Blues Harp

The intros are among some of the best pieces of cinema Takashi Miike produced around the late-Nineties and Millennium period. The brutal baseball attack to kick-off "Fudoh: The New Generation" and the film within a montage that introduces us to the "Dead or Alive" Trilogy. Coming a year earlier than the latter, 1998's "Blues Harp" also shows a whole condensed into a rock montage, with clips from throughout the film interspersed with Atsushi Okuno's performance on stage to get the octane levels up. Seeing Miike's lower-budget works as forerunners for ideas in his larger-scale pieces, "Blues Harp" is another, more minor, work that would see similar themes explored later on.

Chuji, born in Okinawa to a Japanese prostitute and African-American soldier, is a barman in a dive bar and music venue in the US navy base town of Yokosuka. A low-level drug dealer, he chances upon Kenji, an ambitious young yakuza in the alley behind the bar, saving Kenji from a beating from his rivals. For this, Kenji is eternally grateful, and chooses to lookout for Chuji as much as he can.

But Kenji is also a man out for himself, and wishes to dethrone is family head, using an affair with his wife to give him the opportunity to seize power. Chuji also sees a bright future ahead: his dabbling with a harmonica, encouraged by the house band, gets heard by a talent scout who wants to offer him a record contract, his bosses' approval pending; as well as his girlfriend announcing she is pregnant.

Things come to a head on one fateful Thursday. Yakuza (and their women's) double-crossings rife, Kenji's plans are soon thwarted and the jealousy of his younger "brother" sees him use Chuji's drug dealing past to blackmail him into being the lacky in Kenji's plans, potentially damaging his future music career, and future full stop.

While a violent film, this is not typical Miike: here the violence is more straight, compared to the more extreme and comic cases seen in his other films. At face-value, this is a fairly standard yakuza tale of backstabbing, teaching us to never trust a yakuza. But the character of Chuji, played by Kiroyuki Ikeuchi, adds a little something extra to the film.

Mixed-race, Chuji represents something of a changing face of Japan. Kenji comments that Chuji is an old-fashioned name, but his lifestyle is anything but. A more Westernised, low-level street dealer, he is a far cry from the organised, "business" face of the yakuza. An early incarnation of the slacker staple now frequent in Japanese cinema, as critiqued my Mark Schilling, he lives in an area populated by graffiti, immigrants, back streets and the homeless, and dreams of a career in blues music. Adopting a homeless, black US soldier as a surrogate father figure, he is a lost soul in an industrialised cityscape emerging from the Nineties decline.

Kenji also offers a twist on yakuza meat and drink, with his affection for Chuji more than simply friendship. Catching an early glimpse of his young rear end, Kenji's hidden homosexuality manifests in his looking out for Chuji and aggressive teeth-brushing following each sexual encounter with his boss' wife, showing a touch more subtlety from Miike.

Music is also important to "Blues Harp" with live performances essentially shown in full alongside storylines, with a mix of rock, blues and hip hop on stage at the bar where Chuji works.

But, as an earlier work in Miike's post-V-cinema career, this is a film not without its flaws. The less established cast, incorporating musicians, naturally, doesn't always mean particularly classic acting. Chuji can come across more funny than funky in his live performances, Ikeuchi perhaps overdoing his blues harp miming a little.

But typical of this era, it also sees Miike experimenting throughout, with ideas and themes that would be reprised later in his career in bigger-scale projects. As such, while not a particularly standout work, this is in some ways Miike at his best, and more low-key works such as "Blues Harp" would have been welcomed in a career that has often gone to extremes.

Every 14 Days...(43)

The World Goes On (Laszlo Krasznahorkai)

One thing I know when I pick up a Krasznahorkai book off a shelf is that I'm in for a couple of weeks (I hope) of unrelaxing Tube journeys. A series of shorts - some much shorter than others - this isn't quite in the same vein as "Seiobo There Below".

However, while not being a series of self-contained stories that somehow come together under a theme, there feels a lineage across all of what you read (I've had a beer). All (or at least most of) the stories follow the theme of man hitting a moment of truth; something that may seem insignificant, but can be a huge turning point for the individual. From a man about to set-out on a journey to a Chinese translator waking up hungover in the centre of a network of overpasses, Krasznahorkai digs deep to deliver an in-depth analysis of a single moment.

"The World Goes On", therefore, seems like a collection of extensively rambling haikus, which is probably a huge contradiction in terms, but captures a collection of points in time that could form a single lifetime as man laments, laments and laments. References to his earlier works, notably "The Melancholy of Resistance" crop up from an uncertain lecturer.

Rambling in both sentences and geographical location, as appears Krasznahorkai's life, "The World Goes On" is again a work of obscurity, thought and long sentences...contained largely between Tooting Bec and Goodge Street stations if you're me, where I fail daily to come across any moments of truth...and then I got off the bus (Tube).

Days to read: 14

Days per book: 15.0

The Book of Dave (Will Self)

Will Self appeared a lot on "Have I Got News for You" in yesteryear. Apparently he's written a book. Several in fact. And for a long while I've been trying to bring myself to read one. £2.99 in the Balham Oxfam for 477 pages eventually got me there.

To start, I was mighty confused. "The Book of Dave" is perhaps both an excellent and terrible starting point for Self at the same time. We start in a future, where London is divided by both extensive waters and dialects. It is almost written in "that foreign," and as such, is a rather irritating read to get into to make the 0.63p per page seem justified. But then we get to the second chapter, and things start to become a little clearer.

Taxi driver Dave, left by his wife and son, descends into middle age world-weary and bitter. He pens a rambling book as to his worldview of how families should be structured for his son, but after being committed and having therapy, decides to write it off as drivel. However, unwittingly, the book becomes a holy text of the future; his views on family structures followed to the letter by future generations.

With the splitting between the present and the future, "The Book of Dave" is an inconsistent read: The present the more enjoyable half; with the future more a ramble of nearly incomprehensible words that become a struggle to follow. However, the nature of the book means that this is necessary, not that makes reading these chapters any more enjoyable.

As such, it becomes quite easy to drift in and out of the long read, at times a good social commentary, at others a dull struggle. Whether or not I choose to take the plunge with another Self-penned (haha) book is undecided, but the more surrealist elements of his work may prove something of a barrier.

Days to read: 28

Days per book: 15.1

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4 and The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole (Sue Townsend)

Born in 1983, Adrian Mole is one of those things that I recognise but can't actually recall. For me, Adrian Mole is a book with a tube of toothpaste on the cover and the theme song to the ITV adaptation. But, I don't remember actually having read any of it. Adrian Mole was only ever a teenager (aged 13 3/4 to be exact) in my memory, though I do also seem to remember something about "Dan!" from Alan Partridge.

In fact, Sue Townsend mapped out a whole lifetime for Adrian Mole over a series of books; the image of him as a perennial teenager perhaps coming from 1980's television, though the BBC did adapt one of the later books ("The Cappuccino Years") starring Stephen "Dan!" Mangan. But what of the books? Well, starting with the first two, we see Adrian in the first half of his teens getting to grips with spots, sex and the Falklands War.

Reading them now, aged 34 and several months, the first thing that strikes is the comic timing. Written as diaries with a paragraph or so serving each day, what seems an innocuous comment one day, builds up the laughs for several days in the future. His teenage naivety as the world around him is in chaos, his mundane, self-absorbed obsessions see him unable to detect his mother's affair, his parents' separation, his mother's subsequent pregnancy and dad fathering an illegitimate child.

Throughout, we are not laughing with the young "intellectual", but thoroughly at him, in much the same way many comedians bring out their teenage diaries on stage to recount what massive bellends they once were (and still possibly are). A mother at a young age, Townsend clearly draws on her experiences with her own children, and as such, these are very much books for those a little older than 13 3/4, though can be appreciated by any age.

The early teenage angst is the Adrian Mole I have non-existent nostalgia for. But, will I like the man he will become? Perhaps I'll try volume three, or leave the idiot where (I believe) he belongs.

The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4

Days to read: 6

Days per book: 15.0

The Growing Pains of Adrian Mole

Days to read: 8

Days per book: 15.0

Isle of Dogs

Wes Anderson's "The Grand Budapest Hotel" didn't feature one shot of the Hungarian capital, so it was much to my further annoyance at the director's geographical ignorance that his latest animated feature, "Isle of Dogs", didn't go anywhere near E14. In fact, it's set in a fictional city of the other side of the planet!

Resulting from an age-old family feud, Mayor Kobayashi (voiced by co-writer Kunichi Nomura) of Megasaki, a cat-lover, paints dogs out to be a diseased species and banishes them all to Trash Island; an island as its name suggests. The Mayor's nephew Atari, a dog-lover, seeks his pet dog and bodyguard Spots and flies to Trash Island. The islands new natives do not trust humans and their English is incompatible with Atari's Japanese.

The Mayor angered, he sends in the troops to bring Atari back. Though with a band of newly found "man's best friend" voiced by a list of star names, Atari flees and locates Spots, but finds he has started a new life on the island as its mythical leader. Back in Megasaki, Kobayashi seeks to destroy evidence of dog serums created by dedicated scientists to bring all canines back; to much protest from a group of student activists.

Returning, Atari delivers a rousing speech to shame his uncle, releasing the serum and reviving the dormant dog-lover in the citizens of Megasaki. The end.

One word to describe "Isle of Dogs" is "nice." The animation is well-executed, though you don't feel it anything too innovative; it looks very nice, but is far from delivering anything too dramatic; a nicely put together, extensive ensemble cast creates a lot of draws, though the delivery at times can be a little flat, perhaps due to actors taking on voice acting roles. The film is not greater than the sum of its parts, with the aesthetics giving a feel of style over substance, with no real depth when you wash away the level of trash.

In an interview at Berlinale, the writing team suggested that a dog trash island was the starting point for the film; the Japanese setting coming later. The decision to set the film in Japan seems aesthetic as much as anything. References to the films of Akira Kurosawa are made throughout and acknowledged by Anderson. But it could easily have been set in France.

"Isle of Dogs", therefore, would appear a more Tarantino-style homage piece than cultural appropriation that has caused debate. The incorporation of a Japanese to the writing team gives some additional authenticity in cultural reference points, as well as a Japanese cast delivering Nihon-go, giving a Japanese audience a little something extra.

However, much like last year's "Ghost in the Shell", the intended target audience means that American voices still dominate. The student protest is driven by foreign exchange student Tracy (Greta Gerwig); and while a stylistic choice, simultaneous translators talk over much of the Japanese dialogue. The inconsistency of the direct translation of text versus none for dialogue could perhaps irk some viewers also.

Though, in general, the film feels good-natured and too light-hearted to intentionally create the controversial debate which arose - though this is perhaps an unconscious given in Hollywood in this day and age. In fact, that is perhaps where the film falls short: Perhaps aimed at a younger audience, the storyline is a little too light and breezes through with ease and little in the way of real bite.

August Without Him

Hirata Yutaka, as a public figure in Nineties Japan, probably represented a lot of mainstream Japanese society's fears: an openly gay man diagnosed with AIDS, he would probably not have been welcome in many households; his outspoken nature would have seated a few uncomfortably as well. Probably the sort of challenging character a young documentary maker would relish.

In terms of entertainment, this isn't a documentary to keep you excited. As the title suggests, Kore-eda spends the August looking back at memories of his time with his subject, now that he has gone, though the majority of the film sees Yutaka bedridden, discussing his daily thoughts and opinions as he approaches death.

Though despite his illness, he is able to publish a final book, celebrating it with a beer and able to laugh at the title ("I Want to Live a Little Longer") which he chose to reject, but somehow ironically reflects his feelings. Throughout he maintains a childlike enthusiasm with a charm that keeps the camera engaged. He is still very much a child at heart - though quite understandable in his position - he relies heavily on the support and help of others around him, such as his dutiful flatmates, almost taking a glee from it. Though this again is all part of his charm, with a playful spirit shining through, despite approaching death.

Though this childlike enthusiasm is a double-edged sword, revealing a man who simply can't help himself. Despite being near death and his body sapped of energy, he still calls on call boys to visit him. He also travels to his hometown to visit his father's grave, though avoids visiting his surviving mother; perhaps his outspoken nature causing difficulties within the family.

These points, however, are not fully explored. Instead the focus is still very much on Yutaka's discussions with the camera, which he appears to thoroughly enjoy. The crew simply seem to enjoy spending time with him, noting how they break the fourth wall to help out here and there where they can. This approach was also seen in "Without Memory"; the crew offering to be filmed to help the subject with his loss of memory.

As a documentarian, Kore-eda is an ethnographer, becoming a part of his subjects' lives. This breaking of the fourth wall is perhaps what gives Kore-eda's films a realism; exploring characters in depth, as opposed to more out-and-out storytelling.

Hana vs See You Tomorrow, Everyone

Limited, small community settings are more the focus for television soap operas than cinema, well, more commercial cinema at least. Lacking in action and excitement, two films that look more at the inner workings of the human condition rather than delivering out-and-out entertainment are Kore-eda Hirokazu's 2006 "Hana" and Yoshihiro Nakamura's 2013 "See You Tomorrow, Everyone".

"Hana", Kore-eda's sole dip into the period drama, is set in a small community of early Eighteenth Century row houses. Souzaemon moves into the community as an obvious outsider: a middle-class samurai, he has no place being among society's low reaches. But his reason for being there is to seek out the man who murdered his father: the head of his clan.

Souzaemon, however, is far from his father, clearly as out of place as a sword-carrying samurai as he is in the Edo milieu he finds himself in. Despite having located the murderer, he stays where he is, teaching the neighbourhood children and gradually integrating himself into part of the community, much to the chagrin of his clan back in Matsumoto who demand action for the regular funds supplied to him.

Nakamura's "See You Tomorrow, Everyone", an equally slow-paced film, follows Satoru and his seemingly meaningless life living in a Tokyo project. Since leaving school, Satoru has spent his days doing his patrols, essentially keeping tabs on all the other inhabitants of the artificial community. One-by-one, those close to him move away to start new lives, leaving him alone, unemployed and with little prospect of a life beyond idolising his karate heroes.

Feigning purpose with his daily rounds of his neighbours, his meddling soon upsets those around him and he is forced into making choices: he starts a job at a cake shop within the complex; gets engaged; and befriends a young Brazilian girl with a troubled home life, though again his interfering is unwelcome.

Both are films set in low-income housing, though at different periods in time. "Hana" is set in a peasant dwelling, where people just about scrape enough money together to not pay the rent. These are people seeing little hope of a better life, and so accept the lot of where they are. "See You Tomorrow, Everyone", however, is a modern day equivalent: once seen as the artificial community of the future, it is now becoming a baron wasteland populated by single mums, the elderly and immigrant workers. People only see their future in escaping from it, something which Satoru cannot face-up to.

The two leads are reluctant heroes: their situations both caused by a single violent act. Souzaemon is expected to follow the samurai tradition and seek revenge for the murder of his father, but never a swordsman of any skill, he stands little chance of carrying out his proposed destiny, as well as lacking any will to cause harm to his fellow man.

A social problem in Japan, Satoru imprisoned himself at home in the projects after a school knife attack left him fearful of the outside world. Life has become theory that fails to ever get put into practice until a meeting with a young Brazilian girl who is outcast by her mother's Japanese boyfriend sees him look after their home and stand-up to the bad guy.

Both have a villain to face, but where Satoru finally learns to stand-up to his enemy, Souzaemon makes the decision to befriend his father's killer and build a new path for his life. Both have found themselves in situations in which they were comfortable in life, too comfortable. Souzaemon found it easier to teach local children, living off the funds sent to him - funds for him to enact revenge. He hides from his social status as samurai and suffers from the inner conflict of his desire to be kind-hearted against his clan's expectation that he will fulfil his duty.

Satoru's fears of the outside world keep him trapped in a prison of his own making. Ever since that day at school, he has been unable to step outside his self-imposed boundaries, oblivious to what is actually happening around him, despite believing himself to be the guardian of the complex. The world will move on until he is left behind and alone.

Souzaemon's actions are considered and he is becoming a man - though different from what is expected - who chooses to lead his own life. Satoru, however, is unconscious in his life. His fears have seen him create his own world and his place within it, and while he insists on staying inside it, everyone else has chosen to leave. The act that sees him eventually break free from this world is an unconscious reaction without a moment's thought.

Despite being a different setting for Kore-eda, "Hana" fits his usual slow-paced style, though perhaps with a bit more tomfoolery than usual. "See You Tomorrow, Everyone" is very slow in pace and development, though the timing of revelations are well worked and is a strong point of Nakamura's developing of the story.

But being a period piece, there is a little less social comment at work than one would expect from Kore-eda. "Hana" looks at close community and as the film develops, Souzamon's friends increase in number. This is the opposite for Satoru, however, who can count the numbers reducing by the day. Nakamura comments on the gradual loss of community: the sad result on what was once considered to be the bright, hopeful environment of the future. People only want to move away and escape with little or no real knowledge of those who live around them. Those still there are the ones ignored by society and hidden away.

Perhaps reflecting the difference of the period settings, "Hana" sees Souzaemon find a home, as well as himself; while "See You Tomorrow, Everyone" finds Satoru needing to escape the prison modern society has created.

The Third Murder

"I've only made two so far and I want to try making a wide variety of films. I want to make action films, period films."

(Kore-eda Hirokazu, 1999)

Speaking with Mark Schilling for Premier back in 1999 with only "Maboroshi no Hikari", "After Life" and his documentaries under his belt, it was clear Kore-eda was going down the route of the auteur, though his penchant for the unconventional family drama was still some years to come. Since 2008's seminal "Still Walking", "Air Doll" aside (which is probably where it can stay), his work has seen weak father figures, bickering couples, children fending for themselves and grandparents that know best.

But with 2006's "Hana" Kore-eda's biggest step into new territory so far with a period piece, his latest film "The Third Murder" sees him take on the courtroom drama: a genre typically building suspense to the inevitable plot twist reveal.

Misumi (played by hair connoisseur Koji Yakusho) confesses to the murder of a local factory owner: his former boss. A convicted murderer on two counts in his native Hokkaido, it comes soon after his release form his thirty year sentence, and as such, he is likely to face the death penalty. Up steps Shigemori (taller-than-average Masaharu Fukuyama) and his legal firm to defend Misumi: their sole purpose to reduce his charge from murder and burglary to murder and theft, thus potentially seeing Misumi cheat death.

Misumi, playing the sap, goes along with Shigemori's idea, but the more Shigemori delves, the less it seems a clear, open-and-shut case. "Links" are uncovered between Misumi and his former boss' widow and their daughter, Sakie (our little sister Suzu Hirose) - seemingly the victim of her father's abuse. As such, Shigemori  starts to question the true motives of Misumi, not just as a legal case, but as to the true nature of justice.

With so many lives affected, a selection of narrative options are offered, without giving a firm conclusion as to which was the true course of events, leaving Shigemori questioning his role, as Misumi realises his end goal.

Plot twists in suspense dramas compare to trying to make people jump in horror films: they're a cover for lacking anything truly captivating to say or show. As such, the nature of offering many potential stories could lead to a confused mess of a film, but Kore-eda, while working in a different area, is becoming something of a master at evaluating the human condition, using the contradictory narratives to leave you questioning truth and motive, rather than a simple twist at the end to try and keep you interested.

Social comment as to the justice system is offered throughout, perhaps sometimes a little too plainly, though always aimed at the morality and ethics of an organised justice system. Misumi may have admitted to the murder, but the more he reveals, the less straightforward his guilt becomes. Shigemori - oft referred to as a lawyer who keeps criminals from facing their guilt by family and foe alike - simply deconstructs narrative to fit his case for the defence.

As with "Like Father, Like Son", the lead characters' differences create archetypes to help Kore-eda in making his point. Shigemori, as with Nonomiya, starts from the moral high ground, but soon realises he is the one who needs to ask himself some searching questions. Shigemori and Misumi hold an obvious - and sometimes literal - mirror to each other, with Fukuyama's character again having to be the one to concede, much as Hiroshi Abe finds himself in "Still Walking" and "After the Storm". 

Stylistically, there are perhaps some more mainstream cinema staples put to use, Kore-eda perhaps trying to take himself out of the comfort zone he may have slipped into. Shigemori's dream sequence is somewhat out-of-the-norm, as well as attempts at more poignant visuals to music, in an attempt to create iconic shots. For some this may be seen as a further decline into mainstream cinema, away from the more masterfully understated work of his first two films. However, it could also be perceived as a bridging of a gap, with the film taking the top awards at the Japan Academy Prizes a step in the right direction for Japanese cinema: one of the nation's best working directors getting his just rewards.

A legal drama, "The Third Murder" doesn't necessarily rely on the suspense of a thriller, but still keeps you watching as to what transpires before you. Despite some differences, this is very much a Kore-eda film: Shigemori, Misumi and Misumi's victim all play the role of weak father figures, with Shigemori's father the grandfather with greater knowledge. No easy solutions are offered, with greater happiness found away from one's initial objectives.

The "face-to-face" scene between Shigemori and Misumi towards the film's end offers some of the iconic shots perhaps aimed for, with Yakusho cementing himself as one of Japan's all-time great actors, deserving of his Best Supporting Actor gong at the Japan Academy Prizes. What starts off as a seemingly bumbling, forgetful and absent-minded fool, develops into a character of many layers. The truth is that Misumi wants to control people. By changing his story, resulting in the outcome Shigemori fought against, Misumi, the murderer, certainly held power over the lives of others.

Every 14 Days...(42)

In the Mood for Love (Tony Rayns)

Released in 2000, Wong Kar-wai's "In the Mood for Love" is possibly the last great film. Rayns, a translator, discusser and faller-outer with Wong, writes a two-part look at what is also probably Wong's last good film.

The first part is a scene-by-scene description of much, if not all of the film, making you recall just how housewife's choice Tony Leung Chiu-wai dabs his mustard, I think. Even for someone like me who has watched the film many times, a better person detailing the film in this way does add some new perspectives on things.

The second half places the film in the context of Wong's wider work and what was happening in the build-up to its filming and release, including photo shoots of films never made, offering yet more insights galore.

Obviously, this is one for the film-nerd / loyal Wong fan, but perhaps is more important looking at a film that sees a turning point in cinema and how the Twenty-first Century is lagging well behind the Twentieth in delivering a level of quality in film.

Days to read: 4

Days per book: 15.1

How Not to be a Boy (Robert Webb)

It's pretty much obligatory now for a comedian to write a book, often about themselves. But with this the case, it does require one to do a little bit more than just write a self-indulgent drinking anecdote.

Possibly - if you're cynical, like me - Robert Webb chooses to build on recent social media trending around gender and whether it's nature or nurture and all that jazz (though he wasn't raised on jazz music alone), seemingly taking some cues from Caitlin Moran's books. Depending on which side of the fence you sit, or which side you dress, this autobiography could be seen as a bold cry against social traditions, or an annoying gender agenda.

So, on which side of this fence do I sit? Probably on it - the easy option. This isn’t Lewis Hamilton “boys don’t wear princess dresses” bashing, but more a self-exploration of Webb’s desire to not become his father. A less-than-perfect picture is painted of his father, and indeed his stepfather, with his mother and elder brothers fitting more into the hero role; his brothers more in-line with the male archetype.

Preferring his mother in all areas, he soon shows traits supposedly not befitting a teenage boy, such as an interest in the performing arts and other boys, sort of. As such, it’s more of a finding your feet memoir than a full-blown gender politics attack, though may take the latter route occasionally.

As such, it has enough of a balance to not simply laugh the notion of male gender conditioning off, but also avoids forcing the reader as to what to believe.

Days to read: 14

Days per book: 15.1

The Master of Go (Yasunari Kawabata)

I was yet to read any of the works by Yasunari Kawabata, but he's one of those names you see on bookshelves next to other authors' with surnames starting with the same letter. Looking at one of those bookshelves, I opted for "The Master of Go": a book, that while an easy read, I imagine is not representative of the body of his work.

A collection of his newspaper reports covering the 1938 go match between an ageing master and his young challenger, formed into a novel years later, "The Master of Go" is a series of short chapters covering each day's play, as well as those in between, of the six month match, which resulted in inevitable defeat for the master in his last match.

The outcome of the match is made clear early on, making this not so much about the match itself, but the contrasting behaviours of the two competitors in their down time. The master cannot switch off from competition, always wanting a game of chess or billiards; while his young opponent spends time with his young family, preferring to rest when possible.

This is welcome to someone like me who knows nothing of the game of go, and so the coverage of the matchplay, tactics involved and point scoring is more a collection of words on a page. But while shaping a story, this still is very much reporting on the match played over six months and so maybe does not paint the best picture of Kawabata as an author for the novice in numerous ways.

Days to read: 11

Days per book: 15.0

The Miner (Natsume Soseki)

I'm making it a mini-mission to get through all of Soseki's works by the end of 2018. Not really much of a challenge, but like myself in a urinal, I aim low.

"The Miner" is the collection of Soseki's serialisation in the newspaper Asahi Shimbun and is certainly one of the more ironically titled of his works. A middle-class nineteen year-old of education and no work experience from Tokyo heads north in search of a place to quietly die, for quite meaninglessly middle-class reasons. During his search, he meets a man who promises him money if he takes work with him. With quite literally nothing to lose, he follows the man to see where the journey takes him.

Eventually, he ends up at a nameless mine buried in the mountains, though he soon finds himself alone, his original guide disappearing once he has his "recruitment" money. Unwanted by the miners, whom he sees as inferior beasts, and hounded by bedbugs as he tries to sleep, he soon finds that the world of mining is not for him after being taken for a tour of the mine on his second day there. Encountering a miner who was once in a position similar to his own, though probably more earnest, he is fully convinced that he doesn't want to set foot in the mine again, taking a *SPOILER ALERT* role as a bookkeeper for the mine for five months before returning home.

Written as a memoir, the author frequently references how this is no novel. And, written in serialised parts, this is more an extended train of thought, but strangely has no natural breaks that staggered publishing might suggest. But largely, this is just rambling, similar to "Botchan" with a young Tokyoite looking down at country folk, though with somewhat more awareness of his naivety.

But the fact that it is halfway through the novel before he actually reaches the mine - and subsequently fails to forge a career as a titular miner, returning to his parents - this is where Soseki's comedy comes in as the novel concludes; the whole journey seemingly a waste of time, the protagonist having learnt little from his experience.

Soseki's "experience" of mining came from discussion with a young former miner, perhaps why there is much more focus on the journey there, and little actual working as a miner explored. As such, this is no novel, more an account of observations from an extended journey into the depths which can be escaped at any time for our "hero", placing it stylistically closer to Orwell's "The Road to Wigan Pier" or "Down and Out in Paris and London" than most storytelling.

Days to read: 11

Days per book: 15.0