Of the three books I received for review from Peter Owen Publishers last year, there was one that I immediately earmarked for reading during January in Japan. Shusaku Endo is fast becoming one of my favourite J-Lit writers, and having heard good things about today's book, I was sure it wouldn't disappoint. Luckily enough, this was Endo at his explosive (!) best...
*****
Volcano (translated by Richard A. Schuchert) introduces us to Junpei Suda, an old man about to retire from his position as section chief at a Kyushu weather observatory. The town he lives in is overlooked by the (fictional) volcano Akadake, and ever since arriving in the town fifteen years earlier, Suda has been obsessed by the mountain which, literally and metaphorically, casts a shadow over his life.
Asked by a local councillor and businessman to give assurances that the volcano is unlikely to erupt again (and thus endanger a hotel project he is planning), Suda is able to trot out the results of his (pseudo-scientific) research. Comparing himself to Akadake, he believes that they are both moving closer and closer towards death. However, what if the research he has poured his heart into turns out to be wrong?
You'd be forgiven for thinking that this is the set-up for a Hollywood disaster movie, but that is most certainly not the case. This is J-Lit, and the volcano is not here to destroy the city but to act as a symbolic backdrop to Suda's story. The words of the professor whose research Suda is attempting to carry on compare the volcano's actions to human life:
"What a mount of heartache it is. A volcano resembles human life. In youth it gives rein to passions, and burns with fire. It spurts out lava. But when it grows old, it assumes the burden of those past evil deeds, and it turns quiet as a grave. You younger man can hardly fathom the pathos of this mountain."
p.27 (Peter Owen, 2012)
Suda swallows the professor's opinions whole - which makes it even more upsetting when the volcano shows unexpected signs of life in its old age...
This side of the story, one in which the ailing old man, loathed by his family and quickly forgotten by his colleagues, has to face up to his life's shortcomings, would be interesting enough. However, this strand is contrasted with another story, one in which Durand, an apostate Catholic priest, begins to meddle in the affairs of his former parish. The new priest attempts to treat the Frenchman with respect, but Durand has no interest in fitting in. Having lost his faith in the work he was sent to do in Japan, he intends to spend his final few hours proving that there is no point in spreading Christianity among people who are unable to understand it. As he says to the shocked priest:
"...it's because there isn't a single one of them that pays any attention to that enigma in the Japanese heart which makes their work completely sterile."
"Give me an example, Durand San. What are you talking about?"
"For example...," Durand grinned again. "For example, among the Japanese people there seems to be absolutely no concept of sin." (p.44)
Durand's views on sin and shame lead him to tempt a member of the congregation into behaving improperly. After all, if you don't really feel guilty, where's the harm...
Suda and Durand end up in neighbouring rooms in a hospital, and there are many things which connect them. Both are on their last legs; both are facing massive disappointment after the failure of their life's work; both are a burden on (and an embarrassment to) the people closest to them. There is one major difference though - Durand would like nothing more than to see Akadake wipe the city off the face of the earth...
Volcano isn't overly long (only about 180 pages), but it packs a lot of ideas and imagery into its story. Akadake looms over the town and the novel, but we don't really need to know whether it is going to erupt or not. It represents everything that affects our lives, the ideas we are unable to escape from, despite living the fantasy of a 'free' existence. Suda, typically, attempts to ignore the signs he sees on his trips to the mountain, just as he deliberately ignores the growing coldness of his wife and children. Durand though attempts to fight against his 'volcano' with his petty attempts at corruption.
All in all, this is another success from a wonderful writer. Combining the Christian elements of Silence with the more contemporary setting of When I Whistle, Volcano shows that Endo rarely fails to deliver with his novels. I'd certainly recommend this one, and I'm already thinking about which of his I can get next. Any suggestions will be gratefully received :)
A while back, when Peter Owen Publishers offered to send me a couple of Shusaku Endo novels to review, they also asked if I would be interested in a third Japanese book by a different writer, one on the topic of mountain climbing. I was happy to have a look, so I accepted, and the book duly appeared a few weeks later. However, it appears that I wasn't paying attention during the e-mail exchange as what I thought was a work of non-fiction was actually a novel - which was even better :)
*****
Wahei Tatematsu's Frozen Dreams (translated by Philip Gabriel) is based on a true story but is very much a work of fiction. It takes place in the mountains of the northernmost of Japan's four main islands, Hokkaido, and concerns a mountaineering expedition which goes horribly wrong. Noboru, a final-year university student, is leading a six-strong team on an ascent of one the island's highest peaks. After a few days of hard toil in sub-zero temperatures, the group digs out a snow cave to spend the night in, before recommencing their assault on the mountain the next day. Unfortunately though, the mountain has other ideas - the assault (in the form of an avalanche) is on the climbers instead.
When Noboru wakes up, he finds himself trapped, tired and frozen in a little pocket of air. Unable to move, he alternates between sweet dreams and painful consciousness - and in his dreams, he sees a future in which the avalanche is just a distant memory. Having come close to Yuko, the only woman in the group, the delirious Noboru's imagination runs away with him, and he envisions a future in which he and Yuko return to the mountain, this time under a blazing sun. Whether it will ever come true or not remains to be seen...
Frozen Dreams is an excellent glimpse into a world the majority of us will never see, the beauty and danger of mountains in the snow. The great strength of the book is the insight into Noboru's world, a world I am more than happy to experience through Tatematsu's descriptive prose. The writer takes us into the climbers' world, showing us how they clear the snow, dig out a snow cave, and cook in spartan conditions. As Noboru and his group walk in the glistening snow, breathing in the crisp, clean air and gazing out over the Hokkaido landscape, it almost makes you envious. Almost.
The climbers are well aware of the dangers they face, and in a way, this is part of the thrill. As Noboru muses:
"But what point would there be to a climb without risk? Even if you don't seek out danger, trying to avoid it entirely would make climbing impossible. The more he pursued these thoughts, the more he arrived at one question: Why did one climb mountains? It was a question nobody could answer."
p.126 (Peter Owen Publishers, 2012)
Part of the enjoyment of tackling the peaks in treacherous conditions is the knowledge that it is a gamble. There is a lot to gain from the risk, but so much you could lose.
Naturally, Noboru's opinions are slightly altered by his experiences in the snow cave. His dreams of a happy, married future are a far cry from his earlier feelings.
"Happiness meant monotony. The same days one after another, time peacefully passing by, disappearing as soon as it passed. Noboru knew he was living an ordinary life now and was happy." p.137
Unfortunately, this ordinary, happy life is all in his head...
While there's a lot to like about Frozen Dreams, it does have some drawbacks. Despite the high profile of the translator, Murakami-renderer Philip Gabriel, there were some parts of the book which didn't impress me much. The description of the Hokkaido landscape was beautiful, but some of the more mundane prose felt a little clunky (to use a technical term!).
I'd also have to say that the inclusion of Yuko in the group, and the resultant sexual tension with another of the climbers, seems a little forced and unnecessary. In Noboru's series of dreams, his hopes become fantasy, culminating in some short, but slightly over-detailed, sex scenes which are completely out of place. It's as if the writer felt a need to add another dimension to the story, one which detracts a little from Noboru's struggle for survival.
Away from bedroom matters though, it's an enjoyable read, contrasting descriptive passages of natural beauty with pages spent with Noboru in his claustrophobic bubble. As his energy slowly dwindles (along with the batteries in his head-lamp), he is forced to face up to the worst - he (and his companions) might not make it back down the mountain alive. And this is the motto of the story, repeated several times in its pages:
"Whenever you climb a mountain, you have to come back safe and sound. Otherwise it's too sad for those you leave behind." p128
Were it not for the fact that in 2011 (like every year) I cheated by choosing a series, Shusaku Endo's Silence may well have been chosen as my book of the year - which makes it surprising that I still haven't got around to reading the other of his novels lying on my shelves (Deep River). Luckily, the sound of another couple of books dropping through my metaphorical letter box recently (the real one's actually outside...), allowed me to renew my relationship with this Japanese writer, as Peter Owen Publishers were kind enough to send me copies of a couple of recently reissued novels. While I wasn't expecting them to measure up to Silence, I was very keen to see what else Endo was capable of...
*****
When I Whistle (translated by Van C. Gessel) introduces us to Ozu, a typical middle-aged salaryman on a business trip to the Kansai region of Japan. This return to his childhood home evokes a feeling of nostalgia for the past, and he begins to relive certain pivotal experiences from his high-school days. Anyone who is immediately reminded of the start of Haruki Murakami's novel Norwegian Wood is in very good company (i.e. me); however, where Murakami's book is a story which lives entirely in the past, Endo's novel is a two-track tale.
One strand follows Ozu down memory lane, describing his life after the arrival of a new student at his school, the enigmatic (and curiously-named) Flatfish. The arrival of his new friend, an easy-going, smelly, oafish boy from the sticks, is a memorable event in Ozu's youth, not least because it leads to an encounter with a high-school girl, Aiko Azuma, with whom the two boys are doomed to be obsessed.
The other takes place in the present, about 30 years later, and is focused on Ozu's son Eiichi, a doctor at a Tokyo hospital. Greedy, self-centred, and ruthlessly ambitious, Eiichi blames his underachieving father for his lack of progress in the highly nepotistic hospital environment. To make up for his social shortcomings, he is prepared to sacrifice any morals he may have, ready to prescribe useless medicine and experiment on dying patients - which is when a certain Aiko Nakagawa is admitted to his hospital...
When I Whistle is an excellent novel, switching between the two stories to examine the differences in Japanese life in the 1940s and the 1970s. We get to look back at what was and what might have been - before being shown what actually eventuated. There is an overwhelming sense of a loss of a simpler way of life, one which may have been less comfortable, but perhaps more ethically right.
While Ozu is a decent, helpful soul, his son is, simply put, a nasty piece of work. To say that he has dubious morals would be flattering him to the extreme. In his quest to "make it" (whatever that may mean), he is prepared to keep quiet when necessary and betray colleagues when it will advance his career. In a typical conversation with a patient, Eiichi shows how immune he has become to his way of life:
"Doctor, will I have to have surgery?"
"That's the reason you were hospitalized, isn't it?"
"If the surgery is successful, will I be able to work the way I used to?"
"Of course. You can play golf and do anything you want."
Eiichi had got used to lying to cancer patients. Lying to them was part of a doctor's job.
p.56 (Peter Owen, 2012)
Ozu's son is contrasted with another doctor, Tahara, who stands up to his bosses and is promptly sent packing to the provinces. However, what would have been a fatal blow for Eiichi is actually a Godsend for his colleague. The time away from Tokyo allows him to appreciate the freedom to work for his patients rather than himself - something Eiichi could never understand.
One of the more interesting aspects for me of this novel was the treatment of the war experience, something I haven't read too much about in Japanese literature. Of course, it is seen from a very different, Asian perspective:
"The war spread to Europe the year Ozu and Flatfish entered their fourth year at the school. Hostilities were no longer limited to the struggle between Japan and China." p.62
A statement which would probably bewilder those Europeans who assumed that the war started over in Poland!
Endo uses the earlier side of the story to set the scene of the war years: the hysterical patriotism of the early years, the constant drilling students had to go through each week, the going-away parties for new recruits... Once the tide of the war turns though, we can also see the effects of the lengthy conflict, with food and clothes shortages. Ironically, in the later half of the story, the children of the survivors seem unappreciative, to say the least, and are sick of hearing the old people talk about the war all the time...
What also comes through again and again in When I Whistle is the corruption of the powerful and the consequences of the Japanese tendency to blindly follow authority. Officers beat new recruits half to death, and nobody bats an eyelid. Surgeons prescribe useless drugs because of links to pharmaceutical companies, and the doctors nod and scurry off. Those same doctors lie through their teeth to cancer patients, and the patients treat them like Gods. At times it's all a little depressing.
This is a very different book to Silence, and while it never reaches the heights of Endo's masterpiece, it's still a very good novel. With its setting in a Japan which has moved on from the war, it reminds me a little of Kenzaburo Oe's A Personal Matter, another Japanese novel which doesn't need to emphasise its Japanese-ness (for want of a better word!). However, it is also a trip down memory lane, allowing the reader to reflect on the price of the progress that has been made. As Ozu returns to his old neighbourhood, lamenting the disappearance of his old train line and the beautiful pines surrounding his old school, we share his disappointment. Change is not always for the better...
