May Inui 10/29/25

In "The Flying Tobita Sisters", I liked the concept that people began growing wings because the world had become too crowded with technology and the internet. The story also has a nice touch of humor, especially in moments like when “the teacher naturally saw us and made us fly into the hallway and think about what we'd done.” It made me think about the idea that we often long for what we can’t have. For generations, humans dreamed of flying, yet in this story, the protagonist and the Toibita sisters, who were born with wings, develop a longing to walk. Their unusual desire fascinates everyone around them, highlighting the irony of human nature and our tendency to desire the unattainable. Not a huge fan of “I chase the Monkey..” it was hard to follow and confusing. I really liked "Mogera Wogura", it was both dark and entertaining. The idea of a creature that collects people who try to commit suicide was intriguing and unsettling, yet portrayed in a unique way. I enjoy stories that look at humanity from a third-person perspective, and Kawakami does this beautifully. She manages to write about a heavy topic with a tone that feels both humorous and bittersweet. "A Peddler of Tears" was an interesting story. Throughout the reading, I kept trying to figure out whether the tears held a deeper meaning or represented something greater, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. One quote that stood out to me was, “Tears of pain were of the highest quality.” I interpreted this as suggesting that pain might be the most powerful and genuine of human emotions. Kawakami’s “My Baby” provided an interesting exploration of maternal feelings. I interpreted the Mie not as a physical force but as a symbol of change. When it was written that the Mie had come for the narrator’s baby, my first thought was that this represented the baby growing up and no longer being a baby anymore, a heartbreaking transition for the mother. "Paprika Jiro" was a bit hard for me to understand, but I believe it touches on the idea of constantly resisting against a force in order to secure one’s place in society. I also like how Motoya writes, her style feels unique and very entertaining to read. 

Thomas Weber - 10/29/25

 Erika Kobayashi - The Flying Tobita Sisters

    I greatly enjoyed this reading. It was interesting to see how Kobayashi went about constantly jumping between historical context and current time without it being jarring. To me, this story is an explanation of how we always seek what we do not have. How we will always strive for what we have yet to explore or lost in the process. This is clearly shown through the way in which the wings throughout the story go from being glorified as these great additions to the body to constantly being described as annoyances, like sleeping and standing. Yet another story seemingly anchored in the idea that in the pursuit of progress we lose important parts of ourselves and become "detached" from the earth. Although this story took quite a literal route to explaining this.

Masatsugu Ono - I Chase the Monkey...

    What incredibly long sentences! This shocked me in a positive way and absolutely drove home the way in which the "monkey," or what I believe to be the main characters trauma around having been raped and maybe even possibly a child since we do not know the age of the main character," is ever relentless in its wanting to leave her body. This story was quite emotional for me. Reading it all in one setting I found myself engrossed by the writing style as well as the constant evolution of the characters understanding of her own body. It almost seems to me that the character has unconsciously regressed its primal mind into the image of a monkey so that she doesn't have to deal with the trauma that she has experienced. The monkey represents how her primal and natrual instincts are telling her that she was violated and taken advantage of, constantly wanting to come out and concretize the events of her trauma, whilst her conscious mind does not let this part take over for fear of losing her shape.

Hiromi Kawakami - Ugoromochi (Mogera Wogura)

    This was an interesting story for me to read as it was constantly keeping me guessing at what everything in it meant whilst still keeping its shape. Perhaps my favorite part of this reading was the way in which the Mole interacted with the people around them. Whether in a tender, loving, way or in its inability to blend in. I also found it interesting, and made sure to look it up to double check this after reading the story, that whilst mole's have extremely bad eyesight, barely having functioning vision at all, their other senses are incredibly sharp. I thought that the main characters interaction with the bartender was a perfect insinuation that the mole had a sort of 5th sense which it used beyond simply its eyesight. Whilst I have been struggling to figure out exactly what I believe this story is meant to convey I do think that it must in large part be both a commentary on Japanese society as, "working people to the point of non-living," as well as how much we are molded by our environment and how we were brought up. This was shown though how the work culture and nightlife was portrayed as well as the healing process and the bringing up of Humans by the Moles.

Yoko Ogawa - A Peddler of Tears

    This story was quite honestly disturbing. First, it seems like a commentary on the concept that for art to be true it needs to be filled with grief/trauma. I personally truly dislike this idea and find it somewhat repulsive. This story does a good job of, in my opinion, commenting on this fact and the nature of how we perceive art as needing to take to be heightened to a level above where it exists. Secondly, the story revolves around how unreciprocated relationships and obsession do not constitute love but only cause self-destruction. Whilst the emotions around them may be intense a certain loss of self occurs when one enters something unreciprocated, such as giving their tears away or tearing their body apart for the, "right person."

Mieko Kawakami - My Baby

    Although some of the stories in this series made me emotional this one probably hit me the hardest. The mix between realism and magic in this story, in my opinion, blends perfectly to create characters that we can both relate to strongly on an emotional level but will never be able to truly understand and therefore exist with ambiguity in our minds and the analysis of the story. I thought that the concept of peeling as an action rather than seeing, grasping, or understanding was incredibly interesting. Although we never truly understand what peeling might mean in this context, to me, it is a comment on the deep complexity of the world around us and the way in which we understand something without "peeling" it ourselves. The concept that electricity also runs through each person and a certain vulnerability exists before that phase is also interesting to me. What does this electricity mean? and why does it protect against some mythical creature. Perhaps what they mean by electricity is some sort of consciousness where we suddenly develop that dictates both our status in society, hinted at by the line talking about how they were worried about how the electricity would develop for the child, and our ability to "peel" or understand the world around us. A truly interesting yet greatly moving story about loss, love, grief, and maternity. 

Yukiko Motoya - Paprika Jiro

    I did not understand this story in the slightest. and haven't the faintest idea as to what it may have been trying to convey. Maybe its a commentary on how the machine of society which is so much larger than ourselves is so out of the reach of the common layman that they have to simply accept their place as an insignificant cog in the machine. But this is just a guess. The story was fun to read and the pacing was good, but the contents themselves confuse me quite a bit.

My favorite readings out of all of the ones assigned definitely had to be My Baby and I Chase the Monkey... Both used extensive analogy and intense writing styles to bring out the atmosphere that would best convey their messages and portrayed their ideas using more of a hint or reference of magic rather than an overt and all encompassing idea.

Bin 10/28

Among all these stories, The Flying Tobita Sisters was the easiest one to read. The others were written in such a heavy "stream-of-consciousness" style that it was honestly hard to stay focused—it felt kind of painful to get through them.

The Flying Tobita Sisters leans toward a dystopian vibe. By contrasting “flying” and “running,” it explores the tension between progress and return, freedom and restriction. The Tobita sisters seem to question what we take for granted in modern, “evolved” ways of living. Whether they choose to wear shoes or run barefoot, that choice can be seen as a kind of nostalgia for the past. In the ending, when the protagonist tries to run, it might suggest that even if humans gain “higher” abilities, we shouldn’t forget the raw, earthy experiences that connect us to the ground. With a light touch, the author raises a heavy question: has our so-called “evolution” made us lose something more precious?

I also noticed that this kind of reflection on history keeps showing up in Erika Kobayashi’s stories—whether it’s the strong emotions toward the past in A Tale of Burning Books, or the way family memories are passed down in Sunrise, Coco’s Century, and His Last Bow. It feels like there’s an invisible thread made of time, connecting everything. Paradoxically, that thread is both linear—guiding individuals toward the future—and almost circular, looping personal fates back into the tides of history.

In A Peddler of Tears, tears—which are supposed to be born from empathy—are turned into something that can be donated or sold. It seems to suggest that genuine emotion has been devalued in modern society. The heroine’s self-sacrifice comes from a kind of twisted, obsessive love. Honestly, I don’t really get why the characters in Japanese fiction are often so self-destructive—it’s hard for me to understand that impulse.

As for I Chase the Monkey... I didn’t understand it at all. So far, that’s been the hardest story for me to read.

My Baby was strange, but that’s exactly what made it interesting. It totally flips the usual idealized image of maternal love, looking at it instead through an abstract, almost cringe lens that exposes the possessiveness, anxiety, and fear behind it. The mother watches her baby like she’s viewing a jewel—there’s this sense of dominance and ownership, rather than real love. Then there’s mies. Maybe it’s a huge symbol—it seems to represent all the fears tied to motherhood: losing control of your child, your hopes for the future being crushed, seeing your own projections rejected, or watching everything you built in intimacy fall apart. Ironically, in the end, the baby is swallowed by mies, which might mean that we ultimately lose control no matter what.

For Mogera Wogura, I kept wondering: what’s the mole’s real purpose in raising a human? If its goal is to offer humans a kind of emotional refuge in a cold, alienating world, then maybe the story isn’t just about solitary and alienation—it’s actually really warm. The mole might represent a godlike compassion, embracing human flaws and stubbornly fighting against spiritual emptiness. That’s just my guess though because I definitely didn’t fully understand this story.

Paprika Jiro tells a story of oppression and resistance. What’s interesting is how quickly the oppressors’ power collapses—it only takes a moment, the moment people stop believing in it. It reminded me of leftist political thought, which often points out how absurd the dynamic between oppressors and the oppressed really is. The oppressors are actually afraid of the oppressed. In Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed, he says that once the oppressed stop following the oppressor’s “prescriptions,” their “fear of freedom” also disappears. That’s exactly what happens in this story—once Paprika Jiro becomes the first to rebel, authority immediately loses its hold.

Sam Kraus - 10/29

The Flying Tobita Sisters was interesting as it begins with a romanticization of flying. The narrator expresses, "Our ancestors wanted so badly to fly in the air. I want to understand how they felt, looking up at the sky but unable to fly..." Everyone has wings, they eat flying fish, the narrator recounts the history of flight: Wright Brothers -> World Wars -> Space, etc. However, after that initial romanticization, in comes the Tobita sisters. These sisters are described as possessing enchanting bird-like features, yet there is another interesting aspect of them - they serve as an anomaly to this obsession with flight. For example, they wear colorful sneakers which is odd for this world, their dad tried to cut off his wings, the mom's ancestors were marathon runners, etc. Furthermore, the Tobita sisters plan to run to the sea on foot, something which is not done anymore. It's difficult to make sense of Japanese magical realism in comparison to western magical realism, as Japanese literature tends to be a lot less clear cut in terms of themes and messaging. And in saying that, I am implying that there is even distinct messaging at all. Still, I am noticing that flying is an aspect of humanity that we lack, and in this world, it is coveted by all. It is perceived as something that would enhance the human experience, and the narrator expresses, "So eventually we left our feet behind. No need to run when you can fly." However, the Tobita sisters represent an aversion to this sentiment, and our narrator seemingly concludes this as well, as at the end of the novel, she exits her classroom and begins running, an action that was shortly before, made out to be unthinkable. As for what all of this could mean, my mind leads toward technological advancement ≠ unquestionably benefiting humanity. The narrator also mentions at one point that the internet and telephone communication made the world feel too small and crowded. And with the development of wings, new problems arise - sleeping is difficult, new air traffic systems must be developed, etc. Therefore, I wonder if Erika Kobayashi is making a statement on technology and innovation. Although we desire progress and methods of making life easier, the true question is... will life really be easier? Along with that, what new problems will that technology or innovation bring with it? 

As for I Chase the Monkey..., I have two conflicting thoughts. Either I am missing something, and to better like this piece of work, I need to understand it better, or on the other hand, I just genuinely did not like this story at all (which is really rare for me). Ultimately, this story boils down to this for me - it feels like Masatsugu Ono took every terrible quality in a Murakami book and condensed it down into one story. To start, he writes many sentences that COULD ONLY come from a man. For example, "I wondered, placing my finger gently against my nipple, wiping a bead of milk onto the soft, full flesh and then slipping my finger into my mouth, licking the milk..." what? And if you read the story, you would know that there are plenty more examples. Furthermore, I feel as if the story is trying WAY too hard to be unique and experimental. Of course, one of the main gimmicks being the constant stream of thought, only concluding with a period at the end of the paragraph. But for me personally, instead of this being innovative or interesting, it just makes the story hard and even annoying to follow. It just feels like the story is trying to be super quirky, and for me, it falls flat. I tried re-reading it, but I quickly felt annoyed again and moved on. There is a major difference between magical realism being awe-inspiring and simply nonsensical. In this instance, for me, it came off more as nonsensical, rather than inspiring (such as The Ice Man, for example).

On a more positive note, I enjoyed Mogera Wogura. However, who knows how much of this might just be due to the fact that the bar was really low following the previous read. Still, I think the magical realism/surrealism worked in this story. As humans, we often collect and have dominance over other species - we keep pets, have zoos, domesticate farm animals, etc. However, in this story, we have the Japanese mole who has power over a bunch of humans. This mole collects them, takes care of them, discards them once their life is over, etc. In short, this Japanese mole and his wife have domesticated a bunch of humans. Still, this very mole participates in human society - he goes out to work, the bar, etc. We get to view human society through the eyes of a mole, and through this perspective, we come to understand that human life is quite dull. The humans in Tokyo are described as being very isolated and quiet, such as when the mole expresses, "sometimes I wonder why humans are so distant from one another." Some of the humans the mole collects are similarly described as, "People who don't die, but don't live." "Pretty much the only time they ever cry or blow their noses are otherwise express emotion is when one of their number dies." And lastly, "No more spirit to live." In essence, this story makes me think of modern, industrialized life. What does the mole do? It spends most of its life alone and underground, and very rarely comes out. As for the modern human? We spend most of our time working and communicating to and from. Furthermore, for job opportunities, we move far from home and into a city where we do not know anybody, are cramped into small apartments, etc. In this instance, I believe the mole was cleverly utilized to show how its lifestyle is not that different from a modern human. This modernization has stripped many of their humanity, and seemingly, just how farm animals are domesticated for resource production, we are too. That is why I enjoyed this story much more than the last - it utilizes magical realism, but uses it strategically and cleverly.

I think there is a lot going on in A Peddler of Tears, but most notably to me, the protagonist gives up parts of herself to please others - especially the Maestro. From the beginning of her time, she has used her bodily tears as a commodity. For her customers, the low quality tears were sufficient. However, one day, she falls in love with the Maestro who she desperately wants to please. As we learn, the more pain/suffering she feels, the higher the quality of the tears. She wants only the best for the Maestro, so as she expresses herself, "I was prepared to give up everything else." And in fact, she does - she cuts off her toes, lips, calves, etc. Notably, she mentions cutting off parts of her womanly body - nipples, ovaries, urethra, etc. To please this one man she has fallen deeply in love with, she cuts herself apart, and metaphorically and physically loses what makes her her. And as this ends, we learn that only the tear ducts and tear sacs are left. Although there are many themes at play, I perceive this story as a commentary on giving yourself up and losing who you are for the sake of another person - in this instance, for a man. Although her life was fine before, long after this encounter with the Maestro, she is left with nearly nothing.

I was really excited to read My Baby, as well, I want to read anything with Mieko Kawakami's name on it. This story seems to tackles ideas of the patriarchy, motherhood, and fear as a commodity. To start, the mother's greatest fear is the Mies. She is terrified of them, and she desperately pleads to her husband to do something about them. However, the husband is extremely neglectful and dismissive. He tells her not to worry about them, and most notably, he ignores the emotional pain that she is experiencing. Given Kawakami's common feminist themes, I see this as a critique of a dismissive and belittling man that a patriarchy produces. Similarly, Kawakami often discusses themes of motherhood in her works, most notably, this and Breasts and Eggs, all of which deeply ties into her personal life as a mother. Therefore, although I have less of a complex analysis to lay out here, Kawakami relays the feelings of being a mother - always desperately attempting to protect your child and putting their safety above all. She keenly perceives the danger around her, of which, her husband is ignorant to. Lastly, fear is a prominent aspect of this story. As the narrator expresses, "The greatest human tragedy is worrying over the worst-case scenarios while missing out on the joys of the present." She is not even able to enjoy spending time with her child as she can only feel fear. And in fact, there appears to be a minor capitalist critique as this very fear is profited off of. As the story mentions, "People make a fortune off our fear of the Mies with these silly cribs..." Every emotion is a commodity under capitalism, and fear is no exception. We sell home safety systems, protection plans on items, insurances, etc. Therefore, getting rid of the "Mies" could be problematic for the very men in charge of these structures - without Mies, they would sell less cribs, of course meaning... less profit. 

Lastly, I do not have a lot to comment on Paprika Jiro, but I enjoyed it enough. It felt very comedic at times and cartoonish. The way Jiro sets up the trap and captures the man, riding him all the way into the desert, was quite funny. As tradition follows, he inherits the stall from his grandfather, and he carries on the family business. He is happy to do the job and dedicate himself to it without fear - as the narrator says in the last line, "As a mark of utmost respect, Paprika Jiro does his best to react in exaggerated astonishment as they careen through, fearlessly confronting obstacles head-on."  

Reading Reflection-Sylvia Chen

 

In The Flying Tobita Sisters, everyone can fly, but the sisters decide to run instead. It’s kind of ironic—people once
dreamed of flying, and now that it’s easy, they just take it for granted. The sisters run to remember what effort feels
like. It’s a quiet rebellion in a world that’s forgotten its struggle. Like Icarus, the story’s about freedom and falling,
but here the sisters choose the ground, not the sky. In the end, the narrator joined them, as if having grasped
something. Perhaps existence is not about running or flying, but remembering the efforts once made.

I Chase the Monkey and the Monkey Flees from me, I don't quite understand the story, but it seems like there is a
real chase happens inside the narrator’s body. And the monkey isn’t real( or it’s real, if getting schizophrenia), it’s
a part of the narrator’s emotional side. No matter how far the narrator runs, it always comes back. The author mixes
the human and animal and just feels like we can’t really separate the two. The harder the narrator tries to fight it,
the more the entanglement. Don’t quite get the theme, but seems to symbolise the inextricable entanglement　between reason and emotion, civilisation and primal nature.

Mogera Wogura is the story from a mole's perspective, a mole who tries to live in the human world. He follows human routine, but he does not really belong. The more he imitates people, the more he sees how empty life is. Wogura lives between two worlds. He seems to understand humans, but also doesn't know why people become numb. I feel really weird about the pocket and take-home part. It’s a symbol of compassion, I doubt. However, I do feel that people are more genuine when they become part of the underground. And it’s not death but the truth of the people's inner selves. 

A Peddler of Tears was my favorite story this week. It reminded me of a tale where tears turned into pearls, but this
story felt deeper—a devotion to art. It shows how emotions can be sold, turning sadness into something measurable
and controlled. When crying becomes a work, it loses its truth. The ending moved me most. The narrator cuts the
body for the musician, not from pain but from self-fulfilment. It becomes an act of creation. 

My Baby seems to show ordinary maternal fear at first, but then slowly collapses. The Mies feels less like a literal monster and more like a projection of anxiety — a physical form of the mother’s deepest fear of losing control. It’s unclear whether the Mies truly exist or whether they represent an internal breakdown. But the mother keeps asking if they should kill the Mies. Her desperation made me reflect on the need for control in a world. After the child’s death, her fear transforms into obsession. She tries to reassemble the baby’s body piece by piece. Her actions are like a cycle where fear gives birth to creation, and creation leads to destruction.

10/22/25 - Thomas Weber

 Erika Kobayashi

- Coco's Century

        To be completely honest I found Kobayashi's work the hardest to interpret. Whilst the themes were quite simple, the underlying tension and feel of the works were all quite complex and I am having trouble figuring out why I feel this way. 

    Anyway, the first short story, "Coco," follows the character Ko along her time growing up in Japan. This story seems to focus on two important themes first. That of American and western influence on Japan post-war, the banality/normalization of the horrors of war, and finally the inevitable loss and purposeful preservation of memory/history. These were mainly done through the portrayal of her name against Coco Chanel, the constant loss of people to the war, and the preservation of Ko's story after her death by her daughter who wishes she would have asked more questions.

- His Last Bow

    This is perhaps the story that threw me off the most. In essence it is a chronology of a family tree of male doctors that all participate in some way or another with the Japanese military except for the youngest child at the end of the story. Perhaps, this is a story about the radical shift of Japan post-war away from militarism due to American intervention and the way that this blocked the destiny of many people towards working, all whilst explaining the way in which the war and military themselves barred these people from achieving their dreams in the first place. Maybe this is a commentary on how malleable the Japanese are ideologically or socially to their state's political environment? I am not quite sure.

- Sunrise

    Sunrise is a story depicting both the beauty and the greatly destructive nature of "light" or radiation in this case. It goes through all of the major radioactive incidents in Japan's history as well as the history of atomic bombs themselves. I found this interesting as it almost acts as a, "we should have known and we should have stopped it from happening" kind of story whilst keeping its motives quite obscure.

Haruki Murakami

- Abandoning a Cat, Memories of my Father

    I quite liked this story, it was probably my favorite from the readings for this week. I found Abandoning a Cat to be a highly moving story. Murakami manages to present his father as both a patriot of the Japanese as well as a sort of conscientious collaborator. Forced into duty he did his best to support his country all whilst trying his best to uphold his principles, whether this came during his time in the army or after. Talking about think kind of topic, as far as I understand, in Japan is somewhat taboo and often leads to public shunning of the writer. I truly admire Murakami for coming out with such a blunt, direct and philosophically meaningful piece of writing. Even when its easier to go up than go down he doesn't seem to fear going up.

Aoko Matsuda

- Love isn't easy when you're the national anthem. This story stuck with me because I see a lot of myself in the character shown to be pressured into singing the anthem. Early in life I was often forced to sing the French anthem and often found myself either only lip-syncing the words or not singing at all. I was always uncomfortable with the idea that my identity was strongly dictated by my country of origin. I always saw nationality as more of a country accepting you as one of their own rather than you having to be one of them. Nationality can always be revoked but we stay the same person, we are not defined by the groups that we belong to but by the virtue of our character and the actions we portray to the world. Whilst less radical than my own thoughts on identity and nationalism, this story does seem to touch on the expectation of being prideful to be part of a country, and the social repercussions of not doing so.

Yu Miri

- "Tokyo Ueno Station" 

    This was my least liked story. Although it was good it felt a little drawn out. I did like the almost poetic style of the writing! In essence this is a story about how war always affects the layman the worst. The emperor displacing the homeless and the lack of infrastructure to help them meaning that the help had to come from individuals or stores instead of the government strongly emphasized this idea.

    

Bin 10/22

 “Every dust of the times falls on a person as a mountain” 

I don’t remember where I first saw this line, but it really fits the theme in this week’s readings. We can see this both in CoCo’s Century and Sunrise — how individuals live out their lives while standing in front of fate.

This idea shows up again and again in other readings too. Also by showing the weight of history, these writers all seem to share a similar attitude toward Japan’s wars of aggression and militarism.

In His Last Bow, heavy history, the vastness of the era, and family legacy are all intertwined — turning family expectations into something as heavy as that Japanese history itself. Luckily, the protagonist finds her own path. Choosing to become a writer instead of a doctor symbolizes her gradual rejection of those expectations, and maybe also a deeper reflection on history. Personally, I think the difference between a writer and a doctor, in the context of Japan’s fascist past, is that doctors were often participants in that dark history, accomplices to the crimes of the military. A writer, on the other hand, steps outside that weight and uses words to expose the pain of the past so that others won’t fall into the same historical loop. The final line — “Invisible light penetrates human flesh. All the things that could not be seen are now revealed, right before my eyes.” — also hints at the author’s view of Japan’s wartime past.

Abandoning a Cat reflects on the war too, but focuses more on the helplessness of the individual in the face of fate — a fate that can’t be controlled. The grandfather hit by a train, the uncle who has to inherit the temple, the father who was almost given away to a temple as a child, and all these lives swept up by war. In the hospital, death is inevitable; history itself is inescapable. Soldiers kill, monks save lives, but war turns good people into monsters. I think the cat represents both the father’s abandoned childhood and the history of violence and aggression. Abandoning the cat reminds the father of his own abandonment and hellish past — yet facing that pain, passing down the memory, becomes a kind of redemption. The family’s trauma has to be seen before it can be healed.

It’s also worth noting that Murakami seems to show his attitude in the ending through his description of the white cat — as if to say that the individual’s helplessness before fate never really goes away. And no matter how much people admit to past crimes, nothing can truly undo what was done. The trauma lingers as punishment for life. I really appreciate this kind of reflection — because if the trauma of committing crimes could be easily healed, then how could the suffering of the Chinese and all the other victims in Asia and Australia ever be healed?

Tokyo Ueno Station didn’t particularly grab me — the writing style felt a bit overworked and made it hard for me to fully get into it. Still, its reflections on the bubble economy, war, and militarism are quite solid. It might be the first Japanese novel I’ve read that includes such a sharp hint of criticism toward the imperial family. I’m not sure if the author’s Korean citizenship gave her the distance to express that attitude more freely in her writing, but it made me wonder.

In Love Isn’t Easy When You’re the National Anthem, I found it interesting that the requirement to “respect the national anthem” actually appears in so many countries — however in this case, I instantly linked it to Japan’s fascist past. Even though the story doesn’t reveal its setting, Japan’s history as an Axis power automatically shaped the context in my mind while I was reading.

May Inui 10/22/25

I really liked Ko. It was short and sweet, and I found myself very drawn to Ko’s character throughout. The idea of adoption was probably a little controversial back then. Her stories usually take place over different generations and focus a lot on family. She often uses a circular way of storytelling that makes her stories feel connected. A lot of her work also deals with the themes of war and the effects of nuclear events. I really liked Abandoning a Cat. It was very touching to me, and the line “It’s the accumulation of insignificant things like this that has made me the person I am” struck me, I think it’s a beautiful line. Like Kobayashi’s work, it touches on the circle of life: “Despite our differences, looking at my emaciated father I did feel a connection, a bond between us.” The story also reflects on the impact of war. I found “Love Isn’t Easy When You’re the National Anthem” very interesting, especially with the point of view coming from the Japanese national anthem itself. I’m curious about what motivated the author to write something like this, and I actually found it almost comedic. Reading the Japanese quote from the original made me want to read the full story in Japanese, since I really liked the tone of it. It also made me think more about the relevance of national anthems. I remembered how I always felt a bit uncomfortable singing the US national anthem in high school, compared to when I sang it in elementary school without giving it much thought. As for Tokyo Ueno Station, I really like the way Miri writes- her style feels very poetic. I felt a personal connection to the story when I read that the narrator was twelve when the war ended, just like my grandpa. It made me think that he might have gone through similar experiences and struggles during that time in Japan. I want to read the rest of the book and also see what led the narrator to become homeless. 

The Unseen Things That Stay-Sylvia Chen

This week’s stories I personally think are very different in tone, but they share one thing that moved me: they are all about something are unseen.

In Love Isn’t Easy When You’re the National Anthem, the narrator is the national anthem itself. I thought this idea was very cool, and recheck mutiple times. I found it funny and clever at first, but later a feeling of sadness came over me. The anthem falls in love with a student who refuses to sing it. It wants to be heard, but no one answers. The story looks like one about love, but it also shows the distance between a country and its people. When a song stands for a nation, those who stay silent are really saying they do not belong. It made me reflect of people who are told to show loyalty but still feel left out.

And In Tokyo Ueno Station, I did not understand the story at first. But, I later learned that the narrator is the spirit of an old man who has died but still wanders in the human world. After death, he still cannot leave. He quietly watches the world move, watches people pass by. This made me think about people who are being ignore. Many people are still alive but have already become invisible—they have no address, no name. In the story, when the old man hears the debates about nuclear power and politicians speaking empty words about “reconstruction after the disaster.” I sensed a certain connection, for his silence mirrored the voices in our society that are either overlooked or unable to express themselves.

When I first read Abandoning a Cat, it looked like a simple memory of a summer afternoon when a man took his son to the beach to leave a cat behind. But reflect on it more, I felt it was not only a story about a cat, it was also about postwar Japan, a generation that chose to forget, stay silent, and carry guilt. The cat is a little crack in that silence, showing the emotional scars of that time. The father is quiet and serious, he never talks about his past and keeps a distance from his son. He leaves the cat, then accepts it when it comes back.This make the cat's existence transformed into non-death, but existing, like a trace of what cannot be spoken.

In Sunrise, the characters do not cry, but they all remember. The story shows how a mother and daughter’s lives connect with Japan’s history, from the bomb to the disaster, where personal memory and national pain meet. Light stands for both life and destruction. Yoko lives her whole life under this light, carrying the quiet weight of the past. Coco’s Century feels like a wall of my old family photos, each one trying to speak. Coco’s(Ko?) life is a fragile line between family and history, dim but real, like the yellowed photos we remember but cannot explain. His Last Bow, to be honest, I don’t quiet get the theme. But it made me think about the invisible—about the memory and history. In this story, each generation is seens repeating the same cycle of birth, loss, and rebuilding and overlap with public history. I come out with one question about does the radiation of time, persistently affect future generations? Are we shaped by what we cannot see?

Sam Kraus - 10/22

Although I have many opinions on the readings this week, I am hesitant at times to voice too many of them. As for why, it ultimately comes down to the fact that I am not a Japanese person. I may be included in certain circles, but I am of course not, and will never be, of "Japanese." So, I am more than sure that I miss many nuances in the readings, form incomplete ideas, form ignorant ideas, etc. However, I would  still like to offer opinions on the readings without presenting them as facts or the sort.

Love Isn't Easy When You're the National Anthem is told from the first person perspective of the national anthem itself, and I quite enjoyed the combination of that surrealist aspect along with the commentary on nationalism and compliance. People not complying with the national anthem is of course nothing unique to Japan - in America, it is a controversial topic. Most notably, when Colin Kaepernick, the NFL quarterback, chose to knee for the USA's national anthem for a season. Of course, both anthems similarly contain nods to national pride and militarism. Interestingly enough, in this instance, the freshmen boy is the only person who chooses not to sing the song. Comedically, the national anthem is hurt by this. It says, "What kind of song did I have to be for you to want to sing me?" And if we were to attempt to answer this question, my assumption would be that the national anthem would have to distance itself from the emperor and militaristic pride. The World Wars will forever live within the DNA of Japan, and due to the national anthem and people like Sanae Takaichi who are still insistent on diminishing the importance and notoriety of Japanese war crimes and militarism, it is no mystery that many people refuse to comply with the anthem. Furthermore, it is no mystery that to this day, it remains incredibly controversial. And on top of this, similarly to America, Japan has a history of punishing people who refuse to comply with the anthem. And with a rise in far-right politics and fascism burgeoning across the world,  it is not unwarranted to consider that this compliance could become more enforced if this trend continues. I speak more so for America when I say this, but there is a great difference between pride of one's home and its people, and pride of militarism. At the end of the day, what is a military but a private army that is built with the interest of the elite in mind? I have always contended with the idea of without question, honoring veterans. This is NOT because they aren't incredibly brave people, but it is because it has always seemed to me like propaganda. As in, focus on honoring them for providing your freedom, rather than considering that their deaths are meaningless and inconsequential to the very people who send them to die. And of course, a lot of these young men that are recruited to fight are poor; they are targeted by the military as they understand well that these impoverished men have no where else to turn. When one refuses to comply with the national anthem, it is often perceived as a slight to those who fight. However, it is much more than that - it is a slight to those who create wars for personal gain. 

As for Abandoning a Cat, it was my favorite short story of all time. After returning to it, I can safely say that it is absolutely still up there. Piggybacking off of the last story, during WW2, the national anthem served as a tool to manifest the support of imperialism and militarism. However, Murakami's father was not one of those people who blindly supported the cause. As he says himself in one of his Haiku's, "A soldier, yet a priest, clasping my hands in prayer, toward the moon." His father regretted this period of his country and his life so deeply, that every morning, when praying to the Butsudan, he included the Chinese soldiers in his prayers. And as Murakami mentions himself, he carries his father's trauma with him. Atrocities were committed by the Japanese military in China (among other places), and to this day, these acts are public knowledge, yet largely concealed. I have always deeply respected Murakami for writing about this topic - not only in this short story, but also in Wind-up Bird Chronicle, which is in my opinion, his greatest novel. He details accounts from Manchukuo, and part of me wonders if this was done in part, to honor his late father (among other reasons). Just like his father, Murakami is deeply traumatized by what occurred in the Chinese front, and he is not afraid to share his laments. Even aside from the mentions of war, this piece is incredibly introspective and moving. I love Murakami's writings on the randomness of life, the ascent being easier than the descent in life, him and his father's estranged relationship, the idea of ordinary memories being incredibly impactful, etc. His relationship with his father reminds me of Tengo's relationship with his father in 1Q84, and part of me wonders if this was partly autobiographical - probably. 

Tokyo Ueno Station also reflects on the war and militarism, but its topics are a lot more varied. For instance, it touches not only on the imperial family and the national anthem, but also on American influence, extreme poverty, the 1986-1991 asset price bubble, etc. It appears to be an account of traumatic experiences that Japanese citizens have encountered over the last century. More than anything, it shows how the people at the bottom of society stand to suffer the most from all of this. As impoverished and hungry as they are, if the imperial family was stopping by, they were forced to move their tents and would be evicted from the area. In war, the poor always stand to lose much more than those who send the poor to die. 

As for Erika Kobayashi's three short stories, they continue with the theme of the war. However, they also carry themes of globalism and American influence. For example. Coco's Century of course uses Coco Chanel to comment on Western influence post WW2, and along with that, the narrator goes around traveling the west. This western influence is a very common theme in Japanese literature - most notably, Meiji Era literature from authors such as Sōseki. His Last Bow carries very similar themes, but instead of Coco Chanel, it discusses Sherlock Holmes. As for war, it almost seems to represent an end to the cycle of trauma. The narrator's bloodline on the male side are all doctors. Shigeru was an army doctor, and the narrator's dad was too. However, his dad eventually quit that, and the narrator decided to avoid medicine altogether. To me, this comes off as distancing oneself from the militaristic past. Lastly, Sunrise deals with themes of light - whether that is the sun, atomic bombs, or the Fukushima Daichi Nuclear Power Plant. It accounts a young girl growing up during this time, and the influences that light and nuclear power had on her. More than any other country, Japan has a devastating past when it comes to that topic, and all of this has occurred in under 100 years. Again, to finish, normal citizens of a country who are only trying to make a living, stand to suffer more than the ones who create such wars.  

Thomas Weber - 10/08/25

 Yoko Tawada, Scattered All over the Earth

        At first after having read this story I honestly did not exactly know what to think. I liked the premise of the story, the description of the characters and the change of perspective taken for the last chapter but somewhat failed to see its message. Although I am still having that issue I do definitely see the strongest themes being presented as being that of home, belonging, identity and humanization. Home is quite self explanatory but throughout the story it is constantly repeated that one of the reasons why Hiruko is special is because of her status as a stateless person. However, later in the story it is shown both through the storybook and her integration of her own language that she has found home in this new place whilst keeping her individuality and identity through her language. The humanization aspect was simply in the face of refugees and the way they are often seen and treated with contempt, admiration, or almost like non-living objects which I believe was somewhat shown through the phone calls Hiruko took right after the show went live.

Shion Miura, The Easy Life in Kamusari

        This was probably one of my favorite readings of the bunch because it reads so differently from other Japanese literature. Both the style of the writing (which is probably simply due to translation) and the extremely juvenile nature of the main character give a sentiment of it essentially being about a boy rebelling against the system he's been put in. This theme is then expanded by his literally trying to escape but also his lack of general ability in the workforce, as well as in home life. Whether its his inability to do most tasks in forestry or the fact that his own parents consider him somewhat expendable its a story, to me, about finding ones place in the world and it not always having to be conventional. As well as the fact that even within these systems there is such a variety of experiences to be had that one just needs to seek them out to find himself.

Yoko Ogawa, The Memory Police

        I actually have the physical version of this book. After reading the first 6 chapters it struck me as a little bit of a mix between the books: 1984, The Buried Giant, and The Chinese Republic of Amnesia. It deals both with the idea of a "big brother" state, what identity is for someone under an oppressive regime and the ease of collective amnesia/acceptance of non-understanding. The use of the term, "has been disappeared" is interesting as it directly infers that the disappearance is both not natural but also uncontrollable from the persons point of view. This has strongly reminded me of many passages found in books about Mao, the rise of the CCP and the USSR in the way that information is treated entirely as a commodity. Whether one is allowed to know something is not up to them but up to the system that they exist under, and even having an understanding of that that goes beyond surface level can be dangerous. 

Hideo Furukawa, The Little Woods in Fukushima

        Although a complete change of pace from the other stories this one was surprisingly fun to read. It read a little bit more like a memoire or magazine article rather than a one-shot story to me but was still filled with character development and meaningful moments. I found the paragraph where the main character talked about how life simply continued in Tokyo even after the horrific earthquake and nuclear fallout in Fukushima interesting as it really highlights the idea that in a community the plight of the individual or minority is often of a rare importance. Something that we have talked about already but that is strongly reiterated in this story. I especially appreciate the way in which trauma, pain and loss is portrayed as being something that once accepted can be dealt with rather than the more standard repression. Its almost as if the writer is saying that for him to be content with the atrocities he has lived through he wants the entirety of Japan as a collective but also as individuals to consider the pain that occurred in Fukushima.

Overall I greatly enjoyed these readings and would have absolutely loved to have written this reflection earlier if it wasn't for the fact that I got a Migraine the night before :(

May Inui 10/8/25

"The Memory Police" was my favorite reading this week. It highlighted how easily we, as humans, can be influenced or brainwashed without realizing it- especially nowadays, with the spread of fake news and media censorship. It also served as a reminder of the importance of everyday, ordinary objects and how we often forget to acknowledge them, even though they play a small but significant role in the simple joys of life. The biggest takeaway I got from this reading, however, was how essential memories are to being human and the fulfillment they bring to our lives. We are nothing without our memories. “As we enjoyed our snack, we talked about all sorts of things- but most often we spoke of our memories… We divided the last bit of peach and repeated the same stories to each other, allowing the fruit to dissolve.” People yearn for their memories. As a general question, I also wondered why the higher-ups on this island demanded the disappearance of birds and flowers. I also enjoyed "The Easy Life In Kamusari". It offered a nice perspective on “inaka life”- getting away from the city and experiencing the intimacy of rural, countryside living, where everyone knows each other and each other’s business, which can sometimes feel suffocating. Still, it seems like a good place for the young protagonist, who doesn’t have much direction in life, to be and learn about the world and himself. “Scattered All Over the Earth” didn’t leave as strong of an impression on me as some of the other readings, but I still enjoyed it. To me, it highlighted the cultural differences between Japan and Europe. One moment that stood out was when Hiroko mentioned how speaking out is often frowned upon in Japan but encouraged in the West. “The Little Woods in Fukushima” was our first nonfiction piece, and I realized it offered a nice palate cleanser, though it wasn’t really my cup of tea. One of my main takeaways from this reading was that society moves on quickly- we tend to forget about major events, whether they’re natural disasters or wars. To preserve memory, you have to make an active effort to do so. “But nothing changed. Japanese society, the Japanese people, changed absolutely nothing about their lifestyles. Mr. Furukawa, how can this possibly be?” I wish I knew. Or perhaps I’d respond along the lines of, It is human nature to forget... whenever possible." 

Bin 10/8

When I was in middle school, I read George Orwell’s 1984. I can’t really remember much of the plot now, but Yoko Ogawa’s The Memory Police immediately brought that world back to mind — another dystopian society built on erasing difference and enforcing control. The tone of Ogawa’s novel feels cold and sad to me. Memories, emotions, and ideas tied to countless objects slowly fade away, and people can’t even protect the things that once held their pasts. The scenes where the Memory Police hunt down those who still remember vanished objects reminded me of the films Persian Lessons and V for Vendetta.

Reading The Easy Life in Kamusari was an entirely different experience — relaxing and effortless. I’ve always liked the light, easygoing vibe of “light novels,” and the first chapter’s simplicity made it even more enjoyable. What surprised me, in retrospect, is how vividly I could imagine myself breathing the forest air of that quiet mountain village. I tried to look for some deeper “message” in the protagonist’s daily work of forest care, but maybe that’s unnecessary. Once the reader joins him in the woods, feels his rhythm, and shares his quiet joy, the meaning of the story reveals itself naturally.

The Little Woods in Fukushima, on the other hand, didn’t resonate with me as much. I’m not a big fan of a near-documentary style of storytelling — plain, restrained, maybe too realistic for my taste. Still, it’s hard to ignore the powerful themes it presents: death, disaster, and decline — all things that deserve attention and reflection.

From the title alone, the word “scattered” in Scattered All Over the Earth immediately stands out. It seems to hint at some of the novel’s main concerns — the disappearance of nations, the end of collective narratives, the reshaping of personal identity, and the collapse and rebirth of language. In that sense, it connects closely with The Memory Police: both explore the loss of the vessels that carry our thoughts and memories.

 

Nature and Human-Sylvia Chen

This week's readings struck me as particularly interesting, as they explored how humans interact with their environment. 

While reading Scattered All Over the Earth, I started thinking about the connection between language and
existence. Hiruko’s invented language may seem absurd, but it most truthfully expresses her state of being “in between” nations. It made me think that, in a way, all of us are constantly “translating” ourselves, not only across languages, but also across cultures and emotions. Perhaps identity is something of losing and finding something new to speak with.

And The Memory Police is my favorite piece! The flow of the story feels so smooth, and I love how the author pushes the theme of “loss” to the extreme, describing how objects and memories are erased one by one. What unsettled me most was the calm acceptance of forgetting that the people in town seem to have common sense. This reminded me that while Tawada’s characters can still create a new language, Ogawa’s characters live in a world where even language can be taken away.

The Little Woods in Fukushima made me think about the disasters our generation faces. I started to realize that the post-disaster world is not an “end” but a “continuation.” Every act of writing, every attempt to record, is humanity’s way of refusing to let memory erode.

In The Easy Life in Kamusari, as I watched the character move from resistance to acceptance, I learned that true freedom isn’t always about leaving; it’s about learning to live with the world around you. We talk so much about “finding ourselves,” but maybe that search begins right where we are.

After reading all the pieces, I started reflecting on how I face change in my own life. Sometimes, leaving familiar people or places brings that small feeling of loss. But from these stories, I learned that loss can also be an opening, a way to see existence anew.

Sam Kraus - 10/8

Scattered All Over the Earth surprised me as I believe it is my first Japanese literary piece that I have read that takes place outside of Japan. Of course, there are instances such as Norwegian Wood opening up in Germany, but as far as I am concerned, this is the first time in which the majority of the story takes places overseas, along with one of the protagonists not being a Japanese person (Knut). As for Yoko Tawada, she has to be one of the most unlikely and fascinating people I have done research on. I mean, she was born in Japan, went to Waseda University, Hamburg University, and the University of Zurich, she studies German and Russian literature, was a writer for Stanford and MIT, clearly has an obsession with linguistics, etc. There are even more things about her, but regardless, she has quite the unique story. Anyways, her experiences in Europe of course translate into this novel, in which Knut is a linguistics graduate student in Denmark. Of the four stories we read, this was not my favorite per se, but I did appreciate the discussions on immigration, nationalism, identity, history, etc. For example, many people treat Hiruko quite negatively - they urge her to assimilate into the culture and to drop her old heritage. Furthermore, there is an instance where a classmate becomes sexually interested in Hiruko due to her "uniqueness" and being from a different world. However, Knut is genuinely interested in her heritage - he wants to know about Panska, he wants to know all about Hiruko, her old country, etc. He has a true interest in her culture and a true interest in her as a human being, and this contrasts starkly with the way other people treat her as an immigrant. I could see a lot of this as being a critique of anti-immigrant sentiments that are VERY strong in Western Europe. I would like to finish the novel sometime to learn more about how Japan disappeared. It is interesting, as few people in her vicinity seem to know or remember much about its history.

As for the Memory Police, I did really enjoy that one. Two things really stuck out to me - first, the way that "was disappeared" is phrased. Things did not "disappear" or "go away" but rather, they were or was disappeared. Using passive voice and phrasing it like this, it makes it clear that things did not just go away on their own - someone actively "disappeared" them. Secondly, of course I did not read the whole novel, but I found it intriguing how there is no explanation for the Memory Police. We get glimpses into how they behave, what they wear, what they drive, etc, but in the section we read, there is nothing about how they came to be, who controls them, etc. Furthermore, one of the more fascinating things in the story is the sequence of disappearance. For example, first the "item" disappears, and only after that, the memories disappear too. As the novel reads, "It's all but impossible to recall the things we've lost on the island once they are gone." Interestingly enough though, the mom is able to remember things, but it is not too clear why. She has also successfully hidden many objects in her home. Lastly, I also noticed that all of her books are about losing things - vanished lover, ballerina losing a leg, a young diseased boy, etc. All stories include the protagonist losing something essential to their being. In the world with the Memory Police, everybody has things taken from them overtime, and they struggle with identity, similarly to Hiruko in the last piece. With everything going on in America right now, this story feels less fictional - unfortunately. 

I enjoyed The Easy Life in Kamusari as I have not really read another Japanese novel quite like it. Similarly to Risa Wataya, Shion Miura is pretty funny. I enjoyed parts such as, "Look out, Yoki warned as he opened the front door. The next moment, a bowl came flying out and grazed my chest." In reality, Yoki and Miho's entire relationship is pretty funny. From my perception, this novel revolves around Hirano not fitting in neatly to the capitalist system. He is not excited about working, education, etc. He does not have any strong passions or things he wants or needs to do (things which are essential to survive within capitalism). Therefore, with his lack of ambition in mind, his parents of course send him away to work in forestry in Kamusari village. Interestingly, as time progresses, we learn that Hirano is actually quite insecure about himself. For example, when he falls down the slope and ruins the tree, he is utterly humiliated. Initially, he wanted to escape because he did not want to be there at all, but now, he wants to escape due to this humiliation. This is further revealed when Yoki finally praises him - "Getting praised for the first time made me feel elated." As for the twist of the entire story and the surrealist aspect, I found it to be a little too sudden. With a Murakami book for example, say Killing Commendatore, the surrealist aspects are revealed little by little, starting with the hole. Here, however, the ghost seemingly comes from nowhere, and then like 3 pages later, he is riding on a motorcycle with her wanting to escape again (1 page prior, he mentioned that he did not want to escape). And then after this sudden reveal of the ghost, Yoki and Hirano go back to find Miho, not mentioning the ghost again (furthermore, Hirano really did not seem to perplexed by this whole scenario)... It felt a little too sudden maybe, but I did still enjoy this story.

And lastly, I did enjoy The Little Woods in Fukushima. His 360km trek in the wilderness reminded me of aspects of The Narrow Road to the Deep North, and the autobiographical aspect reminded me of Murakami's Abandoning a Cat. I have not had the chance to read too many of these autobiographical/biographical recounts of history (such as Murakami's Underground), but I would certainly love to in the future. I loved hearing about Hideo Furukawa's family's niche lifestyle as shiitake mushroom farmers. However, this lifestyle was of course devastated by the March 11th earthquake and tsunami that struck Japan. I can tell that Furukawa feels deep love and pride for his prefecture, as he did not want this piece of history to be lost. He expresses, "It is human nature to forget, whenever possible." He writes this piece to preserve the history, and he also expresses, "Even so, I am convinced that if all we do is adopt the stance that reconstruction should just be about getting things back to the good old Fukushima, there are things that will never be restored and there are people that will never be made whole again." It seems like he believes that to get through this tragedy, the people of Japan must accept that it happened, and they must accept it as a part of history. Trying to reconstruct the physical buildings may be possible, but it is not possible to reconstruct the memories and trauma. Instead of repressing what happened, he seems to believe that to make people whole again, acceptance is in order, along with of course hearing the stories of the people in Fukushima who were devastated. Lastly, he overall seems like a pretty great guy. In his writing, he portrays the people around him very lovingly, and his love for his home is evident.