Friday, 22 September 2017

Every 14 Days...(39)


The Melancholy of Resistance (Laszlo Krasznahorkai)

Pressing on to get all of Krasznahorkai's novels polished off within an extended length of time, "The Melancholy of Resistance" is the next on the list. As with his other novels, again he uses the extended passages of punctuation-less text to allow you to get deep into the heads of the protagonists. This style worked best in his "War and War", though "Melancholy..." is more along the lines of "Satantango" in that the chapters switch between different individuals, rather than the story taking place inside the mind of one man alone.

Like "Satantango", a desolate village is the setting. But instead of awaiting the return of its prodigal son, the village in question sees a circus move into town; a circus with the unique selling point of a stuffed, life-size whale. But along with it, the circus sees a ragged bunch arrive in the village, simply laying in wait, following the circus from village to village, leaving chaos in every location they venture to. After some time in the village, the men begin to wreak their havoc, destroying the already destroyed, leaving the locals simply powerless to resist. A village where nothing ever happens, the individuals of focus respond differently to the riotous behaviour: wanting to either hide away; observe it as it happens; or take it an opportunity to seize power within the village.

Written in the late Eighties, this definitely has more in common with "Satantango" than his other works in terms of story and setting, though the revelations towards the end are similar to those of "War and War"; though is perhaps weaker than both, not that this fact makes it a poor book. The men of the riotous mob blindly follow, with havoc leading to yet more havoc, to the point where no one knows as to why they are doing what they do: A juggernaut that cannot be stopped, though nobody knows as to why.

Days to read: 17
Days per book: 15.2


Dogs and Demons (Alex Kerr)

With his first book "Lost Japan", Alex Kerr showed himself to be a man in a love-hate relationship with his adopted home country. But while "Lost Japan" looks at how the things he loves about Japan are  slowly disappearing, his second book "Dogs and Demons", published around nine years later, shows how they are well and truly dead.

Dividing aspects of Japanese society into different chapters, what follows is a tirade against all aspects of modern Japanese living, systems, governance, art, education, landscape; you name it, Kerr will shame it.

Now, I am always a little sceptical of books of this nature; books that are largely designed to criticise can tend to look for statistics that support arguments, leading you to wonder as to the source as well as any possible balanced counterarguments. Lots of numbers are thrown around here, and while I'm sure these have been thoroughly researched, more balance is needed. "Dogs and Demons" becomes far too one-sided in its arguments, making it a little tedious, repetitive and ultimately depressing.

While Kerr's passion of Japanese culture is without question, and his writing this book is aimed as a wake-up call to the Japanese to correct their errors, the good points it makes get lost in a stream of figures and criticism. The book lacks a natural flow to read, piling on extra bits to further the argument and as such could have been shorter to avoid repetition in places.

But what is interesting is that written many years ago now, with its criticisms of destroying landscapes, extensive bureaucracy, wasteful education systems, etc., etc., in criticising Japan for being behind the times, Kerr has unwittingly almost written the blueprint for many nations subsequently. As London chooses to build odd-shaped skyscrapers and tasteless housing, in this sense, Japan was ahead of the times.

The message of this book is clear, and certainly good points are made along the way, with much that needs to be heeded for things to improve. The journey, however, is not always so enjoyable.

Days to read: 22
Days per book: 15.3


The Gate (Natsume Soseki)

Every now and again, I feel "Ooo, I should read some Natsume Soseki." That recently happened again, and choosing between the various (three in total) different editions of "The Gate" that Foyles of Charing Cross Road had to offer, I opted for the cheapest.

Sosuke and wife Oyone rent their lodgings in Tokyo. Here they live a relatively quiet and peaceful life, where little happens and that's the way they intend to keep it. But while little happens on the surface, there are undercurrents of a troubled past, disputes with relatives over finances and Sosuke's younger brother's potential slip into alcoholism, as well as the hanging cloud of their childless marriage.

The couple try and avoid direct confrontation as much as possible, always putting off problems that need to be solved until another time. As such their lives are constantly on edge due to their lack of activity, as tomorrow will always be there.

As ever, Natsume's working of a story about the inner-workings of the human soul and how this affects outer lives is expertly crafted, with some brilliantly written passages that can only suggest that my reading "now and again" should be "very often." Why put things off until tomorrow?!...

Days to read: 17
Days per book: 15.3


Sixty-Nine (Ryu Murakami)

After some heavy and/or politically-charged writings about the human condition, some light relief was called for. "Sixty-Nine" by Ryu Murakami was one such book. Not about oral sex, it is in fact set in the year named after the sex act.

Set in Murakami's hometown of Sasebo about a seventeen year old in '69, there is definitely something of an autobiographical slant to this work. Written from the viewpoint of a thirty-something narrator looking back on his teenage school years, this is a tongue-in-cheek memoir full of self-deprecating humour; with grandiose recalling soon shot-down by the reality.

Murakami's novels can tend to be quite sex-heavy, but despite its name, "Sixty-Nine" has more innocence to it than its antithesis, "Almost Transparent Blue". The latter looks at disaffected youth, in days of hedonism with sex and drugs and rock n roll; whereas the former looks more at the naivety of everyday teenagers. While wanting revolution, the characters' motivations are hollow, purely to get the attention of girls in attempts to lose their virginity; which of course, they do not. There is little referencing to drug taking; and music is a passion of youth, rather than a temporary voice for the disenfranchised.

"Sixty-Nine" isn't what you'd call groundbreaking, but is a nicely written pseudo-memoir that flows easily in the mind.

Days to read: 5
Days per book: 15.2

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