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.’
From the report of 𐄍, Senior Lieutenant of the Secret Service, responsible for the operation of detention
There was no difficulty in identifying the subject among the passengers disembarked from the Athenian ship, for he was considerably older than his companions. His behaviour also differed from that of the rest of the party. If the younger men and women were showing signs of anxiety and fear, the subject was smiling, joking and even trying to flirt with Her Majesty and the princesses who were all present at the farewell dinner.
The following morning, before entering the Maze, the subject bribed the guard to let him smuggle a bladed weapon*. As the guard immediately informed his superiors, the agents were keeping an eye on the subject at all times ready to disarm him. At the same time, they were under strict orders not to harm him in any way.
Once in the Maze, the subject deployed a so-called “thread”, likely as a tracking device. The analysis has shown that the thread was identical to those on sale in the Ariadne Wools shop, one of the tourist traps of Amnisos. The thread had snapped approximately half-way to the central chamber which could be explained by the poor quality of the wool. This occurrence, when discovered, caused the subject to panic and run back towards the entrance; in reality, by repeatedly taking wrong turns, he was moving in the opposite direction.
The subject was apprehended in the central chamber of the facility where a group of operatives, myself included, were waiting for him. The subject was interrogated in situ whereby he grew agitated and aggressive. He did not provide any meaningful answer to the interviewer’s questions, instead interrupting this latter with questions of his own. After asking repeatedly where he could find “the monitor”, the subject was shown a mirror. The subject remained in a state of shock for several hours, until the Emergency Physician arrived (the Patient Visit Report is attached).
*
The cash obtained thus was fully accounted for and transferred to the Treasury, as is the standard practice for funds raised through controlled bribery activity.
I went to see the closing screening of this year’s Ibértigo, expecting to see a bit of comedy. Well Wikipedia says “dystopian black comedy-drama”, surely it must have some comedy in it?
Not really. There was not a single moment that made me laugh. So it doesn’t count.
Even so, Zafari was well worth watching. The film’s setting — the apartment block, its swimming pool and a neighboouring zoo — is a microcosm of an unnamed Latin American country clearly inspired by the director’s motherland, Venezuela. Things ain’t going well and the arrival of Zafari the hippo doesn’t help... Prepare to be disturbed, but — the only spoiler I’ll give you — there is a glimpse of hope, if not exactly an happy end, for the protagonist. Starring Daniela Ramírez, Francisco Denis and Samantha Castillo.
I read the programme of this year’s Ibértigo and decided to watch the two films whose one-line summaries sounded least depressing. I think I made the right choice.
Devenir Rosa
a film by Valeri Hernani
A Peruvian short is a poignant dialogue between generations, that of Valeri and her grandmother Rosa.
Not much happens in this documentary set in Laredo, Texas (not to be confused with real Laredo), and thank goodness for that. Two teenage friends enjoy “doing nothing together”, they know it’s not gonna last, and it’s beautiful.
These youngsters were the crème de la crème of the new generation of Athenians. Not only rich but well educated, excelling in sports and arts and, let’s admit it, good-looking. Yet it seemed that, by sheepishly accepting their destiny, all of them lost the will to fight. Throughout the journey, the mood on the ship was positively funereal. I tried to cheer them up, but to no avail. On top of that, I heard words like “jerk” and “nuts” behind my back. What a bunch of losers.
After a few days in this disagreeable company, I was almost happy when we landed at Amnisos. In the port, we were met by a group of local dignitaries and a unit of royal guards. After a short welcome speech by one of the former, we were escorted directly to the royal palace. There we were in for a pleasant surprise. Yet another welcome speech — this time, by His Majesty the King himself — was followed by a sumptuous meal. Last supper, they called it jokingly. I, for one, didn’t get the joke.
One thing that irritated me in the beginning was that they sat down the boys, including me, separately from girls. The reason for that became clear when I realised that watching over the girls were two attractive female guards. Nice touch. The King was somewhat grumpy — as if the whole sacrifice thing was not his idea — and excused himself early, just after starters. As a consequence, the atmosphere in the banquet hall had visibly improved. The princesses were charming and chatty. One of them, who looked and behaved fairly different from her sisters, approached the boys’ table. She found friendly words for everyone and then, without hesitation, asked me to follow her. I took it as an order and gladly obliged.
To my disappointment, we didn’t go very far, just to the corner farthest from the tables. The princess and I had a brief conversation, of which later. Then she gave me a quick hug, a rather perfunctory one I thought, and urged me to return to my companions. Which I fully intended to do but was intercepted halfway by Her Majesty the Queen. Surprise surprise, she also wanted to talk to me.
I have to say that the women’s fashion here is extraordinary. In particular, the Queen’s attire as she wore that evening would make most Athenians blush. That includes me.
She led me to another corner and then, through a stoa, or a gallery, or a portico — one of those things there, I never remember which is which — to a small, tastefully decorated room.
Her Majesty told me, in so many words, to stay away from the princesses because there is no future in this sort of relationship. On the other hand, she added, if there is any interest at all in intelligent after-dinner conversations and possibly more, she could clear her schedule up to early hours of tomorrow.
“Alas, my friend, I can’t offer you much, apart from a night that you’ll remember till the end of your days.”
That’s what she said.
Call me picky but, in the light of my imminent slaughter, I wasn’t particularly taken by the offer. I mumbled something along the lines of me being tired after the sea trip and that I have to get up early, thanked her for the honour and rushed back to the dining room.
While I was away, the ambience had changed once again. The boys at my table, probably affected by wine consumption, perked up and were engaged in a lively discussion. Meanwhile, the girls were singing. I noticed one of the princesses at their table joining in the chorus. On the contrary, I was overcome by anxiety. I couldn’t wait for the dinner to end. The Queen returned to her place and from time to time was making fleeting eye contact with me, all the while adjusting her décolleté, but I was too distracted even to acknowledge the royal glances. Now I understand how rude it was of me.
My mind was flying back to the conversation with the princess. She asked some pretty neutral, I’d say innocent, questions such as “How was the sea journey?” or “Did you like the main course?”. Thank gods she didn’t inquire about my family. I had a distinct impression that all this chit-chat was for somebody else’s ears. And then, as she was hugging me, she discreetly slipped something soft in my belt pouch and whispered: “It’s your fate”.
The banquet was over shortly after midnight. I dreaded that we’ll have to sleep in some godawful shared dormitory, like we did on the ship. It was a relief when they brought me to my sleeping quarters, in a separate wing of the palace. At last, a private bedroom, even though for one night only and with an armed guard outside.
When I was completely sure of my privacy, I inspected the contents of my pouch. It included a ball of shiny silky thread (what the underground?) and a small papyrus scroll. A message! As I was scrolling (pun intended) through it, my heart started to beat with joy. The letter contained instructions how to reach the centre of the Maze and get back — with the help of the thread. Her plan was as genius as it was simple, why didn’t I think of it myself? I was kind of planning to use breadcrumbs for the same purpose, except I forgot to do anything about it, like to save a roll or two at the dinner. The thread is so much more reliable — and tidier.
The letter concluded with the line:
Good luck, xoxo Ari
Gods, so that was her name! During our short rendez-vous, she didn’t introduce herself, and why should she? Neither did the Queen. Nor did I, for that matter.
So I take it that Ari wants me to succeed and get back from my mission. Maybe we have a future after all? Good thing I didn’t hang after dinner with her nymphomaniac mother.
I was so excited with new hope, I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was wrong.
I was woken to a gentle but persistent knocking on the door.
“Who’s there?” I shouted, momentarily forgetting that I was not in my home.
The guard half-opened the door.
“Would you care for some breakfast, sir?”
“Pardon me?”
“The thing is, you were randomly selected to be the first of your party to enter the Maze. By tradition, the person about to be sacrificed is given a choice: room service or to join their companions in the canteen for buffet.”
“Er... Give me a moment. Too much information to digest.”
Somehow the first part of the guard’s message was what I was foreseeing all along; I didn’t believe for a moment my selection was random but hey, it could play into my hands.
“Of course, sir. I hope it doesn’t take too long though. The kitchen is not open all morning, you know. Give me a shout when you are ready.”
With these words, he tossed me a papyrus scroll and closed the door behind him. Another letter? My heart began to pound again. With hands shaking, I unwound the scroll.
“Dear sacrificee #1”, it read (the number ‘1’ had been written in by a different hand). “We hope you enjoyed your stay at the Royal Palace. Your opinion matters to us. We would be grateful if you could provide feedback on your guest experience by completing the anonymous questionnaire (attached). Thank you for your visit, and we wish you every success for the future, whether or not —”
Furious, I crumpled the papyrus up and hurled it in the corner of the bedroom.
“Room service!” I yelled.
“Minoan or continental?” readily asked the guard from behind the door.
“Bring them both.”
We went to see this film thanks to Timur. I never thought I would emphatise with any character played by Leonardo DiCaprio, ever. I’m glad I was wrong. In the role of a stoner ex-revolutionary, DiCaprio is simply great. So it Benicio del Toro as sensei St. Carlos. And Sean Penn makes a very convincing villain. But the best thing about One Battle After Another is its comedy side. The names like Chicken Licken Frozen Food Farm, Sisters of the Brave Beaver, Chupacabra Hills and Christmas Adventurers Club made my day.
Loosely based on the 1990 novel Vineland by Thomas Pynchon, the film is unmistakeably about now. Like, right now. I write this as millions of Americans take to the streets in “No Kings” rallies. My inner pessimist says, too little, too late. My inner optimist says, maybe not all is lost. ¡Viva la revolución!
This animation tells the stories of Valeria, Tanit and Shaila, three migrant women from different parts of the world. A Spanish-Panamanian co-production, directed by the Canarian David Baute and featuring the original song by Rubén Blades.
