Author: Iris

Hotel Iris

Yoko Ogawa

The little family-owned Hotel Iris and the little seaside town it’s located in have seen better days, but this is all that 17-year-old receptionist Mari knows. One evening, there is a commotion between an elderly man and a prostitute, and while Mari’s mother is keen to evict them quickly, Mari feels inexplicably drawn to the man’s commandeering voice. By chance, they meet in town, and soon a passionate affair begins between the unequal couple. Mari is pulled into a maelstrom of pleasure and pain, but things come to a head when her mother finds out about the affair – with tragic consequences.

I felt much compassion for Mari, ever under the thumb of her domineering mother (her father had died years earlier). Mari believes herself in love with the 50-odd years older “translator” whose name we never learn. Naive and inexperienced as she is, she goes along with his sexual demands. No kink shaming here, but not being able to say no is not the same as consenting.

To me, the translator was a manipulative predator, who knew exactly what he needed to tell her and didn’t care about his victim (who, given the scene at the very beginning of the book, could’ve been anyone, really.) And Mari was a victim, because narcissists like him know how to make you think that whatever you do or endure, it’s voluntary and out of love.

Yoko Ogawa was born in 1962, studied at Waseda university, and became a medical university secretary. After her marriage, she quit her job and began writing, at first in secret. She won the Kaien Literary Prize for her debut novel in 1988, and has since won many more prestigious literary prizes, among them the Japanese Akutagawa, Yomiuri, and Tanizaki Prize, as well as international awards.

Ogawa’s description of their sexual encounters have just enough detail to make the reader understand without being too (porno-) graphic. I am not sure if I would recommend this book unreservedly, but it has become a classic of modern Japanese literature. Make up your own mind with a copy from amazon.

Still Here…

No worries, I haven’t thrown in the towel, I’m still here – although my current mood fluctuates heavily between abject despair and “I’ll show y’all!”.

I guess the most pressing need to make more money to at least try and show immigration that I’m, well, trying. I’ve heard that the foreign business managers of Kyoto are planning measures – whatever they may look like – and it seems that even international media has gotten wind of the issue. And since they aren’t beating about the bush, why should I?

The reason for the new law regarding the business manager visa is twofold. First, there is a growing anti-foreigner sentiment in Japan. It might be an expression of a worldwide political shift towards the right, or the fact that Japan has seen (too?) many tourists who behave, let’s say: less than respectfully towards their host country. Sadly, this kind of behaviour affects the tourists less than the foreign residents – and Western people especially are easy to make out in the crowds.

The second reason is, to put it bluntly: Chinese business owners in Japan. Rumour has it that (too?) many of them aren’t managing their business, but instead applying for benefits from the government. Now, as a resident you are entitled to do that, and also, any business can have ups and downs. I’ve been there.

However, it seems that this behaviour has gotten out of hand in certain circles and the government is trying their best to stop it. And since they don’t want to be seen as racist, well, all the other foreign business managers have to pay the price.

Personally, I’m on the government’s side here, strange as it sounds. When I first went abroad to the Netherlands, I received a large sticker in my passport which said something like: “A full recourse to government welfare may have consequences for your residency permit.” That’s perfectly fine. What I am wondering about is why the Japanese government/immigration does not simply revoke the residency permit of such people, or at least deny the next renewal.

I think what will break most foreign-run businesses’ necks is the new capital requirement of 30 million yen, that’s six times the current one. (Fixed assets like buildings or machines etc. do count.) Even businesses that are doing well will have problems raising so much capital, lest in 3 years to boot.

Just to illustrate what that number really means: it’s the price of a new house or apartment in a relatively good neighborhood in Kyoto. And: you’ll have to pay in cash within 3 years. I’m guessing that the vast majority of Japanese business holders wouldn’t be able to do that. Especially Kyoto is dotted with lots of small and medium-sized companies.

Anyway, here I am, with changing moods and hoping for the best – and a change of mind of the government. Giving the global political mood, I’d say the latter is not very likely.

Bad News

The Japanese government is tightening their requirements for holders of Business Manager Visas like mine. And it’s… bad. Even my lawyer who handles my immigration says they were pretty much blindsided. Here’s their webpage about the issue: https://eng.daikou-office.com/info-15/

My visa is up for renewal next year in July (starting the procedure in April or May). Right now, I have no idea how I can possibly manage any, lest all of this.

I need a stiff drink. A good cry. And a miracle. The order is optional.

Hectic…

Oops, it’s been a while… I’m okay, no worries, it’s just a bit hectic around here.

Autumn has arrived and I notice because a) the nights are getting rather cool (but I still sleep with open windows) and b) Pumpkin is so much more active. The other day I had to pick him off the roof and prevent him from exploring the neighbour’s garden…

Obviously, he was quite tired (of me) afterwards. But to be honest, when he looks that cute, I have to forgive him everything.

Shadow Family

Miyuki Miyabe

When a middle-aged company employee is found dead, police soon discover that he frequented where he was the “dad” of an online fantasy family. When the police find evidence that this second family had begun to meet offline as well, the man’s real-life daughter complains of being stalked. Where lies the motive for the murder – on- or offline? Bringing the “shadow family” back together for one last time might be the only way to solve the crime.

The book starts in the middle of the police investigation, and what happened before is told in flashbacks. The novel shows the boundaries between what’s real and what’s fake, and how nowadays, where everybody switches between real life and online persona seamlessly several times a day, the boundaries are less defined than ever.

Miyuki Miyabe was born in Tokyo in 1960 and started writing novels at the age of 23. In 1984, while working at a law office, she began to take writing classes and subsequently made her debut in 1987 with ‘Our Neighbour is a Criminal’, which won several prizes. She writes mysteries and historical fiction, among other genres, and her books were the basis for a number of films.

If you’re in for a psychological murder mystery with a twist that makes you question the whole thing at the end, get this book from amazon.

Local Matsuri

This afternoon, a friend of mine had a taiko performance at a neighborhood festival. The venue was one of those tiny parks/playgrounds surrounded by houses, and the locals had set up booths selling drinks and food (including kakigori) and there were others with games and activities for kids.

A large tarp was set up with 10 taiko drums; the performers were mostly kids from Bati-Holic Kuro-chan’s wadaiko school. They only played three songs, the concert wasn’t perfect, but you could see how everybody had loads of fun, not just the kids playing, but the parents watching too, of course.

I took a few photos and after the concert bumped into another acquaintance whom I met at a Bati-Holic concert. She has now also started up taiko classes and was there as support, as you do here in Japan. We caught up and chatted a bit, and then I went home. On the way, I bumped into my doctor from Kyoto University Hospital. He was wearing his face mask, just like at work (I don’t think I could recognize him without) but he approached me as I waited at a red light.

And finally, I bumped into a sunset, well, I was a bit too late. I usually don’t notice it when I’m working, and from my house it’s difficult to watch it anyway. Things are different down at the river. This time of the year is so beautiful.

Utagawa Kunisada’s Ukiyo-e

Utagawa Kunisada (1786–1865) was one of the most successful designers of ukiyo-e woodblock prints in the 19th century, even surpassing his contemporaries Hokusai, Hiroshige, and Kuniyoshi.

Interestingly, while Hokusai was always held in high regard by foreign collectors, at the end of the Edo period (1603-1868) the other three were felt to be vastly inferior. However, in the 1930s, Hiroshige was reevalued, and in the 1970s, the works of Kuniyoshi followed and both began to be regarded as masters of the art just like Hokusai. Only Kunisada had to wait until the 1990s, when his reputation in the West was aligned with that of the Japanese.

About 60% of Kunisada’s works are prints of kabuki actors and scenes, another 15% are bijin-ga, images of beautiful women, and for some 15 years, he dominated portraits of sumo wrestlers and effectively a monopoly on scenes from “The Tale of Genji”. Here are some of his prints.

Flowery Kimono

Yesterday, I went with a friend to the exhibition “Secrets of the Kimono
The Advent of Yuzen Dyeing” currently on at the Museum of Modern Art in Kyoto. Besides numerous kimono created from the Edo period until today, they had maybe 50 “pattern books” from around 1700.

Those are woodblock prints showing kimono designs, and people could use them to order a kimono. All of them were in black and white and didn’t have a huge amount of detail. Many of them had a design centered on plants or floral design.

And my friend could name most of these! For somebody like me who barely knows roses from chrysanthemums, that’s absolutely impressive. If you want to try as well and you’re in Kyoto, the exhibition is until September 15.

The Sea and Poison

Shusaku Endo

Fukuoka University Hospital, during WWII. Dr. Jiro Suguro is a talented young intern working with tuberculosis patients. He has taken a liking to an elderly female patient and is shocked when Dr. Asai, one of the assistants, wants to perform a new procedure on her, which is likely to kill her. However, when a much younger patient dies at the hand of department head Prof. Hashimoto, the risky operation is postponed. Ostensibly to further research, but also to secure a promotion for the department head (and himself), Asai contrives a number of vivisections on a group of American prisoners. When Suguro is asked to assist at the operations, he is appalled, but at the same time unable to decline…

This book still haunts me, even though Endo avoids describing the actual murders of the Americans. Instead, we’re in the room when the operation on the young woman fails, so we have a pretty good idea what is happening later. Extremely insightful in the mind of a psychopath is the confession of Dr. Toda, another intern present at the operations. In the end, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for Suguro, who seemed to be a genuinely caring person caught up in the whole thing against his will – and haven’t we all been there before?

Sadly, this novel was not created in a vacuum. Endo based it on a true story that happened in 1945 at Fukuoka University Hospital, where the survivors of a downed American plane were killed in the name of science.

Shusaku Endo was born in 1923 Tokyo, but lived in Manchuria for the first 10 years of his life. After his parents’ divorce, he returned to Japan, where he became a Catholic in 1934. From the time he was a student, he published his writing in literary magazines, and eventually he became chief editor of one of them in 1968. He often went abroad for work, and his perspective as an outsider and Catholic has strongly influenced his novels. He is considered part of the Third Generation, the third group of influential Japanese writers who appeared after WWII. Endo received the Akutagawa Prize for “White Men” in 1954 and the Tanizaki Prize in 1966 for “Silence”. He died in 1996.

You can get this book from amazon, but I’m warning you, even 80 years after the war, it’s not an easy read.

Reminiscence

I’m still busy with my big project, and last week, I went to the library for some “real” research. In other words: I looked up a few scientific articles on my topic that I couldn’t find online.

High bookshelf in Vienna National Library

For all of you who don’t know: Scientists publish their research in journals (after lengthy peer review). These journals are sold to libraries, mostly research libraries of universities, but some other libraries also carry them. Depending on the journal, the libraries get them monthly or quarterly; there are also special editions of conference proceedings.

The latter are usually already bound by the publisher, since they are made available to the participants during the conference (I recommend, just for the smell alone: Springer LNCS – Lecture Notes in Computer Science). The other journals are bound by the libraries themselves into large books containing at least one, but sometimes several, years of a journal’s output. This makes looking at the “real” journal so much more fun than doing it online: You can browse a year of two of it and often discover other papers that are related to your current research.

Now, if you want to see one of those papers, you go to the library and ask for the book they made – journal title, year and volume is usually enough. If you’re lucky, the journals are in open access, so you can just pull them off the shelves. Otherwise, they are somewhere in storage (often underground, books are heavy) and the librarian has to do the picking for you.

In my case, I had to ask a librarian for help, unfortunately. There is something almost magical of wandering among shelves and shelves of volumes that all look the same, their only distinguishing factor the number on the spine. I would’ve loved to do that, but it wasn’t possible. This time.

It was nice to go back to uni, so to speak, and I’m expecting to do more research like this. It is fun and oddly soothing – I guess I’m still a researcher at heart.