Between the pages
Four new Japanese books translated into English that capture the pleasures of reading; from bookstore browsing, bonding over books to finding purpose between the pages...
At the heart of Tokyo in Japan is Jimbocho, a neighbourhood that is home to close to 200 bookstores that sell rare, used, second-hand and antique books. This historical arcade, a sepia-toned wonderland of books, comes vividly alive in Japanese writer Satoshi Yagisawa’s 2023 debut novel Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, translated by Eric Ozawa.
An international best-seller and winner of the Chiyoda Literature Prize, Yagisawa’s book is the story of 25-year-old Takako, who, after having broken up with her boyfriend and quit her job, comes to live with her uncle Saturo, the owner of the Morisaki bookshop.
A thirty-year old bookshop that has been in their family for three generations and which specialises in literature of the modern era (housing classics by Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Sosemi Natsume, Ogai Mori, Juni’chiro Tanizaki, among others) rests comfortably in one corner of the bustling book district of Jimbocho.
Takako makes the cramped little room inside the bookshop her temporary home, where she spends her days and nights surrounded by books. Sleepless, heartbroken and despondent, and despite having no real affinity to books and reading, one day Takako gives herself another chance at life – unable to sleep one night, she pulls out a copy of Saisei Murō’s Until the Death of the Girl from one of the overflowing shelves and stays up until morning reading it. The book sparks Takako’s interest in reading, and thus begins her journey of reading and discovering many books and authors.
Days at the Morisaki Bookshop is just one of the books in recent times that falls into the category of ‘books about books’ when it comes to Japanese literature translated into English. Its recently-released sequel—More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop (trans Eric Ozawa), an extension of Takako’s story about discovering herself through books—is another one, along with Nanako Hanada’s The Bookshop Woman (trans Cat Anderson) and Michiko Aoyama’s What You’re Looking for is in the Library (trans Alison Watts).
Every aforementioned book does an excellent job in chronicling the many pleasures of reading a book – the joy of browsing various sections inside a bookstore, the act of staying up till dawn to finish a particular book, encountering fellow readers who love reading the same author, the weirdly familiar musty smell of old books. And not just that – they all come with some excellent recommendations too, albeit this topic becomes a cynosure of debate in Hanada’s book where she says, “you couldn’t recommend a book to someone if you didn’t know them…and you couldn’t recommend a book if you didn’t know it well yourself.” The act of a prolific reader recommending books to non-readers can get slightly tricky because if you’ve enjoyed reading a book, you’d want the other person to read it too, only because you’d thought about what that particular book would mean to them. But an endorsement of a book from one person may not sit well with another, all the time. Does that mean one should stop recommending books?
Michiko Aoyama’s What You’re Looking for is in the Library, that slightly deviates its premise from a bookshop to a library, also a haven for book lovers, brings together the stories of five individuals, none of whom are readers. Their somewhat directionless outlook towards life is nonchalantly guided by an enigmatic librarian, a certain Ms Sayuri Komachi, who intuitively recommends them a book from the community library, which proves to be instrumental in changing their lives for the better.
The book feels like a warm hug and it’s heartening to witness non-readers finding purpose after reading a book they were meant to be reading – there’s Tomoka, a twenty-one-year-old sales assistant who knows she wants to pick up a new skill but doesn’t know which one; Hiroya, a young manga artist who is uninspired to pursue his gifted talent; Natsumi, former magazine editor who, after her maternity leave is hopeful to get back to her job,; Masao, a 65-year-old man dealing with the monotony of retired life; and Ryo, a middle-aged accountant who secretly harbours the passion to open an antique store someday.
Interestingly, the Japanese also have various bookish terms for similar references – ‘Tachiyomi Suru’ (to browse or read while standing, often used in the context of reading in a bookstore), ‘Heiki Dokusho’ (to read multiple books at a time), ‘Tsundoku’ (buying more books than actually reading them), and ‘Kikobonkyo’ (a person who collects rare and antique books) – all applicable to Yagisawa, Hanada and Aoyama’s books about books.
The back cover of Hanada’s The Bookshop Woman claims that the book was “an unexpected cult bestseller in Japan”. Inspired by her own life, Hanada writes about how, after separating from her husband, she stumbles upon a dating site where she meets people of all kinds and starts giving them personalised book recommendations. It’s an unassuming, simple story about a woman trying to figure things out and doing what she does best – recommend books. And perhaps books aren’t supposed to be as complicated as people tout them to be, because this very story resonated with readers so much so that royalties from the book sales (a total of 60,000 copies in Japan) allowed Hanada to open her own bookstore—Kani Books—in Tokyo, a dream that many of us hope to live.
When it comes to books, it’s simple – either you’re a reader or you’re not. The preference of language or genre might differ, but once you’ve picked up a book, finished it and moved on to reading another one, much like Takako in Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, you’ve earned the coveted tag. The sentiment of walking into a bookstore bursting with paperbacks and hardcovers, packed tightly on well-organized bookshelves, or simple strewn about on table tops, is one that only booklovers will relate to.
In words people find solace, and in stories, healing, because reading is a lot like meditation. One that comes with no strings attached; an escape, a good one, from the lived experiences that tie you down, a reassurance that you have a book to turn to.
(This review was originally published in the 10 Aug 2024 edition of Mint Lounge under the title Exploring Japan’s books about books phenomenon)