Hello
Gentle Reader,
There
is no secret or question that Japanese Literature for the past two decades has
been dominated by Haruki Murakami, who has become a global literary sensation
in the same fashion as J.K Rowling and her Harry Potter Series of novels. Of
course, as with everything, when one gains a certain level of success, there is
less focus or interest on the literary output and production and more
marketable interest in defining and establishing a brand and then producing
further content, such as notebooks and a digressive nonsense dissertation on
t-shirts. It should come as no surprise that Japan (and perhaps the great
literary and reading world) would like to have a writer who could be considered
as a new turning point or a new change for Japanese literature, one that moves
away from Haruki Murakami’s shadow and influence, especially for the
English-speaking world. France has already found further interest and
appreciation in Yoko Ogawa (a writer significantly different then Haruki
Murakami, but of the same generation), and Mieko Kawakami is gaining further
appreciation outside of Japan, and has begun to establish an interested readership
in the English language. This inevitability signifies that the world is showing
a great interest behind the inflated ego and reputation of Haruki Murakami,
whose literary output and talents are now eclipsed by marking ventures in
persona. Yet, the writer who is often called the first or foremost
post-Murakami writer of contemporary Japanese literature is Masatsugu Ono, who
was described by Jeffrey Angles as one of the most important writers of the
post-Murakami generation. What this entails is not entirely clear, as Masatsugu
Ono is not a firebrand critic of Murakami. Furthermore, there is no denying
that Murkami changed the direction of Japanese literature from the previously
defined conventions of Ryūnosuke Akutagawa, Yasunari Kawabata, Jun'ichirō
Tanizaki, Yukio Mishima, Osamu Dazi, and to a later extent Kenzaburō Ōe, whose
styles were strictly noted for their seriousness, somber appeal, high literary
influence, and later postmodern introspection; whereas in turn, Haruki Murakami
wrote novels and stories that were riddled with humour, whimsical fantasy,
while expressing commentary on the nature of human relationships and loneliness
in contemporary Japanese society. Yet, overtime Murakami became a caricature of
himself, no longer supporting any serious literary ideal or merit. Yet a new
group of younger writers are beginning to tackle the challenges of Japan in the
new world, where globalization is now a prevalent fact of life, but also the
unique sensibilities of Japanese culture and identity, which can be reviewed in
the continually interconnected world at large. “Lion Cross Point,” is the second
novel by Masatsugu Ono to be translated into English, with further translations
forthcoming. In “Lion Cross Point,” the present and the past meld and become
synthesized in the imaginative understanding of the ten-year-old boy Takeru,
whose agency and ability to comprehend the world are extraordinarily limited.
“Lion
Cross Point,” proves that Masatsugu Ono is capable of gracefully tracing the
novel with a dancer’s lightness, skipping across the lily pads of Takeru’s
perspective, memory, and understanding of his situation, without falling into
the depths and pitfalls of divulging to much information. Critical information
is provided when necessary, and only then these understated sketches provide
context and an emotional resonance to the present, without digressing into
sensationalism. This tight narrative control does not come across as being particularly
forced or constrained, but rather a magnificent display of context and negative
space. The lacking information ensures that the reader must accept certain
facts as they are, without reason or previous knowledge. There is no readily
available explanation as to why Takeru ends up in the care of the spritely yet
elderly Mitsuko, but the change of secenary to his mother’s home village from
Tokyo appears to be appreciated, despite the harsh commentary of his mother’s
memory echoing in his mind:
“I hated it. Detested it. I just wanted to
get away as soon as I could,”
Before
fading into the husks of a swathed October field, harvested and hollow. It is
here, Takeru is provided limited guidance and spectral empathetic connection
with an ancient relative, Bunji, whose ghostly persona haunts the fishing
village landscape. Bunji surfaces when Takeru is at his most fragile, when his
world is on the verge of emotional collapse, though he is unable to understand
why. He has his coping mechanisms of course, such as pulling the brim of his
cap down over his eyes, which ensures he melts out of view, or not looking
anyone directly in the eye. Despite their otherwise one-sided interactions,
Bunji proves to be a reassuring presence for Takeru, whose directions and guidance
are accepted. The fishing village, with its rural sensibilities and its blaring
heat come to be the new home for Takeru. His friend Saki becomes companion;
while the locals show keen interest in Takeru, who in turn shies away from
their interloping invasion of his personal life, memory, and willingness to
discuss his mother, as if they know her better then he.
Understanding
the events of the present comes from examining the past. Intermittent
flashbacks produce a fragmented recollection of Takeru’s life in Tokyo with his
mute challenged brother and absent mother. The relation between Bunji the
ghostly specter who comes forth to help Takeru adjust to his new home, and the
fading memory of his older brother forgotten in Tokyo becomes poignantly clear.
Mitsuko informs Takeru of Bunji being a cognitively challenged child during his
time, meaning he was neglected and overlooked by society, which becomes the
foreshadowing to the mistreatment that has befallen Takeru’s brother, who is
mistakenly viewed as the younger of the two, which places Takeru into a
custoridan and guardianship role, as he cares for his older brother, protects
him, leads him, and monitors his wellbeing in public and private spaces. Through
past and present Bunji and his older brother begin to merge as perhaps one
being. An entity soliciting both sympathy and pity. The responsibility of
ensuring his brothers wellbeing is the focal point of Takeru’s narrative in
Tokyo, along with his impressionistic and naïve observations of the incomprehensible
adult world; his mothers’ frequent absences noted, along with the shadows of
danger that trail her when she is present, be it a man who think himself a
gangster, and delights in the abuse he exercise on her, while also extending
his cruel appetites to Takeru; or the ever present thought his mother may not
return.
The
juxtaposition of landscape is staunch in contrast. Tokyo is depicted as a cold,
abandoned, dirty, concrete monstrosity, almost deprived of any human virtues of
kindness, but shimmering sparks of hope come into being from unexpected places.
The rural world by contrast is illuminated in the bleaching blinding light of
summer swaddling the village that Takeru’s mother detested so much, but is
riddled with welcoming warmth and genuine connections, which carry no
suspicions or threats of underlying violence.
“Lion
Cross Point,” is a masterful novel. Masatsugu Ono shows himself as a master of
restraint and control, by illuminating and providing necessary details when
required, while exploiting the use of negative space to ensure subtext motivates
the narrative of the novel. The language of the novel is deceptively clear and
simple, with some critical assessments going so far as to state its minimalist
in delivery. Styling the novel as minimalist fails to describe the mastery of Masatsugu
Ono in manipulating the negative space of literature, to trace the peripheral of
information saturation and in lieu provide enough inclination for readers to
grasp and form their own speculative conclusions without being explicitly
informed. This lack of information is perhaps how the young protagonist Takeru
is presented to the world. Completely unaware or left out of any conversation
regarding his own fate and life. His mother’s absence provides no maternal
nourishment but leaves behind the necessary resources to provide the required
necessities to survive. Other’s (adults for example) provide acknowledgement
that they are aware of his situation, and provide moments of relief and grace,
but have no commitment or authority to resolve the situation, which may steam
from the fact that they do not fully know the extent. The greatest
accomplishment of “Lion Cross Point,” is Masatsugo Ono creates an authentic
understanding of a ten-year-old boy. Takeru’s precise incomprehensible
recollecitons of his life in Tokyo, are rendered with believable disorientation
and a misunderstanding of facts. The kindness and generosity of others are
accepted, often with confusion or without understanding the subtext of the
situation, or the rationale behind them. Personal rituals become talismanic
activities to cope with the world. All these features and limited processing
abilities make Takeru believable and endearing.
“Lions
Cross Point,” is excellently executed. Masatsugo Ono’s style carries a
lightness of touch sketching out the quality of writing which gracefully glides
across the surface, providing inclination to depths and shadows lurking beneath
the written and confirmed text. This highly controlled style of access and
denial is not a deterrent; through measured control Masatsugo Ono maintains
engagement and apprehension, whereas a less skilled writer would have clouded
the narrative with authoritarian control. Rather Ono, creates a believable
narrative of a neglected and abandoned child, the contrast of the past in
correlation with the present provides both understanding and relief. If this is
the start (if not conformation) of the post-Murakami generation of Japan’s
literary sensibilities, then may we rejoice to a long awaited an exhaustive
sigh of relief ushering in a breeze of starch winter air to scatter the cobwebs
of the whimsical and fantastically detached and isolated individuals of Haruki
Murakami’s work and overarching influence, and begin to herald a new generation
of writers with a contemporary gaze, an international influence and
understanding, a well-read perspective, and an interest in providing cultural
and social commentary.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
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