Sunday, November 30, 2025

Bin 11/19

 

The Devotion of Suspect X

I’ve read the entire book before. Many people consider it the peak of Keigo Higashino’s fusion of storytelling and deduction, but personally, I enjoyed Journey Under the Midnight Sun and After School even more. 

The crime itself is simple, and the answer is already hinted at in the title. The whole narrative unfolds like a neat mathematical theorem: the mother and daughter commit a murder, and Ishigami helps them escape legal consequences. What’s truly beautiful isn’t the theorem itself, but the elegance of its proof. The most thrilling aspect of the novel is how Higashino positions emotion as the single flaw in an otherwise perfect formula: mathematics is perfect, but human feelings are an uncontrollable variable.

This sets up a stunning moral dilemma at the end. Yasuko’s inescapable guilt becomes something Ishigami can never quantify or predict—no matter how gifted he is, he can’t calculate her final decision.

To me, the core of the story was never “Who is the murderer?” but rather: Why would someone devote themselves so completely to another person’s existence? That fatalistic devotion lifts the novel beyond ordinary mystery fiction and gives it a rare literary weight.


Uzumaki

I’ve known about Junji Ito and his works for years. The first piece of his I read was The Snail, a short chapter connected to the Uzumaki universe.

What sets Ito’s horror apart isn’t jump scares—it’s the way the eeriness seeps into everyday life. Uzumaki embodies this perfectly. The manga is visually overwhelming; just the first forty pages made me feel physically dizzy. 

Strange Houses

This novel genuinely scared me.

Unlike Uzumaki, which distorts physical space to create horror, this story leans toward psychological terror. While reading it, I kept thinking about Edvard Munch’s The Scream. The loosening of logical reality, the eerie border between dream and consciousness, and the characters’ mounting unease all echoed that painting’s distorted image.

More than fear, the story produces a kind of indescribable anxiety—a tension you can’t quite locate but can’t shake off either.


Before the Coffee Gets Cold

I’m not very familiar with time-travel stories, but I really enjoyed the pacing of this one. As I read, I found myself asking: If we could revisit our regrets, would we really choose differently?

I also realized something important: maybe people don’t long for the past because they want to change history—they want to understand who they were. Yet we’re all destined to confront loss, misunderstandings, farewells, and regrets that can never be undone. I believe this novel gently nudges readers toward facing their emotions in the present moment rather than escaping into fantasy.

Overall, I really like the message it delivers.


I Want to Eat Your Pancreas

I’m very familiar with this story—I’ve watched the animated film twice. It moved me deeply each time.

There’s another Japanese anime with a similar emotional core: Your Lie in April. Both works revolve around illness, secrets, and adolescence. They are both tender yet devastating.

This novel helps readers understand life and death through the connection of two souls, and that alone is powerful. But beyond the emotional impact, it also forces readers to confront the overlooked details of their own lives. 


Wednesday, November 19, 2025

11/19/25 - Thomas Weber

 The Devotion of Suspect X - Keigo Higashino

    This was, in my opinion, one of the most suspenseful and fun readings that we have done so far for this course. I especially enjoyed the description of the poor/homeless by Ishigami and the way in which he both humanizes yet also affirmes the concept of meaning as through actions. What I mean by this is that he is humanizing the homeless by giving them names and jobs, yet at the same time directly reflecting societies views of them by making large assumptions and tying their daily activity to their being and character. Further along, although I found the sudden change in perspective somewhat jarring it fit quite well into the story and helped to create meaningful context and suspense in the story. My favorite part of this reading was that it both gave me some insight into how the relationship between ex-husband and ex-wife is seen in Japan, through the scene with the mention of the cops coming, as well as its simple narrative and fun circular evidence like with the mention of the bike at the start. Overall a fun reading that held suspense, gave me some insights, but did not capture me for its writing in particular.


Strange Houses - Uketsu

    This was my favorite story from this week. Deeply creepy and greatly atmospheric, this story did an amazing job of blending in realistic clues with surrealistic circumstances. Although I am not often drawn to investigative novels I found this one tasteful in the way that the problems and theories themselves are imagined and not grounded in certainty. It is not like we know for sure that someone died out of malice or that malpractice was performed. This uncertainty adds a good amount of ability for the reader to flesh out their own theories and either agree or disagree with the writer on major plot points. I will most definitely be buying this novel when I get the chance.


Before the Coffee Gets Cold - Toshikazu Kawaguchi

    About a year ago I bought this book at a nearby bookstore and gave it a quick read. Although the writing did not stand out to me and the concept was relatively simple in nature I found myself quickly drawn in by its relatability in its storytelling. A common theme, it seems, for this weeks readings is to move away from more literarily complex pieces into more heartfelt and emotionally available ones. This is a book that I commonly recommend to friends who have not read in a while due to its easy but still compelling nature. 


I Want to Eat Your Pancreas - Yoru Sumino

    Having watched the anime as well as previously read part of this story in English I have always loved the way in which it treats mortality. However, in this story I did find the main character to be a lot more human, as well as an (pardon my French) asshole, and that the story felt even more forced that in did in the Anime. To me it feels like a sort of fantastical narrative by someone who feels dejected and rejected by society and created this story to insert a love story into a character similar to themselves. I still enjoyed the ideas around mortality, specifically the idea that we are all dying and or set to die without knowledge of when and how we choose to live our lives in conjunction with this dilemma of comfort or experience, but was more bugged by this strange feel of the story than I had in the past. 


Uzumaki - Junji Ito

    I think that it is safe to say that reading this between the hours of 3am and 4am was not the brightest idea that I've ever had. I quickly found myself reading well beyond the assigned reading pulled in by the strange and graphic depictions in the manga. I see this story as a quantification of the vastness and un-understandable nature of the world around us and how we so easily find ourselves literally putting ourselves into the mold of our curiosities and obsessions. What a fun read!

Tuesday, November 18, 2025

Sylvia Chen 11/19

Reading The Devotion of Suspect X made me feel really tight and uncomfortable….. From the beginning, Yasuko and Misato seem trapped in a corner. They are scared and powerless, and when the ex-husband appears, the feeling of “there is no escape” becomes even stronger. While reading, I felt the same tension. When an accidental killing happened, I was not shocked at all. Instead, I felt a heavy drop in my heart, like pressure that had been building for a long time finally bursting. Yasuko and Misato are not bad. They were simply pushed to their limit. And that limit felt very real to me as I read. And the most painful part for me of the chapter was not the death itself, but the helplessness of having to live with it.

I also don’t like the story Strange Houses. The scariest part for me is that the woman in the story actually drew her own death, and she didn’t even know it (or maybe she did.) Her drawings look normal at first, but when rearranged and put together, they reveal how she dies. When simple drawings suddenly become a death scene, it gave me chills. And when the character finally understands what the drawings mean, I also freeze. It’s felt just like a horror movie. Seeing those separate pieces of paper suddenly form the shape of a dead body is very unsettling. (I'm genuinely terrified of this kind of Japanese horror. It gives me nightmares.)

After reading Before the Coffee Gets Cold, I feel like I understand “going back to the past” in a new way. Maybe what we want to change is not the event itself, but the version of ourselves from that moment ( the one who didn’t understand and didn’t have time to speak). I feel like the character wants to go back, not because she wants her ex-boyfriend back. Instead, she goes because the breakup happened so fast that she had no time to think. That feeling of not explaining, not expressing emotions, and not understanding why things ended. And sometimes what we really want is just to know what happened and why. The cafe's rules feel very symbolic to me. They show that the only thing we can truly change is who we are now. The goes back, cannot get a different result, but only an understanding.

In I Want to Eat Your Pancreas, the thing that stood out to me most is how the story shows the small, delicate space between life and death. The male character is very calm, almost cold, and this makes the emotions feel heavier and more real. In contrast, Sakura appears full of energy and light. Her attitude toward her illness seems almost too relaxed, but because of that, I can feel she is actually dealing with fear in her own way. She uses her smile as a shield, and she stays calm because she knows her time is limited. It’s a strange and sad feeling. The closer she is to disappearing, the harder she tries to live fully. When the two characters first start to notice each other, I notice a small but clear change. Sakura is slowly opening up the male character’s world, even though he doesn’t realize it yet.

In Uzumaki, what impressed me most was how Junji Ito creates fear without using any actual monsters. Instead, the story becomes scary when the boy’s father suddenly becomes obsessed with spirals for no reason. The hidden is in small details, and fear grows little by little. For me, this kind of fear feels more real because it comes from something familiar in daily life, slowly turning strange. I also think the spiral is frightening because it is just a simple shape. It has no life or emotion. But in the story, the characters react to it in such strange ways that the spiral starts to feel like something from another world. It feels wrong and inhuman, and that makes it even scarier.

May Inui 11/19/25

 “The Devotion of Suspect X” was really interesting, and I would like to read the rest of the story. I could really feel Yasuko’s hopelessness when dealing with Togashi, as well as the fear she has of him potentially harming her and her daughter. I’m also interested in what happens to Ishigami and his relationship with Yasuko. He seems like an intriguing character, and I would like to see how he develops. 

I watched Uketsu’s YouTube video on this story in Japanese a while back, but it was nice to read it in English, it had a different feel. The Japanese video felt creepier and more unsettling, while the English written version had more of a mystery tone. I thought it would be harder to follow since I remember the video being a bit all over the place, but the story was written very well. 

Uzumaki was very unsettling for me. I’m not a big comic/manga reader, so the disturbing visuals really got to me after a certain point. I didn’t think much of the spirals at first, but by the end, I’m not sure I can look at spirals the same way again.. 

I enjoyed “Before the Coffee Gets Cold.” I liked the concept of being able to go back in time at a cafe, but only under very specific conditions. I’m interested in whether Fumiko gets to talk to Goro and how that situation plays out, since she seemed so determined to change the present even though that isn’t allowed. I’d also like to know more about what their relationship was like before they broke up. 

I watched the live-action movie of "I want to eat your pancreas" a while back, so I didn’t remember the plot very well, but it was nice to read it in English this time. I thought it was a rather cute story, even though it deals with themes of death and illness. The author, or at least the girl protagonist, approaches these themes somewhat lightly, I felt. I got the impression that her joking about dying soon was her way of coping with the reality of her situation.

Sunday, November 16, 2025

Sam Kraus - 11/19

This week's readings were lots of fun, and I enjoyed every single one of them, starting with The Devotion of Subject X. Firstly, we learn that Ishigami is a math teacher in high school, and on his way to work, he notices that the green bike was missing - immediately, in a Chekhov's gun sense, readers are informed that this bike will have some sort of significance, which it of course does. Further on the topic of the commute, I like the descriptions of the working people of a society vs. the poor or jobless. Ishigami passes through a homeless camp under the overpass, and we see mentions of what some of the homeless do with their time, such as crushing cans, reading industrial magazines, etc. We further learn about the plight of some of their situations through quotes such as, "The chances of anyone wanting him for a job at his age were close to zero anyway." Although ageism is an issue no matter where you go, particularly in Japan, ageism is a severe issue in the workplace. Due to the many variables stacked against them, there is regrettably little hope for a person like that. I like that this section is included as Ishigami commutes to work, because as I mentioned, it is a stark contrast between people who live in the same society. Anyways, this story mainly revolves around Yasuko. Yasuko immediately reminded me of Makiko from Breasts and Eggs, as Yasuko is a single mother who works at a night club, raising her only daughter Misato. Sayoko even mentions to Yasuko, "You wouldn't want her developing a complex because her mom's a nightclub hostess," and this is interesting as this is something that Midoriko must contend with too. Aside from this, we are introduced to Shinji, the ex-husband and antagonist of the reading. Keigo Higashino did a great job portraying a manipulative, narcissistic, power hungry ex-partner who refuses to move on. Some of the sentences even made me feel deeply unsettled and angry, such as when he says, "Hard for a woman living by herself to raise a kid... I've changed... you'll give in before I will, every time." "I've changed," is a classic weapon that an abuser will use, and nothing displays "change" like stalking and coercing your ex-partner at work... Another unsettling moment came when he approached Misato in the apartment - "The way he was standing blocked Misato from Yasuko's view, so she couldn't see how her daughter was reacting." This sentence does an incredible job of portraying Yasuko's powerlessness against this man, and you can imagine just how terrified Yasuko was in this moment, given that her daughter was out of sight as this man approached her. Furthermore, the cops being unwilling to help is even more damning, as seemingly, there is nothing she can do. At some points it was hard to read, as people like Shinji absolutely exist and cause people lots of suffering. And on top of that, there are plenty of stories of women reporting these types of men, in which the police do nothing, and something terrible ends up happening to them. Still, I was pleased when Misato bonks him on the head at the end. She is the hero of the story for doing that, although I can imagine that only made things worse.

As for Before the Coffee Gets Cold, I actually bought this book the day before this. I did not know we were reading it, and I had heard good things about it. And, I can confidently say that I absolutely enjoyed it. To start, I like the foreshadowing of the past, present, and future, teased by the antique clocks - "There were three large antique wall clocks in the cafe. The arms of each, however, showed different times." Of course, the reading deals with time and the past, present, and future, so to me, the three different clocks with three different times represents the past, present, and the future. Shortly after, we are introduced to our main character, Fumiko. She sounds like a pretty amazing woman as she graduated from the top of her class at Waseda and speaks 6 languages (although later in the novel she speaks 8 different ones, so I am not sure if that was an error or if she speaks only 6/8 fluently?) Anyways, her loser boyfriend decides to up and leave her on a whim to move to America of all places. She is distraught over this, and the conversation in which he broke up with her took place at the very cafe this story revolves around. Upon revisiting this cafe, Fumiko learns that she can travel back in time. Initially, she wants to travel back in time to convince him to stay around. Hirai and Kazu slowly reveal the secrets of the process, and Fumiko commits to visiting the past. However, this is interesting, as Fumiko is explicitly told that she is unable to change anything through this process. Yet, she still wants to do it. Is it to try to convince him anyways? To see his face one more time? To voice her frustrations without consequence? Who knows, but to me, it could go one of two ways - she could tell him off or something and get closure, or she would simply prolong her pain. Without being able to change anything, it seems that revisiting the past would be futile. On a different note, I love the portrayal of this underground cafe - it comes across as its own little world in which characters gather for similar reasons, and they suffer from similar issues. Even with the future displaying endless possibilities, our characters are stuck on one fixed outcome from the past that weighs them down, yet cannot be altered. 

I enjoyed I Want to Eat Your Pancreas, and I even ended up reading the rest of it. Still, I could not help but think of something silly - why would Sakura hang out with this guy? The author tries to play it off as - well, he is the only one who knows her secret, and he does not treat her differently even knowing that she is going to die, so that is why. However, I cannot take this as being realistic. Honestly, this more so comes off as a fantasy that some quiet guy in the back of the classroom would have, and the author is trying to tap into that audience. Especially because although he did make me laugh a couple of times, the protagonist can be annoying. Regardless, as I mentioned, it was enjoyable for me - mainly because I liked Sakura. Furthermore, I do think that the main sentiment of the piece is not only poignant, but true - "Is it really all right for you to be spending what little time you have organizing books in the school library?" Response: "You have things you want to do before you die, too, right? Yet you're not doing them. Either one of us could die tomorrow." As someone who appreciates classical stoic philosophy and Buddhism, this is a familiar sentiment. We are all dying every single day, yet we only pay attention to those who are, say, terminally or visibly dying. To most people, death appears to be a far off day or even an impossibility, but pieces like this attempt to remind us the truth. Speaking of Buddhism, I actually found some parts of the reading to be quite Genji-esque, such as, "I took a step with each pulse of my heartbeat, and my mood soured by the forced awareness of the transience and fragility of my life." This whole piece reminds me of the concept of Mono no Aware, and even other sentences such as, "It has started in April, when the late-blooming Sakura trees still held their cherry blossoms," also reminded me of that. Of course too, Sakura is a fitting name for the young girl, as she only lived for a short time, yet left many in awe and emotionally moved. Of course, it is also the ephemerality of something like that that makes something so beautiful in the first place. Would a cherry blossom be as magnificent and culturally cherished if it survived year round? I do not think so. 

I knew of Junji Ito and his fame, but I had not actually read any of his works before. I simply had seen photos of it, and truthfully, I am surprised that it took me so long to read something. I am not into manga or anime, but I do love the manga Berserk, and it shares similar elements of dark fantasy which is my favorite genre. I love the deeply unsettling, eerie build up as Shuichi's father slowly loses his mind in the process of staring at spirals. The panels became increasingly disturbing, and the build up to the last one was magnificent. Honestly, the last panel was horrifying, but in the best way possible. It is hard to form too many thoughts after such a short reading, but I felt very uncomfortable and on the edge of my seat the whole time. This winter break, I would love to explore more of his work, as this is the type of fiction I love. 

Lastly, just like everything else, I really enjoyed Uketsu. The build up of the mystery of the photos was well done, and along with being unnerving, the story was tragic too. Raku's blogs were quite upbeat, happy, and optimistic about the future. However, throughout this entire process, the wife knew the truth of what fate would unravel for her. Throughout the entirety of the blog and her pregnancy, she knew that she would die upon giving birth to their child. And when Raku figured this out, I could only imagine how much pain he felt - pain, grief, depression, and betrayal. This is one of the novels that I plan to purchase, as I would love to figure out what happens next. Yuki absolutely appeared to love Raku, yet it seems as if her fate was sealed, and to protect Raku, she let events unfold as they did. I thought the most depressing moment of the story was when Shuhei revealed the last two images of the father and child walking together - Yuki knew that it would be just them together. Although the story was emotionally moving at points, I enjoyed the adventure of Shuhei and Kurihara solving the puzzle piece by piece. I had no clue what was going to happen, even though I even tried to consider it for a bit. Reading each page felt rewarding as new information was revealed, and I overall liked this story a lot. One of the themes appears to be the powerlessness of human beings at times, as Raku was stuck in a chain of events that were guaranteed to happen, outside of his control, and in the midst of this, he was uninformed, powerless, and ultimately, completely alone. 






Wednesday, November 12, 2025

May Inui 11/12/25

I liked the message that “War Bride” was trying to convey, that words can sometimes hurt more than actions. The line “Things that have no meaning are bound to be less damaging than things that do” stood out to me. The protagonist is deeply afraid of hurting others because she understands how lasting pain can be, especially the kind caused by words. “When you're hurt, you're hurt forever.” “A single experience of pain sets off an endless process- you relive the pain every moment of your life. Though the mind may rationalize it as a thing of the past, sorrow returns again and again.” I interpreted this passage as conveying the nature of trauma. Having experienced word-induced trauma herself, the girl fears inflicting it on others. As a result, she learns to cope by staying silent, choosing not to be a burden to anyone. The story also explores the idea of believing your trauma will never fade, yet slowly learning how to live with it. I found the ending especially poetic, she understands the weight of words from a young age and chooses silence, even in the face of immense loss, such as her child’s death. 

“A Poor Aunt Story” was my favorite piece. I loved the way Murakami set the scene in the first few pages, how the story begins so suddenly, with the narrator feeling an unexpected urge to write about a “poor aunt.” At first, I thought the poor aunt was just a metaphor for an idea she wanted to express, but as the story went on, it seemed that the narrator truly believed there was a poor aunt on her back. I wondered why this image seemed to change shape for different people. Is the “poor aunt” just words? I think the story suggests that words, and the images they create, can become so vivid that once you imagine them, you can’t easily get rid of them, like a lingering memory. What I enjoyed the most was Murakami’s ability to take such an ordinary and strange idea and turn it into something beautiful. I really enjoyed this story from beginning to end. 

I found “The Great Passage” quite interesting. “If some definitions weren’t quite successful, he liked the way they at least made a good effort.”: I found the narrator’s view of dictionaries as imperfect, “at least they made a good effort”, particularly intresting because I’ve always thought of dictionaries as the epitome of correctness, since they define words. The story started off rather slow with its detailed descriptions of dictionaries, and I initially thought I might not enjoy it, but by the end it became a very heartwarming story. I found myself intrigued by Majime's character. 

I didn’t think I would enjoy “The Fall of Language in the Age of English” at first, since it initially read like an academic paper. However, I actually found it very interesting, especially the discussion about how science and mass-produced goods, essentially faster dopamine and entertainment, contribute to the downfall of the humanities. The author counters this idea by arguing that literature allows for the proposal of questions and the exploration of ambiguity, something science does not allow. I also found the emphasis on the world entering the “age of English” due to its dominance in academia particularly interesting, as well as the point that machine translation will never truly reach the standards of human translation. This reading reminded me a lot of last week’s “Self-Reference Engine,” though I personally found this one more engaging. 

“The Emissary” was an interesting contrast to “The Fall of Language in the Age of English.” It takes place in a setting where people no longer study English and where Japan has attempted to erase all traces of Western influence, essentially closing off the country completely. I liked the dystopian atmosphere of the story, such as the absence of telephones. I also enjoyed the ending, particularly the description of Marika, whom I found to be a very intriguing character. 

11/12/25 - Thomas Weber

 Mieko Kawakami, "War Bride"

    This story was perhaps the hardest to actually interpret in my opinion due to its short nature as well as the complexity of its ideas. In reading it the crux of the story that I understood was that of grief and or sorrow becoming integral in a person. Simply put, pain in any fashion becomes an intrinsic part of a person, whether this destroys them or cloaks them in some kind of protective sheath depends on the person. However, pain in this story is presented as an axiom of existence. One can avoid it for themselves by sheltering themselves but also causes pain in that sheltering. Finally the part about not wanting to impart pain onto others and the true consciousness of words was interesting. This in my opinion was a sort of commentary on modern Japanese society as being too focused on what affects others and not the self, as well as the ideas of the veil of language and how interpretation leads both to misunderstandings, pain, and remembrance. 

I also briefly considered this story to be about sexual assault at the beginning which I do think still fits within the narrative as something that due to its lack of social status for women in Japan causes a shutting down of the individual to society.

   

Haruki Murakami, "A Poor Aunt Story"

    This story was a lot of fun to read. It took me on a journey of sorts using what almost seemed like Murakami himself thinking out loud to the reader. It also brought about an interesting idea that remembrance does not always mean importance. What I mean by this is that all of the characters in the story directly remembered their version of the "poor aunt" yet the importance that was attached to these individuals did not stem just from them being remembered but from the lack of impact they had on their lives. I am probably not explaining this properly but what I mean to say that I found interesting is the idea that simply being remembered is not enough. One must be remembered for more than they were in a vacuum and as a part of society for them to avoid becoming a poor aunt.


Shion Miura, "The Great Passage"

    This was my favorite passage from the readings for this week. Specifically because it acknowledges the shortcomings and beauties of language in its use and propagation between people. It really felt like language within the context of this story was a constantly evolving organism that absorbs everything around it to become universal all whilst keeping its context and interpretation incredibly individualistic. In this I am curious as to some of the challenges that the translator may have run into having to translate definitions of words in other languages, what a headache!


Yoko Tawada, "The Emissary"

    The Emissary was a wild read to say the least. It brought in so many themes from isolationism to climate change to age as a burden and a curse. Not being able to focus on all of these aspects I will focus on what I personally found the most interesting. That was the way in which time and age was presented. Perhapse the most interesting of the examples in the story is the way in which (seemingly) gaining a longer lifespan and everything that was invested into making that happen has actually regressed the population to the point of losing basic living qualities that we take for granted today. Whether that is the internet, a stable climate, the unity of the country itself, or our understanding of language, the presentation of age and the passage of time as being fundamentally stretched seems to have a created a world of more division rather than unity. Something that we do not often consider when thinking of living longer. How would living longer actually separate society along generational and temporal lines rather than unifying it?


Minae Mizumura, "The Fall of the Language in the Age of English

    This story was one of the most interesting readings that we have gone over so far. While I do not completely agree with what the writer is saying as to the nature of language and the "special" nature of the English language I do appreciate his view. What this language assumes that I do not completely agree with are two things. One is the strength of identity in determination of language and culture, and the second is relationships between languages not being able to evolve for mutual growth. For my first point I completely understand the idea that English has become an intellectual language internationally and is considered the diplomatic language of the world, leading to people associating their own languages with a certain lack of refinement, and therefore hurting nations that exist outside the direst sphere of English. However, this assumes multiple things. Firstly, that America and English speaking countries will remain the dominant economic (which is where most of the incentive for the intellectual nature of English comes from) and scientific centers of the world, something that has especially in recent years started to become challenged by China, as well as a lack of pride existing in the traditional texts in native languages around the world. If we take the middle east for example they have one of the most concentrated areas of intellectual prowess from anywhere in the world written entirely in Arabic and adjacent languages that have trouble being translated into English. Not only are these texts extremely highly regarded internationally but they form one of the backbones of scientific and cultural understandings of the world and religions of the world. Secondly, this assumes that languages do not grow in tandem with each other. Languages, in the way that I see them, are continually evolving and growing social organisms that absorb their environment and adapt to fit the scenarios around them. This idea assumes that English will not start to form direct relationships with other languages in ways that will integrate both into the English lexicon as well as the language itself. A perfect example of this is English and French. Both sharing similar roots they naturally share a lot of vocabulary, but in addition to this new vocabulary in English has imbedded itself into the English language and vice versa. This is seen even in languages as distant as Japanese and English where terms, expressions, and common phrases have broken the boundary between the two languages consistently. What an interesting reading!

Tuesday, November 11, 2025

Bin 11/12

 The Fall of Language in the Age of English

Four years before this book came out, Facebook was launched; a year later, YouTube appeared; and in 2007, the iPhone changed the world. The early 2000s were the age of globalization, when English was turning into the “universal language” and the internet was spreading everywhere. Writing at that moment, the author voiced her worries about digital globalization and the challenges faced by non-English languages—especially Japanese—and their literature. Even back in 2008, she sharply sensed that while the internet was tearing down old information barriers, it was quietly building new kinds of language monopolies. (Ironically, the flood of non-English data only made English’s dominance stronger—English libraries would become global, while others would drift into isolation.) She also warned that national languages and traditional literature might fade as writers began writing more and more with English-speaking readers in mind.


War Bride

This story reads like a quiet tragedy. The girl gradually learns to restrain herself—to keep silent as a way to avoid hurting others or getting hurt. In the end, everything comes to a strange stillness: a burning house in a vast, silent world. It’s an open ending that could mean many things—the death of language, of violence, of trauma—or maybe just a kind of spiritual extinction.


The Emissary

This is a soft sci-fi story with a very human core. Its biggest flaw, for me, is the flatness of the characters—everyone feels more like a symbol than a person—but the writing itself is beautiful, and the setup is fascinating: the disappearance of language, a locked-down country, fragile newborns, immortal elders. The author seems to see post-Fukushima Japan as a society forced to rebuild itself, and that idea echoes in her dismantling of language. When I noticed that the practical use of language was fading but its poetic function was getting stronger, I started wondering: does this fall and rebirth of language hint at the shifting of civilizations, the collapse of old knowledge systems? The author seems to say that life keeps finding new paths among ruins—that new centers will rise, new orders will be born, and both language and life will find new forms to exist in.


A Poor Aunt Story

To me, the “poor aunt” stands for the forgotten—the names lost, the memories buried deep in our minds, the moments we had no choice but to leave behind. In the story, the poor aunt is tied closely to the past. Her defining trait is that her name fades away even before her body does—symbolizing the people and things we once held dear but can never get back. She doesn’t have a fixed shape, because everyone’s sense of loss is different. To some, she appears as an old mother; to others, a dog that died of cancer, or a teacher burned in an accident. All carry pain, sorrow, and helplessness. People don’t want to remember them, and that powerlessness becomes loneliness. The protagonist feels this deeply—watching a young girl being disciplined but unable to help, growing distant from his girlfriend, and finally reaching a point of despair where he sends a plea for help only to get silence and indifferent replies. They can never truly connect, because the girlfriend can’t see the “poor aunt” he carries inside.


The Great Passage

In The Great Passage, Miura Shion finds something epic in the most ordinary things—she turns a massive project into a collection of quiet, everyday moments. Beneath that calm, steady storytelling, I felt something deeply moving. I especially love her metaphor of the dictionary as a ship. I’ve been reading some intro books to Buddhist philosophy lately, and they say that while truth goes beyond words, we still need words to express it—they become extensions of truth itself. In this novel, human emotions and thoughts flow together like a river of language, and the dictionary is the vessel that lets us travel across it—communicating, exploring, surviving. It’s an “extension upon an extension.” Even something as simple as the word dog doesn’t just point to an animal—it carries cultural and emotional weight too.



Sam Kraus - 11/12

Firstly, I want to start by expressing how glad I am to have come across War Bride. For my senior thesis, combining medicine and Japanese literature, I am writing about Natsuko's (Breasts and Eggs) experience with poverty and trauma and how it affects her memory in the present. In doing so, I am arguing how her memories/monologues function like somatic memory, in which her past of poverty and trauma is involuntarily reactivated by environmental stimuli (e.g. on the very first page, she goes into a monologue about poverty after seeing the impoverished-looking girl on the train). Kawakami often writes about memory and has it on her mind, as seen in her novels, short stories, interviews with Hitomi Yoshio, etc. Upon reading this piece, I knew that it would nicely support my argument with sequences such as, "When you're hurt, you're hurt forever, she discovered one day when she was poking around somewhere near her core. A single experience of pain sets off an endless process - you relive the pain every moment of your life. Though the mind may rationalize it as a thing of the past, sorrow returns again and again, grabbing a hold of that distant memory. The silhouette springs back to life. That's how memory works, how it lingers." As I argue in my thesis, as Kawakami portrays, pain/traumatic memories are not a thing of the past, but rather a silhouette that lingers in the background, waiting to be reactivated. The pain/trauma always lingers in a subject, and it is brought back to life upon experiencing some sort of stimuli. On a different note, there was another parallel between this and Breasts and Eggs. For example, in this story, the protagonist renounces her speech, similarly to Midoriko. They might be for different reasons, but it is still certainly an interesting similarity - female characters losing their ability to speak. In this case, the protagonist renounces her voice to stop hurting others. As she says, "No matter what shape they took, they could always become entangled with someone's eternity. She couldn't stand the thought that her words might slip into another's existence and remain there..." Just as painful experiences slip into Natsuko's existence and remain there, in this story, the protagonist is afraid of doing that very thing to someone else.

I also really enjoyed The Great Passage. As someone who loves writing, literature, poetry, hip-hop music, etc, I love the creative use of language and playfully using words to create imagery or multiple meanings with a single word or phrase. In this story, there are multiple instances of multiple interpretations - dog having multiple meanings, the kanji for Majime being different from expected (open to multiple interpretations before reading), and the narrator expressing, "Watching Majime go, Araki wondered again if he would be alright - in more senses than one." On a different note, I enjoyed the splashes of comedy throughout, and I enjoyed Araki's passion and admiration for language. When he mentioned that he wanted to become a scholar in Japanese, a peer of his could not comprehend wanting to study a language he already knows. But for those who swoon over writing, poetry, lyricism, etc, it is clear just how deep a language and its creative uses can go. As someone who actively consumes literature, poetry, etc, I can attest that I am no master of the language, and studying those who are is a passion of mine, as I find language to be utterly beautiful when used in creative, remarkable ways. I loved the atmosphere of the story and Araki's quest to finding his successor, and this is definitely a novel that I see myself picking up sometime soon to add to my collection. 

As for The Fall of Language in the Age of English, this is one of the most interesting pieces we have read so far, at least in my opinion. Firstly, Mizumura argues that scientific advancement, diversification of cultural goods, and consumerist society have all weakened literature. To start, I can confidently say that I support this argument. Going further, I think that this logic can be applied to music as well. Over time, music is becoming more and more of a product, as seen by a music label's pursuit of commercial success, over the quality of a piece of work. Following this, I appreciated Mizumura's distinction between art and science, especially as someone who has his feet deep in both fields - "Science may explain how humans came into being, but is has no answer to the slippery question of how humans should live." Although science can bring us closer to fundamental truths on the nature of our environment and reality, it can never explain to us how to conduct ourselves within that space. Hence, we have literature, philosophy, etc. We use science and art to make sense of our experiences and life at large, but we use them in completely different ways. And following this introduction, we enter the core of the chapter - "We have entered the age of English." To start, this is a thought that I have had for a long time. What is it like to not speak English natively? I mean, you go to China, Japan, Germany, Brazil, etc, and you have signs, directions, menus, etc, all in English. As one of the many privileges that I possess, I can go anywhere, and I can function in my native tongue. This is something that many English speakers do not take into account or reflect on, especially considering the history of colonization, imperialism, slavery, etc, all of which operated within the English language. For example, the stealing of native land and murder of natives, the overthrowing of Hawaii and forcing its residents to speak English while banning the native language, Britain imperializing the planet, etc. Of course, these things occurred outside of English too, but that is besides the point. Ultimately, one of the points that I am making, is that, "The English language is violence," as expressed by one of my favorite hip-hop artists/poets. I say all of this to express that the world caters to my own language, a language which has a horrid past. And due to America being the world superpower, globalization, and the need for people all around the world to learn English, Mizumura expresses the fear of other languages losing their life over time. As she argues, people will begin to consume media in English rather than their own language, which in turn, means that writers will be more incentivized to write in English, creating a vicious cycle. She further argues that some countries may even experience a fall in their native literature... she further bolsters her claim by expressing, "Even when writing about Japan, the more important the subject, the more meaningful it will be to write in English." I find this point to be very convincing, especially in a field such as academia. Lastly, for one of her arguments that I do not quite buy, she claims that in modern times, Natsume SĹŤseki would likely not become a writer, as he would try to write in English, fail, and finally, Japanese would not allure him. I feel as if Mizumura sort of romanticizes Natsume SĹŤseki's time in London, when in reality, he absolutely hated it. In fact, he believed that outside of western influence, Japan needed its own intellectual and emotional independence. So therefore, even if he was not able to attract many readers due to Japanese literature experiencing less allure to young people, I do not feel as if he would be as deeply enamored with English as she claims. He was before his London trip, but that trip changed him, and he realized the importance of Japan and its identity. Still, I really enjoyed this piece, and I completely agree with her claim that young people in Japan are not allured by Japanese literature. I cannot count how many times I have tried talking to Japanese friends about Japanese literature, and when I mention a specific author, they look at me like I am speaking a different language. However, the same can be said for any country. In this age, literature is certainly an art in decline.

I thought that The Emissary was more related to a novel like Scattered all over the Earth rather than the previous two, and although I did not find myself engrossed in it, it was enjoyable enough - I just think that I enjoyed the previous three so much that the bar was quite high. In this piece, Japan has become completely isolated, and studying/speaking other languages is largely illegal, the younger generations no longer learn English, Japan no longer uses western-style items, etc. In this novel, the sequence of events appears to be a reverse of the Meiji area influences from the west. However, interestingly, Yoshiro does not even support this isolation policy. So although it exists, there are citizens who do not agree with it. Following this isolation, Japan lost access to the internet, phones, and even Tokyo becomes impoverished, while interestingly enough, Okinawa and Hokkaido do just fine. It is evident that following this isolation, Tokyo no longer produces the opportunities and other attractions that bring people to it, while on the other hand, Hokkaido and Okinawa "thrive," with things such as their unique fruits. Tokyo is simply a hub, and things get produced elsewhere. So when society becomes isolated and closed off, it makes sense that a place like Tokyo comes crashing down, whereas places that actually manufacture goods and perform agriculture thrive. 

Lastly, to be honest, I was pretty tired by the time I got to A "Poor Aunt" Story, and it did not help that the most surreal story came last for me (I found myself re-reading lines to make sense of things). This is a very Murakami-esque story in which the protagonist wants to write a story about a poor aunt, and moments later, a poor aunt becomes attached to his back. I found a few things interesting about this piece, such as the narrator directly addressing the reader - "Chances are, you don't have a poor aunt among your relatives, either." Next, I found it interesting how, "She was apparently a kind of ether that changed shape in accordance with the mental images of each observer." Rather than always being a poor aunt, to others, she would appear as whatever their minds would conjure up - a dead dog, a school teacher, etc. And, each of these representations appeared to repulse the observer, making them uncomfortable. Due to this uncomfortableness, the protagonist loses many of his peers, and people isolate from him. Due to this "flaw," he becomes isolated himself. It is quite interesting how the companion never feared the poor aunt, as in reality, she could not see the aunt herself. As for what the poor aunt could represent, given that this is Murakami, it could be whatever you decide to interpret it as... still, to me, it appears to be a sort of isolation or hidden emotion that others perceive or are reminded of. And just as quick as it comes, the story ends with it departing... 

Sylvia Chen-11/11

This week’s most memorable reading for me was The Fall of Language in the Age of English. The author reflects on how English slowly “devours” other languages. When English becomes the universal language, other languages don’t just lose their use in communication. And I started thinking about my own language learning. Compared to English, learning Japanese made me feel much more clearly that you can only really understand a culture when you understand its language and its context. That made me wonder: when I think in a different language, am I becoming a different person? I don’t think so. I think it’s more like finding another path to express myself. People sometimes say, “When you use a different language, you switch to a different persona.” I actually agree with that. Language shapes how we see the world, and using more than one language helps us realise we don’t just have one fixed self.

In The Emissary, I really liked the part about fruit. When Japan stopped importing food from abroad, all the oranges, pineapples, and bananas came from Okinawa. Okinawa becomes like a symbol of Japan’s past — a memory of when the country was open and connected to the outside world. It represents life and energy. However, the fruit was hard to reach Tokyo. This feels like a metaphor for Japan’s closed culture and way of thinking. Tokyo becomes an old, isolated place. The oranges that are mentioned again and again seem to express a longing for the Japan that used to be bright, open, and warm. This part also made me think about Japan’s history as a “closed country.” During the Edo period, Japan isolated itself from the rest of the world. That history shaped Japan’s self-contained traditions. 

In The Great Passage, my favorite part is when Araki says, ““A dictionary is a ship that crosses the sea of words.” People ride on this ship and collect small lights on the dark waves so they can express their thoughts more clearly. When I read this, I felt he wasn’t only talking about a dictionary, but about our human wish to be understood. I love this idea. A dictionary is like a ship full of memories and feelings. Every word is like a tiny star that helps people get closer to each other. Language is not only a tool for communication, but also a way of saying, “Please understand me.” When I read this part, I also thought about learning new languages. Each new sentence is like building a bridge. It helps me see the world more clearly and connect with others. 

In A Poor Aunt Story, I wondered why he chose an aunt instead of an uncle. But the figure is quite special. Aunt is not the center of the family like a mother, and she doesn’t have authority like a male relative. She exists in between, belonging to the family but also somehow forgotten by it. It might represent a kind of invisible energy? like the people or feelings that society ignores. Maybe Murakami chose a woman because female figures often carry meanings of silence, passivity, and invisibility.  When the aunt appears on the narrator’s back, it feels like a ghost. She isn’t evil; she’s more like a quiet weight that never leaves. What’s interesting is that when other people look at the narrator, they all see something different. This makes me think the aunt is not just his ghost, but a symbol of loneliness and emptiness. The ghost Aunt reminds me of a feeling that no matter how much we try to move on or forget, something will always stay with us.

I put “War Bride” as the last piece because, when I first read it, I didn’t feel much. I understood that it’s about trauma and the pain that keeps coming back, but it was hard for me to connect emotionally. Maybe it’s because the story feels very quiet, like it’s being told through a layer of fog — distant and hard to reach. The line that stayed with me most was:  A single experience of pain sets off an endless process-you relive the pain every moment of your life. Though the mind may rationalize it as a thing of the past, sorrow returns again and again, grabbing hold of that distant memory. It made me think that memory never really disappears — it just hides inside the body, waiting to come back when touched. But I’m still trying to understand what Kawakami wanted to say besides trauma. Maybe she’s also talking about a kind of fear of feeling, when people who are hurt choose silence rather than try to be understood.

 

Wednesday, November 5, 2025

11/05/25 - Thomas Weber

 Sayuri Ueno - The Cage of Zeus

    I found The Cage of Zeus to be an interesting reading. It dealt with some themes that I was definitely not expecting such as terrorism and the evolution of the Human race into intersex chimera's (I think that's the right term?). Although, to be honest I did find this piece to be easy to read but also quite simplistic. It represented a future where humanity left earth to life extremely precarious lives in space and definitely deals strongly with the theme of progress leading to a loss of what truly matter. Overall it was an enjoyable read but I do not have much to say about it.


Mai Ishizawa - The Place of Shells

    Although not my favorite story I did appreciate the atmospheric style of Ishizawa and the way in which she let the reader discover the story and the meaning alongside the main character. I also found it interesting how she consistently used metaphors that seemed out of place at the time to describe later events, such as the truffle dog finding the truffles potentially being an allusion to the bodies washing up and the people having to be found. This is definitely a story that deserves multiple readings.


Toh Enjoe - Self-reference Engine

    I found this story very interesting although very confusing as well. A good mix in my opinion. The story itself takes the reader on a sort of journey through possibility by slowly revealing the how, what I can only assume to be ai enhanced humans or something of the sort, were fighting on a dimensional plane above that of Human perception. This story, in my opinion seems like a direct warning at how technology can not only stop aiding people and researchers but can actually reach such a pinnacle that it is beyond our biological comprehension. and once we reach that point we have lost all control over our reality, even though we have very little already.


Matsuda Aoko - The Missing One and On High

    These short stories were both quite fun to read and engaging. I especially liked how they tied into each other with the whole story of the 9 plates and the need to say 10 emphatically to break the curse. Although the actual moral or motive for writing the two stories is somewhat unclear to me I can definitely see how they again reflect this idea of normalcy and change as a marker of growth. How things that we might see as encumbering are actually what have helped to build us up in a way that elevates us and brings others to us.


Sayaka Murata - First Rate Material

    This story was maybe my favorite because it exemplifies how our morals, ideas, and philosophies are oftentimes born less from logic and more from feeling and environment. I have always found the idea of burial to be quite interesting as it definitely comes from a hygienic evolutionary trait around hygiene and disease, therefore also causing the effect that we call uncanny valley, yet with our current medical and technological advancements changing these traditions would make perfect sense. It very much made me question where my morals and ideals come from and how were formed in the first place.



May Inui 11/5/25

 “The Cage of Zeus” was probably my least favorite piece, though I appreciated Ueda’s descriptive language. I found the story a bit difficult to follow and it didn’t leave much of an impression on me, likely because I’m not a big fan of science fiction. However, I did like Shirosaki’s character, he came across as grounded and the most human of the characters. He seemed capable of genuine emotion, as shown when he says, “But they're also living beings. In that sense, they're no different than we are.” This line highlights his empathy in contrast to the coldness around him. I enjoyed “The Place of Shells.” The fact that Nomiya is a ghost and the city is described as being "steeped in memories" made me think about the fragility of life on Earth and the cycle of life and death. I appreciated the incorporation of historical events like Covid and the 3.11 earthquake. The story was slow but continuous, keeping me wondering what would happen next. At first, I was both confused and intrigued by the story, it raised many questions, but I liked that everything eventually started to click, especially when it was revealed that Nomiya had died in the earthquake. I liked “Self-Reference Engine.” It got me thinking about the Japanese language, which I usually don’t reflect on much since it’s my native language and something I learned naturally. I enjoyed reading about it and found myself appreciating the complexity of the language in a new way. It took me a while to realize that the story was dystopian, but once I did, I appreciated reading it through that lens, especially throughout the latter half of the piece. I really enjoyed Life Ceremony.” The idea that human-made items such as clothes and furniture were considered luxuries and highly sought-after made me feel a bit uneasy at first, and I found myself agreeing with Naoki. However, when Naoki bended and changed his opinion after seeing the veil made from his father, it made me think that perhaps knowing the person makes it easier to appreciate such an item, almost like a memento of the person. Still, the thought of wearing something like that made me feel a little uncomfortable. “On High” and “The Missing One” were both short and sweet, although I have to admit they weren’t as memorable for me. I found myself really liking the detailed description of Himeji in “The Missing One. For some reason I was kind of expecting the stories to be scarier, since Japanese ghost stories are often known for being quite scary, but that’s just my personal opinion.  

BIn 11/5

 

The Place of Shells 

The first thing that came to my mind reading “The Place of Shells” was the movie Inception — that same blurry space where emotion and trauma start bending what we call “reality.”
In this story, the boundaries between past and present fade. The lines between perception and reality fade. Even life and death start bleeding into each other. Linear time feels fragile — easily shattered by broken memories and unstable moments.

I think the author wants us to feel that disorientation, like when a camera goes out of focus — a kind of dizziness where sight blurry to eyes and everything hums. You can really sense it in how the scenes and memories overlap. I even thought of Naoko in Norwegian Wood — maybe that same sense of “blur” is what she experienced after Kizuki’s death.

The truffle dog is such a cool symbol in this story. Sniffing for truffles is really about perception — about searching for something invisible but deeply present. Smell, time, memory — they all share that quality. They can’t be seen, they’re elusive, and they only reveal themselves when you pay attention.

“The forest was a symphony of scent: the verdure, and the water it contained; the fallen leaves that had turned to mulch, and the mold rotting the backs of the leaves…”

The beauty of the landscape is also the smell — and that smell is Agatha’s memory of her mother, her past all at once.

I think the place Planetenweg possesses an extremely important sacredness deliberately set by the author. It is a sacred space in this book.

My guess is based on religious scholar Mircea Eliade and his distinction between the sacred and the profane. In his view, the sacred is timeless and stable — something that gives life meaning — while the profane is just our ordinary world with linear timeline. Here we can see how author develops this interruption to the ordinary world by letting protagonist walking at Planetenweg :sacred breaks in the profane world (world where everything is what we familiar with and time is linear) and transforms ordinary space into a place where emotions, memories, nonlinear time, perception all flow in.

Göttingen, in the story, also feels like that kind of sacred space. It’s described as

“a city that blended over the seams in time.”

Its boundaries are unstable, the flow of memory and time constantly reshaping it. And Nomiya’s ghost-like presence and religious temperament  (“With the greenery flickering in the sun behind him, I thought
for a moment of the stained glass renditions of saints that one saw in tall church windows.”

) add that same sacred feeling — a sacred crack in an otherwise ordinary world, where all the existing boundaries dissolve, past and present, reality and perception, life and death, they all start to intertwine. 


Missing One

Compared to The Place of Shells, “Missing One” shows spatial imbalance in a much more physical way.

“The section of wall closest to the shop window jutted out slightly, offsetting the balance of the whole space.”


“The entire block on which Kikue's shop stood … was punctuated at regular intervals by monorail columns that poked up from the buildings like tall chimneys. Right there on the other side of the street was a block of slick-looking new apartments with auto-locking doors, but here, it was as if time had ground to a halt.”


“The idea that its destination was still standing while its midway section was gone struck Kikue as kind of sad. The monorail was like the town's phantom limb. Its loss was felt.”


“It was as though the city channeled every last drop of its sublime energy into Himeji Castle.”


The author may try to express the loss of personal value caused by spatial imbalance (such as abandoned railway tracks and old towns compared with the shining Himeji Castle).


“With lewd eyes, the man glared at her mockingly.”


Salamanders example


“Kikue could remember being entranced by the shy plants they had there in her childhood, which would shrink from her touch by curling up their leaves. The botanical gardens were far more run-down and neglected than she recalled.”


In this story the author rewrites the ending, giving Okiku warmth and closure. It fits that line perfectly:

“You had to give things some time before you could be really sure about them.”


On High

On High didn’t hit me as strongly story-wise, but I loved its idea — taking old legends and weaving them into modern settings. It gave me American Gods vibes, where the past and present overlap and old myths walk among us.
I’m drawn to that collision between fate and modern life — love, redemption, timeless emotions that connect ancient souls and us modern humans in the same fragile way.


First Rate Material

One big question in this story: Why do humans reject what’s made from themselves?

The disgust toward human hair or body-based materials feels symbolic — it’s about maintaining that line between life and death. Respecting the dead is part of what separates humans from animals. But logically, that boundary doesn’t always hold.

Naoki’s behavior captures this perfectly — rejecting human hair but wearing a goat wool sweater. He’s clear with the boundary between human and non-human, but maybe doesn’t care about the moral inconsistency of how he treats other species.

So what’s really the difference between human hair and animal hair — is it ethical, emotional, or just cultural?


The story’s ending, with the two characters holding hands, felt like the author’s quiet discussion about flesh and soul— that even if we exist in material form, it’s memory, emotion, and the pulse of shared life that truly last.

The Cage of Zeus

This one reminded me of the Isaac Asimov sci-fi stories I read in high school — even though I barely remember their plots. The style feels space-opera-like, slow but reflective. It seems to touch on queer existence in Japanese society, but the narrative didn’t leave an emotionally strong impression on me. Still, the theme fits the classic space-opera idea — using a futuristic setting to mirror real social contradictions.

Self-Reference Engine

This story hit me with a paradox: if language can expand infinitely, does that mean human understanding is limitless too? Or will we eventually create something so vast we can’t even comprehend it ourselves?

That question instantly made me think of the movie Her — that final moment when the AI evolves beyond human comprehension, leaving the protagonist behind.
It’s both terrifying and beautiful — that point where creation outgrows its creator.



Bin 11/19

  The Devotion of Suspect X I’ve read the entire book before. Many people consider it the peak of Keigo Higashino’s fusion of storytelling a...