According to Wikipedia, this short novel spawned no less than five sequels. It’s difficult to say why, as the first book is not particularly well-written. The clumsy translation does not help:
‘OK then, here you go,’ Kumi said, and she quickly pulled out two notes from her purse.
Kei took the notes and counted them efficiently. ‘Receiving eleven thousand yen,’ she said, and again she punched the keys of the cash register.
How efficient you have to be to count two banknotes?
But I suspect even the best translation wouldn’t cure the novel of its annoying verbosity. And do we really need to know exactly how its characters are dressed each time they are mentioned? Now if the text was reduced to a twenty-page short story, I most probably would enjoy it. I find the idea of being able to travel to the past knowing that, no matter how hard you try, you couldn’t change it, strangely comforting.
For many years after its initial release, the film was seen only on television in pan-and-scan prints, leading people to believe that DeForest Kelley has a small role near the end of the film. When Fox finally struck a new 35 mm CinemaScope print for a film festival in the 1990s, viewers were surprised to see that Kelley is in the film all the way through; he was just always off to one side and thus had been panned out of the frame.
Ishiguro’s second novel is not a follow-up, but is in a similar vein to A Pale View of Hills. The narrator, a retired painter Ono, could be considered a development of Ogata-San. The title, as I just learned, is based on the literal translation of Ukiyo-e, “picture of the floating world”. Once again, the characters seem to be permanently embarrassed about practically everything.
This childlike aspect of Shintaro has frequently been a source of entertainment for Mrs Kawakami, who has a somewhat wicked side to her. One night recently, for instance, during a rainstorm, Shintaro had come running into the little bar and begun squeezing his cap out over the doormat.
‘Really, Shintaro-san!’ Mrs Kawakami had shouted at him. ‘What terrible manners!’
At this, Shintaro had looked up in great distress, as though indeed he had committed an outrageous offence. He had then begun to apologize profusely, thus leading Mrs Kawakami on further.
‘I’ve never seen such manners, Shintaro-san. You seem to have no respect for me at all.’
‘Now stop this, Obasan,’ I had appealed to her after a while. ‘That’s enough, tell him you’re just joking.’
‘Joking? I’m hardly joking. The height of bad manners.’
And so it had gone on, until Shintaro had become quite pitiful to watch. But then again, on other occasions, Shintaro will be convinced he is being teased when in fact he is being spoken to quite earnestly. There was the time he had put Mrs Kawakami in difficulties by declaring cheerfully of a general who had just been executed as a war criminal: ‘I’ve always admired that man since I was a boy. I wonder what he’s up to now. Retired, no doubt.’
Some new customers had been present that night and had looked at him disapprovingly. When Mrs Kawakami, concerned for her trade, had gone to him and told him quietly of the general’s fate, Shintaro had burst out laughing.
‘Really, Obasan,’ he had said loudly. ‘Some of your jokes are quite extreme.’
Yes, it is. This is the first Spanish edition. The Catalan version, translated by Albert Nolla, also appeared this year. The book, as ポートレイト・イン・ジャズ (Pōtoreito in jazu), was first published in 1997 by Shinchosha and so far hasn’t been translated to English.
Even though the order of the authors on the cover may imply otherwise, the book is not a collection of writings by Murakami illustrated by Wada. Just the opposite: a series of portraits created by Wada to which Murakami provided short essays, with a recommendation of one album, from his vast collection of vinyls. The first edition of the book contained 52 portraits, and the for the second edition the authors added three “bonus tracks”, that is, portraits of Art Pepper, Frank Sinatra and Gil Evans.
What I found surprising is how unsurprising is the selection of the musicians. All featured artists are American, apart from Django Reinhardt, Oscar Peterson and Gil Evans, and then both Peterson and Evans spent most of their lives in the United States. This is not to say that I dislike any one of Wada’s choices. Besides, it’s the music both authors were growing with.
Of course, the same argument could be applied to album recommendations, although in this case they were chosen by Murakami. I was pleased to see there Ella and Louis Again, Full House, The Sidewinder, Waltz for Debby and Maiden Voyage; I completely agree with Murakami that the latter album is indeed the Herbie Hancock best work. I thought so in the 1990s, I still think the same in 2025. But I am puzzled why no original recordings by Tony Bennett, Glenn Miller or Fats Waller were recommended. There seems to be no good explanation apart from that the corresponding tribute albums just happened to be in Murakami’s collection.
As a curiosity, Murakami says that he wrote South of the Border, West of the Sun being convinced that he heard the version of South of the Border by Nat King Cole. In reality, this song was never a part of Cole’s repertoire. One of the albums that Murakami recommends is ¡Olé Tormé! which, indeed, contains South of the Border. I couldn’t find a confirmation that George Gershwin based character of Sportin’ Life on Cab Calloway, but it’s a good story anyway.
I like Murakami’s sense of humour, like, for example, here:
Desconozco cuántos fans de Eddie Condon quedan hoy en día, pero tengo la impresión de que no deben de ser demasiados. <...> Trataba de mimetizarse con la escenografía para no llamar la atención, y por mucho que uno aguzara el oído, no lograba entender qué estaba tocando exactamente a la guitarra.
Or writing about Oscar Peterson:
Su discografía no conoce obras fallidas; toda ella mantiene un nivel considerablemente alto, y, sin embargo, debo confesar que no me entusiasma demasiado, no como para correr a comprar sus discos. Es cierto que en casa tengo más de cincuenta de sus álbumes como solista...
The translation by Juan Francisco González Sánchez is a pleasure to read, albeit I have to say that the use of the words cedé (for CD) and elepé (for LP) irritated me a lot. There is a number of typos, such as Kind of Blues instead of Kind of Blue, and some catalogue numbers are wrong, although those could have come unchecked from the Japanese original. I hope they will be corrected in the future editions.
Soundtrack
Chet Baker: Chet Baker Quartet (Pacific Jazz PJLP-3, 10″) 🔊
Benny Goodman: Benny Goodman Presents Eddie Sauter Arrangements (Columbia CL-523)
A few months ago, I saw it in the bookshop. Maybe it was put on display because it won the 2024 National Prize for Children’s and Young Adult Literature. I leafed through it, read the blurb — about a modern Japanese girl who wants to become an ama — got interested and... asked our library to purchase it. To my great surprise, thay actually did it, and even phoned me when the book arrived.
A “fun fact” I’ve just read in Wikipedia: at the 1959 Cannes Film Festival this film “was excluded from the official selection because of its sensitive subject matter of nuclear bombs and to avoid upsetting the U.S. government”.
Hiroshima, mon amour was screened as part of the cycle Tiempo de memoria, memoria en el tiempo.
Upon finishing Ishiguro’s last novel, I borrowed, as it turned out, his first.
A Pale View of Hills is very different from Klara and the Sun but equally enjoyable. The narrator, Etsuko, moves between “now” (unspecified year) of England and “then” (unspecified year) of post-war Nagasaki. The dialogues in “then” Japan are invariably repetitive and are bound to get on some reader’s nerves. I loved them. They add, dare I say, authenticity. (I have no clue how they talked in post-war Japan but, in general, people repeat themselves all the time.) Etsuko’s conversations with her father-in-law, Ogata-San, are the best.
A little later that morning, Ogata-San emerged from his room dressed in his jacket and tie.
“Are you going out, Father?” I asked.
“I thought I’d just pay a visit to Dr Endo.”
“Dr Endo?”
“Yes, I thought I’d go and see how he was keeping these days.”
“But you’re not going before lunch, are you?”
“I thought I’d better go quite soon,” he said, looking at his watch. “Endo lives a little way outside Nagasaki now. I’ll need to get a train.”
“Well, let me pack you a lunch-box, it won’t take a minute.”
“Why, thank you, Etsuko. In that case I’ll wait a few minutes. In fact, I was hoping you’d offer to pack me lunch.”
“Then you should have asked,” I said, getting to my feet. “You won’t always get what you want just by hinting like that, Father.”
“But I knew you’d pick me up correctly, Etsuko. I have faith in you.”
I went through to the kitchen, put on some sandals and stepped down to the tiled floor. A few minutes later, the partition slid open and Ogata-San appeared at the doorway. He seated himself at the threshold to watch me working.
“What is that you’re cooking me there?”
“Nothing much. Just left-overs from last night. At such short notice, you don’t deserve any better.”
“And yet you’ll manage to turn it into something quite appetizing, I’m sure. What’s that you’re doing with the egg? That’s not a left-over too, is it?”
“I’m adding an omelette. You’re very fortunate, Father, I’m in such a generous mood.”
“An omelette. You must teach me how to do that. Is it difficult?”
“Extremely difficult. It would be hopeless you trying to learn at this stage.”
A curious 1921 silent film said to be in part based on Gorky’s На дне (The Lower Depths) although I failed to see that part. At 91 minutes, Rojō no Reikon is way too long for the message but it has its lovely and even comic moments.
Many years ago I watched a film by Shōhei Imamura called Warm Water Under a Red Bridge and enjoyed it a lot. It turns out that the movie was based on the title novella, which was the reason I took this book from the library in the first place. I have to say that there are many differences between the film and the original story. That’s only natural but, imprinting and stuff, I prefer the film. Also, the first-person protagonist of Gush (all three novellas are narrated in the first person) is quite annoying.
Night Caravan is the shortest story of the three which would greatly benefit from being even shorter.
My favourite novella is the final one. Piano Wire portrays a family of slobs falling under the influence of a mysterious compulsive declutterrer*. I always suspected there was a sinister side to tidying up; still, the ending comes as a shock.
*
All three novellas were first published in 1992. Imagine that by then Marie Kondo had been decluttering for three years already. 22 years later, she has “kind of given up” on it. Good for her.
I think Princess Mononoke was the first Studio Ghibli film I saw, yet somehow it never became my favourite. Rather the opposite. Still, I endured it quite a few times when the kids were little. Yesterday, we sat down to revisit it.
It’s amazing how much I’ve forgotten in, um, fifteen years or so. I definitely enjoyed the movie now, yucky stuff notwithstanding, maybe because we watched it (for the first time!) in original Japanese, maybe just a nostalgia effect. There are many parallels with Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind. Lady Eboshi, of course, is a mediaeval version of Princess Kushana, as San (aka princess Mononoke) is a (p)reincarnation of Nausicaä. Kodama the tree spirits are almost unbearably cute; of human characters, the Iron Town women are the most appealing.
Casa de Colón continues to surprise with free entertainment. This week, it hosted the Japanese Cinema Week of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, organised by Asociación de Cine Vértigo. This year’s edition — 21st already! — is called NIKKATSU: El crepúsculo de los dioses. Volumen 1. As the name suggests, the programme featured production by Nikkatsu Corporation, with the obvious intent to present Vol. 2, etc. in the years to come. So I watched four (out of five) films in a hope to learn what “the twilight of the gods” was supposed to mean; I failed on that point.
Never mind that. Geishas, geta, sake (excessive consumption of), samurai, yakuza — whatever Japanese stereotype you can think of, you’ve got it. Apart from karaoke, which is probably saved for the next volumes. I loved it.
Only a short (25 minutes or so) fragment of this silent movie survives, but to me it looks like a self-sufficient story. A Bollywoodesque plot with a happy, under the circumstances, ending.
The film’s refreshing brevity, sadly, was compensated for by a preceding “conference”, in fact an hour-and-a-half-long rambling monologue by a guy who should be banned from talking in public henceforth.
Based on a 19th-century Kabuki play, employing Kabuki aesthetics and Kabuki actors, this 1936 period drama starts slow, then ramps up. Spoiler: expect a lot of dead bodies.
This 1955 romantic comedy is worthy of Molière. Mie Kitahara shines as Setsuko, the youngest of three sisters, who, together with her friend Yasui (Shōji Yasui), schemes to hook up her sister Ayako (Yōko Sugi) with a cute blast-from-the-past boy Amamiya (Kō Mishima). Awww.
In his 12 years with Nikkatsu, Seijun Suzuki directed astounding 40 pictures. Bizarrely, Suzuki’s 1967 hard-boiled masterpiece Branded to Kill prompted the study to fire him claiming that his works made “no sense and no money”.
Quoted as an influence by the likes of John Zorn and Quentin Tarantino, the movie stars Joe Shishido as Hanada, a contract killer who gets high on sniffing boiling rice; Mariko Ogawa as Mami, Hanada’s cute and unfaithful wife with a penchant of running naked around the house; Annu Mari as a femme fatale Misako; and Kōji Nanbara as a mysterious “Number One”. Very cool jazzy score by Naozumi Yamamoto. The version we were shown, like the one of The Moon, is lovingly restored in 4K from the original 35 mm reels — not sure if the projector at Casa de Colón is actually 4K, but still, the quality of the picture was outstanding.
Five years after the devastating 2011 tsunami, a huge seawall is being constructed along the Japanese coast as the survivors struggle to come to grips with the tragedy.
8 March: «Ellas. Mujeres que cantan a mujeres» @ Palacete Rodríguez Quegles, Calle Benito Pérez Galdós, 4, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria
The trio of Magdalena Padilla (vocals), Andrea Baez (piano, guitar) and Gema Barragán (bass guitar, violin). The highlights included Andante, Andante, Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend and Rozalén’s anthem La Puerta Violeta.
11 March: «Bahía» @ Auditorio José Antonio Ramos, Parque Doramas
The amazing Cuban cellist, composer and singer Ana Carla Maza presented her new album Bahía. With Marc Ayza (drums), Luis Guerra (Percussion) and Norman Peplow (piano).
From Baroque music to ragtime, with Marta Bautista (double bass), Carolina Marrero (flute), Gladys Pérez Molina (flute), Paulina Niemczycka (flute) and Abraham Ramos Sanchez (guitar).
Now as a quartet featuring Samantha de León (double bass), Silvia Jiménez Hernández (trumpet, vocals), Amelia Gutiérrez (drums) and Sun-Young Park (piano).
25 March: Happy Piano Day in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, various locations (11:30—22:00)
The fifth edition of Happy Piano Day in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria had about 40 sessions in 10 locations around the city, plus a “mobile point” in a form of city bus (line 17, Auditorio—Teatro). Timur and I went to Parque San Telmo, mostly to see Jose Alberto Medina and Javier Infante. Also, we caught the last bits of performance of Mingo Roque and Luis Moreno; then I stayed after 5 pm to listen to Samuel Labrador.
25 March: «Una noche entre boleros» @ Auditorio José Antonio Ramos, Parque Doramas
Later the same day, I went to Parque Doramas to see this show featuring Mara Pérez, Ángeles Pérez and Dunia Pérez (vocals) and Argelia Quesada (narration), accompanied by Misael Pérez (double bass), Daniel Gil (trumpet), Cristian Hernández (piano), Jorge Soroa (percussion) and Ricardo Yagüe (guitar).
27 March: Takeo Takahashi Quartet «Jazz para Hokusai» @ Paraninfo de La Universidad de Las Palmas, Calle Juan de Quesada, 30
This was the sakuranbo on top of the opening day of the International Week of Japan. The quartet played three compositions inspired by works of Katsushika Hokusai: Sparrows and Wisteria, Ejiri in Suruga Province and Feminine Wave. Featuring Cristóbal Montesdeoca (piano), Tana Santana (double bass), Takeo Takahashi (drums) and Jose Vera Bello (sax, flute).
29 March: Beatriz Alonso Trio @ Palacete Rodríguez Quegles
The last concert of the cycle «Marzo con M de mujer», with Beatriz Alonso (vocals), Javier Cerpa (guitar) and Carlos Meneses (double bass).
31 March: Festival de Artes Marciales & Ceremonia de Té @ Campus del Obelisco, Calle de Pérez del Toro, 1
Closing the International Week of Japan, there was a demonstration of martial arts: judo (Antonio Pérez), karate (Sergio Sanjuán), jujitsu (Martín Suárez), aikido (Víctor Pulido), shorinji kempo (Paco Brito) and ninjitsu (Ricardo Atik), followed by a tea ceremony (María J. Quintana).
...and now it’s almost a heatwave. I hope it won’t get much hotter in April.
Tamara did some research before deciding to watch this film with us. I also was happy that it didn’t turn out to be another Grave of the Fireflies or When the Wind Blows.
Even as the war shows its ugly face, the heroine manages to find beauty and joy in (this corner of) the world. Suzu’s “haute cuisine in the times of severe food rationing” masterclass is astounding.
Another lavishly edited book by Benjamin Lacombe (the illustrator of Carmen, you may recall). The stories, as one might expect, are pretty weird. Only the first one, La gratitud del Samébito (The Gratitude of the Samebito), has something of a happy ending. Juegos de Yōkai (Yōkai Games) is not a story but a brief description of some Edo-period games that use yōkai as characters.
The longest part, Kitsune, taken from Hearn’s 1894 book Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (full text here), is a not particularly coherent collection of myths and anecdotes about foxes, with a rather disheartening conclusion along the lines that the modern (of course, Western) education will eventually rid the Japanese of supersition.
Year by year fewer victims of fox-possession are taken to the hospitals to be treated according to the best scientific methods by Japanese physicians who speak German.
How could he (or anyone) know back then that amabie (アマビエ), a three-legged yōkai that was first mentioned in 1846, would resurface in 2020 as “a new coronavirus countermeasure”?!
Another documentary thanks to Filmoteca Canaria, about amazing life and work of yet another world-famous — and now, thankfully, top-selling — artist I never heard about before: Yayoi Kusama. Highly recommended.
Nagata, a lonely, depressed 28-year-old girl with a bald patch (a consequence of trichotillomania) and arms covered with self-harm scars hires an escort in order to lose her virginity in a love hotel. What could possibly go wrong?
Too many things. Much to her disappointment, Nagata’s adventure turned out to be nothing like in the erotic dōjinshi (apparently, her main source of sex education). And a good thing too, otherwise I doubt that she would create, let alone publish, My Lesbian Experience With Loneliness. But now that she did, the readers around the globe can enjoy her amazing comic. (I, for example, found the Spanish version in the library.) It is funny, heart-warming and honest. I think everybody can relate to it, no matter what is their gender, sexual orientation or level of self-esteem. Nagata does not talk much about her self-harm experience and suicidal thoughts, but they are all there. Last but not least: the author treats sex workers as well as their profession with utmost respect and gratitude.
Yesterday, at 20:15, Timur and I were waiting for a bus to Auditorio. One bus, marked FS (Fuera de servicio, “out of service”) but still packed with mythical creatures, passed by. The no. 17, which we eventually boarded, was late and full of unicorns. I don't know where all of them were heading for none stayed till the last stop. As for us, we went to see ST Fusion. This Japanese-Canarian band had to compete with multiple carnival events in Las Palmas and, next door in the same Auditorio Alfredo Kraus, Pastora Soler. Never mind that: ST Fusion had the audience of true jazz lovers.
In his liner notes for Birds of Fire (not the original LP but a CD that I bought in 1994 and still have with me), Gene Santoro wrote:
Fusion is a dirty word, almost an unword. And this despite the fact that fusion is simpler and more accurately descriptive than some mealy-mouthed coinage like “worldbeat”. But it just goes to show once again (thanks, Mr. Orwell!) how a word can crystallize powerful misperceptions, then flatten and distort our understanding of history and culture. Fusion has become a dirty word because of the 1970s jazz-rock hybrid it got pasted onto, and is practically unusable in any other context.
That was written, I reckon, in the late 1980s. Since then, as Bob Dylan said, things have changed: I heard the word “fusion” applied, with sufficient justification, practically to every kind of modern music, including reggaeton.
So... what kind of fusion is ST Fusion’s fusion? I’d say it’s still firmly rooted in that original MO/RTF/WR jazz-rock fusion, and thank goodness for that! But wait, there’s more to it: classical music, hard rock, MPB, (Japanese) folk, even (Japanese) rap... And?
Ted Gioia said:
“A style which includes everything ceases to be a style — it has become an encyclopedia of techniques.” I am happy to report that, apart from formidable technique(s), ST Fusion has got a style, man, and quite a unique one. I came to listen to instrumental music and did not expect to hear, let alone enjoy, Satomi Morimoto’s soprano singing. Guess what, I really did enjoy it, together with her piano playing and most of the stuff the band were doing. But especially these:
A Japanese folk song (fishing song) with Tomás L-P Cruz swapping bass for shamisen*
Halfway through the second song (its title escapes me now), Miguel Manescau broke a string and continued his solo as if nothing happened
Frozen City: Satomi said that she wrote it thinking of Tokyo, “frozen” referring not to its climate but to the people who are far too busy running to and from their work and, for example, nobody stops to ask “¿Que tal, mi niña?” when you are waiting for the bus. I have a theory that not many people in Tokyo even can say that phrase.
Mary Cagle, aka Cube, is a young American lady who, after graduating from college with a respectable “degree in drawing comics” (her own words!), spent two and a half years teaching English to elementary school students in Kurihara, Japan. Timur became a fan of her comic some time in 2016 and liked it so much that he decided to support the author’s Kickstarter Project. The physical book arrived last summer, but I only finished it last week.
In my humble opinion, US $20.00 (plus P&P) is a bit steep for a “100-page(ish) softcover”. But... without Timur’s patronage, I wouldn’t read this book at all (as I normally don’t read comics online). The paper quality is good. Most of the comic strips are in vertical yonkoma format, but, unlike the “real” manga books, this one is printed Western-style, i.e. “front-to-back” — something to change the next edition maybe? I liked Mary-sensei’s self-deprecating humour and learned a Japanese word or two. Besides, Ms Cagle’s adventures in rural Japan reminded me all too vividly of my own close encounters with young learners in rural Cantabria, and yes, winter sucks. I can’t be objective.
