return to it many times a year—not just for cherry blossoms but also to see the blossoming lotus in Shinobazu Pond or to see all the National Treasures housed in the Tokyo National Museum (one of my favorite museums in the world).
There is a famous yoshoku (Japanese-style European food) restaurant in the park housed in a Meiji-era building that specializes in French food called Seiyo-kan. They are famous for their hayashi rice—something I have never tried to make but should.
Other Yoshoku:
Thank you so much for the mention, Leanne!
Thanks for reminding me of this book, I think I will re-read it! I don’t know if I’ve blocked it out because it was too terrible to consider, but I somehow I don’t even remember reading it but I’m absolutely sure I did, because I also bought my mother a copy at the time. Maybe it was the way it was written, in that “floating” sort of way. But I just pulled it out for another read!