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davramlocke's Reviews (777)
I have a habit of judging books by their covers in a very literal sense. I have a particular fondness for trade paperback editions with attractive art. I refuse to buy something bent up or with a movie version cover (those are the absolute worst, making me wish to avoid both the book and the movie). The version of Shipwrecks I found at a used bookstore was not pristine, but the artwork is a beautiful Japanese wave, Mount Fuji showing behind it: simple and elegant. I knew nothing of the author at the time, but I’m always on the hunt for new Japanese literature so I bought it.
That colorful artwork, itself perfect and simple, disguises a tale of darkness and suffering that illuminates the hard life of medieval peasants in feudal Japan, their superstitions, and the lengths to which they’ll go merely to survive. The book reminds me most of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which is indicative of its grim nature.
Shipwrecks takes place in an unnamed coastal village somewhere on one of Japan’s islands. It plays home to around 16 families of varying sizes who all live and die by the grace of the sea. They fish, forage along the beach for supplies and food, and occasionally, as the title suggests, scavenge from ships that break open upon the offshore coral reef. The village is a destitute place where citizens often sell themselves into bondage to neighboring towns so that their families can eat. Starvation is a misstep away. Despite the hardship, despite the struggle, no one living in this village would ever choose to live anywhere else.
This loyalty to village fascinates me; the idea of putting roots down so firmly that living anywhere else seems unquestionable. Most young people in our own society want nothing more than to get away from where they’re raised. I’ve lived in the same town for more than a decade, but I still don’t feel rooted there, and I’m usually looking for an excuse to leave. Shipwrecks highlights the villager’s fear of the outside world, the unknown, and that fear keeps them rooted every bit as much as their loyalty. We no longer possess a fear of the unknown. We are entrenched in safety, and knowledge is at the literal tips of our fingers. The villagers in Shipwrecks feel so rooted that they’d rather starve to death than leave, and banishment is the worst punishment one can receive.
The pivotal point of Shipwrecks is a shipwreck, called O-fune-sama by the superstitious villagers, and its occurrence takes on religious significance to the villagers. They perform elaborate rituals and pray to their gods that a ship will founder on the reef nearby. They even take steps to assist a ship’s course to destruction, which becomes one of the main themes of the book. While they see the O-fune-sama as life-giving and god-given, the story’s undercurrent suggests that the gods have little to do with it unless it is to serve up the retribution for their actions.
My discovery of Shipwrecks was happenstance. I’d plucked it off my shelf because it was relatively modern, published in 1982, and one of the few Japanese authors I’d not yet read. It’s proving important to my larger understanding of Japanese culture from an anthropological standpoint. I haven’t yet delved into pre-modern Japanese history yet, but Shipwrecks is a slice of medieval Japan that could prove as enlightening as any textbook. I can in some ways liken it to watching The Wire or reading a Gore Vidal novel. I’ve already seen parallels between Shipwrecks and Mushishi, a mange I've been reading, particularly in their depictions of small Japanese villages where superstition and tradition walk hand in hand.
I wouldn’t recommend Shipwrecks to most readers, even those interested in more popular Japanese literature. It’s not action packed. Yoshimura is a master of time, and in particular the passage of time. The majority of the book is a drawn out description of seasonal changes, with minute details about how to catch fish and make clothes from the bark of linden trees. It’s not a novel for those short of attention span, but it’s literary and beautifully written, and I feel as though the patience of reading it is rewarded. There is a drawn out tension to Shipwrecks that hovers perpetually at the edge of the page, and an undefinable longing that clashes with the villagers sense of place. It’s a novel of simple people who are caught up in something complicated, which is a timeless theme but one that never seems to wear thin.
Original review at - https://goldnotglittering.wordpress.com/2015/11/13/book-review-shipwrecks-by-akira-yoshimura/
That colorful artwork, itself perfect and simple, disguises a tale of darkness and suffering that illuminates the hard life of medieval peasants in feudal Japan, their superstitions, and the lengths to which they’ll go merely to survive. The book reminds me most of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, which is indicative of its grim nature.
Shipwrecks takes place in an unnamed coastal village somewhere on one of Japan’s islands. It plays home to around 16 families of varying sizes who all live and die by the grace of the sea. They fish, forage along the beach for supplies and food, and occasionally, as the title suggests, scavenge from ships that break open upon the offshore coral reef. The village is a destitute place where citizens often sell themselves into bondage to neighboring towns so that their families can eat. Starvation is a misstep away. Despite the hardship, despite the struggle, no one living in this village would ever choose to live anywhere else.
This loyalty to village fascinates me; the idea of putting roots down so firmly that living anywhere else seems unquestionable. Most young people in our own society want nothing more than to get away from where they’re raised. I’ve lived in the same town for more than a decade, but I still don’t feel rooted there, and I’m usually looking for an excuse to leave. Shipwrecks highlights the villager’s fear of the outside world, the unknown, and that fear keeps them rooted every bit as much as their loyalty. We no longer possess a fear of the unknown. We are entrenched in safety, and knowledge is at the literal tips of our fingers. The villagers in Shipwrecks feel so rooted that they’d rather starve to death than leave, and banishment is the worst punishment one can receive.
The pivotal point of Shipwrecks is a shipwreck, called O-fune-sama by the superstitious villagers, and its occurrence takes on religious significance to the villagers. They perform elaborate rituals and pray to their gods that a ship will founder on the reef nearby. They even take steps to assist a ship’s course to destruction, which becomes one of the main themes of the book. While they see the O-fune-sama as life-giving and god-given, the story’s undercurrent suggests that the gods have little to do with it unless it is to serve up the retribution for their actions.
My discovery of Shipwrecks was happenstance. I’d plucked it off my shelf because it was relatively modern, published in 1982, and one of the few Japanese authors I’d not yet read. It’s proving important to my larger understanding of Japanese culture from an anthropological standpoint. I haven’t yet delved into pre-modern Japanese history yet, but Shipwrecks is a slice of medieval Japan that could prove as enlightening as any textbook. I can in some ways liken it to watching The Wire or reading a Gore Vidal novel. I’ve already seen parallels between Shipwrecks and Mushishi, a mange I've been reading, particularly in their depictions of small Japanese villages where superstition and tradition walk hand in hand.
I wouldn’t recommend Shipwrecks to most readers, even those interested in more popular Japanese literature. It’s not action packed. Yoshimura is a master of time, and in particular the passage of time. The majority of the book is a drawn out description of seasonal changes, with minute details about how to catch fish and make clothes from the bark of linden trees. It’s not a novel for those short of attention span, but it’s literary and beautifully written, and I feel as though the patience of reading it is rewarded. There is a drawn out tension to Shipwrecks that hovers perpetually at the edge of the page, and an undefinable longing that clashes with the villagers sense of place. It’s a novel of simple people who are caught up in something complicated, which is a timeless theme but one that never seems to wear thin.
Original review at - https://goldnotglittering.wordpress.com/2015/11/13/book-review-shipwrecks-by-akira-yoshimura/
Precarious Japan is a book published in 2013, not long after Japan’s massive earthquake/tsunami/nuclear meltdown tragedy in March of 2011. It’s a socioeconomic look at modern Japan, where it’s at and potentially where it’s headed. What struck me most while reading through Precarious Japan was how familiar it felt. I live in the United States, a country far larger and more diverse than Japan. What happens in one state hardly affects another. When 9/11 struck or when Katrina swept New Orleans away, I looked on with mournful eyes and a heavy heart, but neither of these tragedies had a great impact on me in everyday life. Japan’s 3/11 shook the entire nation, both literally and figuratively.
Despite these differences in scale, the problems relayed in Precarious Japan are almost identical to those faced in the U.S. Disconnectedness. Capitalistic greed. Loneliness. Loss of purpose. This could well be called Precarious America.
The term precarity is often used in the book, and its definition is multi-faceted. In part, it refers to a state of employment that is not secure; temp and part-time workers, employees without stability or benefits, those dubbed NEET (youth not seeking education, employment, or training), those living below the poverty line, or around it, who simply work to make ends meet week to week. It also refers to a broader sense of instability in the country, here Japan, which already existed before the 3/11 tragedy and exponentially increased after as people’s fear of where the country was headed became ubiquitous.
The term ‘precarious’ resonates with me because I’ve always been part of this precariat, precariat here meaning the group of precarious workers as a whole. I’ve rarely had full-time, well-paid work, and never anything that made me feel stable. I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck since I entered the working world, and while I am to blame for much of my financial situation (I didn’t have to use those credit cards or borrow a bunch of money for my college education), the fact still remains that those making money at the precarious level (including those on welfare), are not living the kind of life that people in a wealthy nation like the U.S. or Japan should. Precarious Japan does not endorse the capitalism dream, by and large because capitalism demands a struggling poor to sustain itself.
The term hikikomori is also used often in Precarious Japan. This term refers to a phenomenon in the country involving young adults shutting themselves away, often in their rooms or apartments, and not associating with anyone. It’s hermit-ism and extremely anti-social behavior, but I don’t think this is a Japanese phenomenon at all. I say this as someone who could have easily been labelled a hikikomori.
There was a period in my 20s, possibly most of my 20s, where I shut myself away, emerging only to work a job and buy groceries (some cases of hikikomori will not emerge even for these necessities, instead relying on family members to provide them with food and other needs). I just wanted to be left alone to play video games and read books. Reading Precarious Japan helped me put some definition to my experience, and helped me see what led to my own isolation.
For me, there was the typical post-college drift that occurs for many in their 20s. I had perpetual part-time work, nothing secure, and I didn’t understand my place in society. This feeling became exaggerated and extreme enough that I pulled away and dismissed everything and everyone. Things like patriotism and community made little sense to me because I’d never seen these words put into any meaningful action. Corporate America looked like a massive cess-pool (and still does), and every political campaign made me marvel at the country’s existence (I still feel mind-boggled when I remember that George W. was allowed to be the President).
This feeling of purposelessness has persisted on a personal level, and I’d still place myself in the precariat, but I have come to accept that I’m not alone and that I am part of something larger. That helps me see beyond myself enough that hiding in my room forever is no longer an option. For many, this outlook doesn’t exist. As precarious as my employment is, I don’t fear becoming homeless. Many in both the U.S. and Japan can not say the same.
Allison uses personal stories to relate much of Japan’s woes, using anecdotal experience to add some emotional impact to the daunting number of statistics she also doles out. Of note was a series of stories she told about Japanese citizens living out of internet cafes, where they rent a private cubicle with a computer, living and sleeping in a six by six box. There were other stories about elderly Japanese being found dead in their homes, neglected and forgotten about sometimes for years at a time. She tells stories about homeless children who live in parks, still managing to attend school and somehow hiding their homelessness from teachers and friends. Stories like this could well be told all over the United States, and it’s not difficult to relate to what the Japanese are going through in the 21st century.
On the whole, Precarious Japan is worth reading if one has any stake or interest in the country of Japan. I found things within it to relate to, clearly, but I think it’s an important book for anyone who cares about social justice or income equality. It’s certainly left-wing, and the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps crowd will find much to argue with, but it intelligently explains how a country could rise to become one of the most affluent nations but find itself victim to a malaise that threatens to destroy it. Allison’s position as a non-native who cares deeply for a country that she seems to have adopted as her own carries weight for those of us who have fallen in love with Japan without ever gracing its shores.
In the same way that I feel hope for the United States, I also feel hope for Japan, as does Allison in her summation of that country’s situation. There are people, particularly within the youth, that are struggling to recapture those feelings of community and connected-ness that are so vital to being human. Japan might seem precarious, but there’s clearly a foundation that is not so easily swept away by strong waves.
Original review at - https://goldnotglittering.wordpress.com/2015/12/04/book-review-precarious-japan-by-anne-allison/
Despite these differences in scale, the problems relayed in Precarious Japan are almost identical to those faced in the U.S. Disconnectedness. Capitalistic greed. Loneliness. Loss of purpose. This could well be called Precarious America.
The term precarity is often used in the book, and its definition is multi-faceted. In part, it refers to a state of employment that is not secure; temp and part-time workers, employees without stability or benefits, those dubbed NEET (youth not seeking education, employment, or training), those living below the poverty line, or around it, who simply work to make ends meet week to week. It also refers to a broader sense of instability in the country, here Japan, which already existed before the 3/11 tragedy and exponentially increased after as people’s fear of where the country was headed became ubiquitous.
The term ‘precarious’ resonates with me because I’ve always been part of this precariat, precariat here meaning the group of precarious workers as a whole. I’ve rarely had full-time, well-paid work, and never anything that made me feel stable. I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck since I entered the working world, and while I am to blame for much of my financial situation (I didn’t have to use those credit cards or borrow a bunch of money for my college education), the fact still remains that those making money at the precarious level (including those on welfare), are not living the kind of life that people in a wealthy nation like the U.S. or Japan should. Precarious Japan does not endorse the capitalism dream, by and large because capitalism demands a struggling poor to sustain itself.
The term hikikomori is also used often in Precarious Japan. This term refers to a phenomenon in the country involving young adults shutting themselves away, often in their rooms or apartments, and not associating with anyone. It’s hermit-ism and extremely anti-social behavior, but I don’t think this is a Japanese phenomenon at all. I say this as someone who could have easily been labelled a hikikomori.
There was a period in my 20s, possibly most of my 20s, where I shut myself away, emerging only to work a job and buy groceries (some cases of hikikomori will not emerge even for these necessities, instead relying on family members to provide them with food and other needs). I just wanted to be left alone to play video games and read books. Reading Precarious Japan helped me put some definition to my experience, and helped me see what led to my own isolation.
For me, there was the typical post-college drift that occurs for many in their 20s. I had perpetual part-time work, nothing secure, and I didn’t understand my place in society. This feeling became exaggerated and extreme enough that I pulled away and dismissed everything and everyone. Things like patriotism and community made little sense to me because I’d never seen these words put into any meaningful action. Corporate America looked like a massive cess-pool (and still does), and every political campaign made me marvel at the country’s existence (I still feel mind-boggled when I remember that George W. was allowed to be the President).
This feeling of purposelessness has persisted on a personal level, and I’d still place myself in the precariat, but I have come to accept that I’m not alone and that I am part of something larger. That helps me see beyond myself enough that hiding in my room forever is no longer an option. For many, this outlook doesn’t exist. As precarious as my employment is, I don’t fear becoming homeless. Many in both the U.S. and Japan can not say the same.
Allison uses personal stories to relate much of Japan’s woes, using anecdotal experience to add some emotional impact to the daunting number of statistics she also doles out. Of note was a series of stories she told about Japanese citizens living out of internet cafes, where they rent a private cubicle with a computer, living and sleeping in a six by six box. There were other stories about elderly Japanese being found dead in their homes, neglected and forgotten about sometimes for years at a time. She tells stories about homeless children who live in parks, still managing to attend school and somehow hiding their homelessness from teachers and friends. Stories like this could well be told all over the United States, and it’s not difficult to relate to what the Japanese are going through in the 21st century.
On the whole, Precarious Japan is worth reading if one has any stake or interest in the country of Japan. I found things within it to relate to, clearly, but I think it’s an important book for anyone who cares about social justice or income equality. It’s certainly left-wing, and the pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps crowd will find much to argue with, but it intelligently explains how a country could rise to become one of the most affluent nations but find itself victim to a malaise that threatens to destroy it. Allison’s position as a non-native who cares deeply for a country that she seems to have adopted as her own carries weight for those of us who have fallen in love with Japan without ever gracing its shores.
In the same way that I feel hope for the United States, I also feel hope for Japan, as does Allison in her summation of that country’s situation. There are people, particularly within the youth, that are struggling to recapture those feelings of community and connected-ness that are so vital to being human. Japan might seem precarious, but there’s clearly a foundation that is not so easily swept away by strong waves.
Original review at - https://goldnotglittering.wordpress.com/2015/12/04/book-review-precarious-japan-by-anne-allison/
