46 pages • 1 hour read
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“When Saya sends a text to tell me she has a new boyfriend, I instantly write back: What’s he like? But all she replies is: He’s a doctor. Nothing about looks or personality, or what kind of doctor he is—I mean, he could be any kind, couldn’t he? It’s true I know what she means by doctor. Jobs can be a clue to somebody’s character. A short-cut way of describing them. But only in a limited, stereotyped sort of way. That starts me thinking: what do people think about me based on my job? What does it say about my personality or qualities?”
Tomoka believes that the individual’s job is a reflection of her character. This is why she feels defeated by her work in Eden’s womenswear department: because it isn’t stimulating or rewarding. She fears that if people from home know what she does, they will make judgments about her character and think less of her. For this reason, she longs for new work; she longs to change herself.
“I had an image of Tokyo from the dramas I used to watch on the four limited TV stations that were available to us. Tokyo was the ultimate, the dream city that had everything. If I could only make it there, my life, too, would be as cool and fun as the lives of the actresses I saw on TV. At least that’s what I believed. It was also what drove me to study hard at high school, so I could get into junior college in Tokyo. Once I made it here, however, I realized what a fantasy world I’d been living in.”
Tomoka’s relationship with her surroundings contributes to her negative outlook on life. Tomoka is attached to Tokyo, but the city has failed to measure up to her expectations. Her depression and immobilization are therefore linked to both her job and her environment. This passage foreshadows Tomoka’s later revelation that changing her expectations can change her experience.
“While practicing as instructed, I overhear the conversation between Ms. Gonno and the other students. I get the impression they are regulars: the old guy is building a website about wildflowers, while the girl is setting up an online shop. I feel like such a waster. All the time I’ve been lazing around in my apartment doing nothing, not far away these two have been getting on with stuff—learning things! The more I think about it, the more pathetic it makes me feel.”
Tomoka’s computer class at the Hatori Community House connects her with a new network of people. At the same time, the class makes her realize how disengaged she’s been from her life, and in turn, inspires her to take different steps toward change. In juxtaposing her motivation with an old man’s, she emphasizes her own listlessness by comparing herself to someone who might stereotypically have less motivation as an older adult.
“‘I had no time to eat and my health was shit. I used to rely on nutrition drinks and supplements. Then one day I was looking at them lying all around my desk when I suddenly thought—what am I working for?’ He tosses the last of the rice ball into his mouth. ‘I was working in order to eat, but I never had time to eat because of work—that seemed crazy.’”
Kiriyama’s openness about his life contributes to Tomoka’s gradual evolution. Kiriyama is one of the first people that Tomoka has heard speak about his work and his frustrations in this unbridled way. The paradox he employs here—he works to eat, but his work interferes with his ability to enjoy his food—highlights the alienating nature of modern life in Tokyo.
“It’s time for computer class, so I head for the meeting room. I think that I might be just entering the forest. I still don’t know what I want to do, or what I can do. What I do know is that there’s no need to panic, or do more than I can cope with right now. For the time being, I plan to simply get my life in order and learn some new skills, choosing from what’s available. I’ll prepare myself, like Guri and Gura gathering chestnuts in the forest. Because I never know when I might find my own giant egg.”
Tomoka’s computer classes, friendships, and reading experiences change her outlook on herself and her life. In particular, reading Guri and Gura grants Tomoka clarity. The children’s book becomes a metaphor for her own experience and transforms her perspective. Receiving inspiration from a children’s book rather than a more sophisticated piece of literature highlights that Tomoka’s journey is about getting in touch with her most authentic self.
“Enmokuya was a place where I could forget everything. All the petty worries of daily life, troubles at school, Mom’s nagging, anxieties about my future—no matter how stressed out I felt, all I had to do was open that door to step into another world. It was a place where I could be myself; where I was accepted for who I was. Usually, all I did was look, which I felt bad about, but I did buy a few small things with the limited resources of my pocket money.”
Ryo wants to open his own antique store because he wants to give others what Enmokuya gave him. As a teenager, Enmokuya was a safe and communal space that fueled Ryo’s dreams. He doesn’t want to give up on his goal to open his store because he wants to contribute to society in this meaningful way.
“‘Only ever a dream…’ She tilts her head to one side inquiringly. ‘Is that what you think? That it will only ever be a dream? As long as you continue to say the words ‘one day,’ the dream is not over. Maybe it will simply remain a beautiful dream. It may never come true. But that is one way to live, in my opinion. The days go by more happily when you have something to dream about. It’s not always a bad thing to have a dream, with no plan for ever carrying it out.’”
Sayuri inspires Ryo to think about his dreams differently. Ryo has convinced himself that having an unfulfilled dream is a sign of failure. By challenging this notion, Komachi compels Ryo to change his perspective on his vision and himself.
“Basically, antiques are a hard sell. But simply looking is enough for me, I think to myself, somewhat ironically, as my eyes linger longingly on an old Imari ceramic pot. If I had my own shop, what kind of daily sales average would I need in order to remain profitable? After deductions for rent, utilities, office supplies and so on have been made. And there would be tax to pay as well. Once I begin running through the list in my mind, the only conclusion I can come to is that owning my own shop is a practical impossibility.”
The practical aspects of Ryo’s antique store dream threaten to immobilize him. Ryo wants to be able to open his own shop, but he is afraid that his circumstances preclude this possibility. Like many of the other characters, Ryo feels lost and directionless, because he’s afraid. His anxiety over his dream’s feasibility is reflected in the structure here, his thoughts riddled with sentence fragments and rhetorical questions.
“Humans only see what suits them most, and make that their main focus, but for plants…Both are main. My mind jumps to the article about parallel careers where each job is complementary, neither is secondary. That’s what Yasuhara had said. Plants have work to do above and belowground, and their work in one area complements the other. Maybe it’s the same with having an office job and running a store. Is that what Yasuhara is doing? What if I could do it too? But how do I combine them? That is the question.”
Reading How Do Worms Work? transforms how Ryo has been thinking about his life and his future. He’s convinced himself that he can only have one career path and one dream, but the book helps him understand the importance of balance. Similar to Tomoka’s experience with the children’s book, Ryo’s reading about earthworms emphasizes that his dream is an organic part of himself, not simply a fantasy that’s out of reach.
“When I make a piece of jewelry, I think about the person who might wear or use it. I don’t see their face or anything like that; it’s more that I feel a connection with the unknown person who will own it. So when I’m working on a piece of sea glass and think about it passing through my hands on a long, long journey in time and space to the person it’s meant to be with, well, that just makes me feel super happy.”
Ryo’s girlfriend Hina’s beliefs and dreams complement Ryo’s and encourage him to pursue his desires. In Hina, Ryo has a supportive partner who wants the same things as him. Her words about her business foreshadow her later decision to help Ryo open his shop. Her discussion of sea glass is metaphorical, highlighting the time it can take to create something meaningful and beautiful.
“Two years went by. I often thought about looking for a new position with another magazine. From a practical point of view, however, things at home had not fallen into place as I had hoped. Coordinating responsibilities with my husband, Shuji, was not going smoothly, and I was discovering that where a child was concerned, you never knew what was going to happen. I had far less freedom than I expected and found it difficult to make plans.”
Natsumi’s work and home lives entrap her. Natsumi loves her daughter and is glad to have a job, but neither her work nor her maternal responsibilities are satisfying to her. Furthermore, she feels incapable of changing these circumstances because she lacks clear direction. Her reflections here emphasize the Search for Meaning and Direction, one of the novel’s main themes.
“When I’m finding things hard, just him being there makes me feel so much better. I feel trapped being alone with a toddler who I can’t take my eyes off for a second. Of course I love Futaba—that goes without saying—but that emotion and the suffocating feeling that comes as a result of being closeted up alone with a toddler are two completely different issues.”
Without a community, Natsumi’s entrapment worsens. Natsumi wants to be a good mother but often feels unsupported and overwhelmed. It isn’t until she starts making connections beyond her home and work spheres that her loneliness dissipates and her perspective changes, emphasizing the Importance of Community and Connection.
“Her dazzling youth and those big moist eyes made me quite dizzy. I was moved by her determination. She reminded me of myself, and my own considerable effort to find the perfect job and company when I graduated from college. I had ambitions to work in publishing and create books. I was already a Mila fan when I joined Banyusha and was thrilled, of course, to be assigned to work on it. Five years ago, Mila ran a serialized novel by famous author Mizue Kanata that became a popular hit, and I was the one who had made it happen.”
Natsumi’s connection with Nozomi Morinaga helps her reconnect with her youthful, vibrant self. Remembering who she once was and what she once wanted in turn motivates Natsumi to pursue new things for herself in the future.
“I recognized the dark-orange box next to her as Honeydome cookies made by Kuremiyado, an old established company known for its Western-style confectionery. They’re delicious. A half-moon-shaped cookie with a soft, honey-flavored center. We used to give them to artists who contributed to Mila. The thought of the librarian liking them, too, made me feel a bond with her.”
The Honeydome cookies act as a point of connection between all of the characters, making them a motif. In this scene, Natsumi understands that the cookies are a way for her to bond with the librarian because everyone in the city has a similar relationship with the treat. For her, the cookies connect to her youthful optimism and old professional life, symbolizing the sort of fulfillment she will find at the community center.
“But this is how I see it. While I do believe that it was hard work for my mother to give birth to me, it also took me every ounce of my own strength to endure the extremely difficult process of being born. After all that time inside my mother’s belly growing into a human being with nobody to guide me, all of a sudden I was thrust into an entirely new and strange environment. Imagine what an awful shock it must have been to come in contact with air for the first time, not knowing where I was. Of course I’ve forgotten what that felt like now. But it’s why, whenever I feel happy or glad about something, I count my blessings and think to myself, ‘Now, wasn’t that worth all the effort of being born?’”
Komachi’s thoughts on birth and survival are a subversion of typical birth narratives, which acknowledge the mother’s labor but consider the infant a passive participant. Instead, she emphasized the infant’s role in the birthing process to encourage Natsumi. Natsumi has been feeling alone and defeated, but Komachi’s words remind her that she is strong and capable. Komachi’s words also convey her character’s deep capacity for empathy, which she shows to all of the other characters, too.
“Everything I had learned at Mila—from the production work on the magazine to what I had begun to think about after being transferred—came to my aid in formulating my vision for the next iteration of my future self. Banyusha had provided me with everything that was essential for reaching this point. There was value in all my experience. This appreciation of my own effort and my gratitude to Banyusha gave me a solid base to stand on.”
Over time, Natsumi gains a new perspective on her past life. Changing jobs and discovering a sense of purpose at Maple Publications helps her think about her former work life differently. In retrospect, she finds meaning in her work.
“I began to draw them and became obsessed with illustrating. After high school I went to design school to study it, but couldn’t find a job. There was no place where I could do the kind of illustration work I liked, and I didn’t know how to go about applying for other kinds of jobs. I had nothing going for me except my ability to draw, and if I couldn’t even find a job doing that, then I didn’t know how I could be capable of doing anything else. In the end I never found a proper job, and I never managed to stick with all the part-time ones I tried. So here I am at thirty, still a NEET.”
Hiroya Suda’s lifelong love for drawing is an essential part of his character. Without a clear way to realize his artistic impulses, he feels defeated and immobilized. Over the course of his chapter, he seeks new ways to return to his practice and reactivate his drawing dreams. Like other characters, his journey involves tapping into an intrinsic passion that dates back to childhood.
“In the last year of high school, thirty seemed like centuries away. So old and adult. I thought all my problems would be solved by then. In my final year, I was just happy to be finishing and going off to study illustration. Never again would I have to suffer through gym or math classes, or anything else I was no good at. All I would do from then on was draw. Nothing else. I was also living with the fantasy that my path to a career as an illustrator was already laid out. I will become an illustrator whose name will be remembered in history. I’m pretty sure that’s what I wrote. It makes me cringe to think about it now.”
Hiroya’s negative self-regard is a societal symptom. He feels bad about himself for wanting to be great because, in the narrative present, he’s unemployed and lost. He is ashamed of his dreams because he has yet to exact them and feels worthless as a result. This reflects the reality of social norms in Tokyo, which emphasize professional success. He hasn’t satisfied society’s expectations of him and therefore feels incapable of living up to his expectations of himself.
“Everybody is looking confident and animated. All having a great time. By the age of thirty, things have fallen into place for most people. They’re more or less settled, with jobs and families. Nobody here today is a student anymore. This is a bunch of adults who’ve shed their school uniforms and evolved into something else.”
Turning 30 becomes a negative mantra for Hiroya, a number he repeats to emphasize his difference from others and his unfulfilled dreams. He compares himself to his peers at the school reunion and finds more reason to feel discouraged. He sees himself as lesser than others because he’s disappointed in himself for failing to find the work and create the art that he’s always dreamed of.
“Poof! My vision of myself disintegrates. I’ve been playing the victim, a misfit with unrecognized talent in a society overrun by rapacious corporations. But all along, this is what my ambition had been. I remember Nozomi’s hand stopping me from screwing up the drawing. Her voice telling me she liked my pictures. At the time I thought she was just being polite; I didn’t believe she was speaking truthfully. Because I don’t believe in myself and I don’t believe in other people. I owe my eighteen-year-old self an apology. And it’s not too late.”
Hiroya starts to see himself in a more positive light once he reads his time capsule contribution. The slip of paper helps him to realize that he has no reason to be ashamed and that if he believes in his work, he can succeed.
“I’m grateful for so many things. The chance to work here, a strong and healthy body that allows me to do it, the smiles I get from people who come to the Community House. And my mother. Even when I quit the company, she never ever put any pressure on me, or blamed me. All these years while I was at home doing nothing, she kept encouraging me to get out, indirectly, in a way that was never pushy. I know people would’ve told her she was being too soft on me.”
Working at the Hatori Community House transforms Hiroya’s attitude. The job connects him to a wider network of people while also granting him a sense of meaning and purpose. Having this supportive social sphere in turn transforms how Hiroya sees his other intimate relationships.
“Talking to people had been part of my job as I was in the sales department for many years. Which is why I may have been under the mistaken impression that I had a wide personal network. It was a shock when New Year came after I retired, and I received none of the usual cards or end-of-year gifts. I was shaken to realize that all my relationships had been business ones, and that I had no real friends after all, not even somebody to drink tea with. Over the last six months all trace of my existence at the company will have faded away. Despite my forty-two years there.”
Retiring from his job isolates Masao. Without work, he feels disconnected and irrelevant, symbolized by the lack of gifts and cards from people he thought were his friends. This emphasizes the work-oriented nature of Tokyo and other major cities, where the pressures of people’s jobs and paying their bills make it difficult to maintain relationships. Masao must interrogate the idea that he is nobody in order to change.
“I don’t really need to go to the trouble of asking anybody for advice. I can find a book for myself, I decide. Then, at that moment, a familiar shade of orange catches my eye. The lid of the box that is facedown near the librarian’s hands has a hexagonal border design based on a beehive, with white acacia flowers in the center. I would know that design anywhere. It’s a Honeydome cookie box, from Kuremiyado, the company where I worked for so many years. I notice it contains needles and scissors, though, not cookies. She must be using the empty box for her sewing tools. I lean further forward to get a better look.”
The Honeydome cookie box recurs as a motif here, creating a moment of connection for Masao. His visit to the Hatori Community House library helps him to understand his own self-worth and cultural relevance. Initially, Masao feels resistant to being at the library or making connections. Once he sees the cookie box, however, his perspective changes, and he understands himself as a larger social network.
“‘If that’s how you think of it, then I have to say I’ve never sold a book that I wrote myself. But if I can sell a book that I think is good, then I’m happy. That’s why I’m really into the POP displays. Because the books I recommend feel a little bit like my own.’ She takes a bit of tempura. ‘It isn’t enough just to have one person writing something. Other people need to be involved. Someone has to put the word out, and someone else is the intermediary with the public. Do you know how many people are involved from the time a manuscript is written until it reaches the reader? I’m proud to be a part of that process.’”
Masao’s daughter Chie’s ideas about books convey the novel’s overarching theme of the Transformative Power of Literature. Like Chie, all of the primary characters discover meaning, clarity, and energy from the books that they read.
“Until now, I have always thought of things in terms of whether or not they could be useful to me in some way. But that may have become my stumbling block. Now I know the importance of the heart being moved, I have a list of things I want to try. Learning to make buckwheat soba noodles, for one, and tour historical sites and do English conversation lessons online, on the computer that Yoriko taught me how to use. I’d even like to try wool felting. And if I happen to see any job vacancy posting that moves me, then I might give that a try too. My plan is to appreciate every new day. And take a wide view of things.”
Masao’s character changes by the end of his chapter. This passage conveys the internal transformations that he has undergone because of his recent experiences. Making friends, having conversations, attending classes, rekindling relationships, and visiting the library are activities that have led him toward this altered outlook.
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