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 Sōseki 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 Sōseki'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.

 

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.

Sylvia Chen 11/4

The story A First-Rate Material made me feel really uncomfortable from the beginning. In this world, people wear sweaters made of human hair, and even plan to wear a wedding veil made of human skin. Everything seems normal to them, and no one thinks it’s strange. The scariest part isn’t the use of human materials, but how calmly everyone accepts it. They talk about it like it’s completely normal. When the character finally puts on the wedding veil made from her father-in-law’s skin, this is so strange and disturbing that I could hardly imagine it. This story made me think about how thin the line is between what we call “civilized” and what we call “barbaric.” What’s considered normal just depends on what society agrees to believe.

In The Missing One, the huge salamander that was eaten and then spat out really stayed with me. I keep wondering does that counts as being reborn? Kikue leaves her hometown and then returns; it’s just like that salamander. It feels like saying that even when we think we’ve escaped a place or a time in our lives, those experiences are already part of our soul. The idea of rebirth here seems more symbolic to me; maybe it’s about continuation rather than renewal. But I’m still trying to figure out exactly what it means. 

What moved me most in On High was when Tomihime stood high up in the Castle, watching the tourists wander below. These people are full of curiosity about history, but they feel nothing about its pain. They come searching for a past, but most of them miss the real sorrow and loneliness that once existed there. Tomihime herself has become part of this consumption of history, and this way of being seen feels really sad, because she still exists, but no longer as a person. She has been reduced to a symbol. But she begins to awaken. When she says to Himekawa about it’s time to go, I didn’t feel that as a disappearance. It felt like a gentle release. She finally realizes she has a choice. She can leave behind the role of being watched and consumed, and reclaim her own sense of self. 

What impressed me most in The Cage of Zeus was how it shows the gender topic. The R-types are neither male nor female; they exist in between. It made me think of how, in real life, people who don’t fit into the usual gender boxes are often pushed aside. For me, I feel like the author seems to ask, “Who gets to decide what’s normal?” In the story, humans use like ethics and order to hide their fear and how they want the need for control. It reminded me that even when we say we value diversity, we still draw invisible lines and call some people “abnormal.”

The Place of Shells feels like a dream. The sea and memories blend together until all boundaries disappear. What touched me most was how the story makes memory feel physical, just like something you can hold or smell. The shells are like containers of time, holding traces of past lives, just as our bodies hold memories. When the main character picks up a shell, it’s like touching her own past, as memories like footprints in sand may fade but never truly disappear.

When I finished Self-Reference Engine, I didn’t really understand it. I’m so lost. The story reads like an academic paper about the origin of Japanese writing, calm and emotionless, but strangely haunting. The researchers try to rebuild a vanished Japan from symbols and notes, but the more they search for truth, the more it feels like an illusion. But I liked the “post-Japan” mood, like a world where only fragments of a lost civilization remain. It made me think that maybe our need to study, name, and create knowledge is just a way to believe the world still has meaning.

Sam Kraus - 11/4

In The Cage of Zeus, I appreciated the longing that characters display for a past time, place, memory, etc. Even though we only read a single chapter, there are multiple instances of this. For example, in the opening sequence, Shirosaki has a dream about the little girl picking a mango. He observes her and then proceeds to help her pick them, before feeling a powerful, heavy sadness. Upon waking up, this sadness lingers, and I really like this sentiment. It's not uncommon for us to have dreams in which an emotion is invoked, and upon waking up, that emotion lingers before dissipating. Clearly here, Shirosaki is longing for a previous time in his life. As for a different example, the novel mentions that, "Even the humans not born on earth find solace in its blue..." Phrasing it like this, it is as if every human has an innate longing to return to home, in this instance, earth. No matter who it is, everyone has felt a longing for home in one regard or another. However, on a different scale, I cannot imagine having that same longing but for earth.  The people long for an earlier time in which survival was not at the forefront of one's thoughts, and being away from earth, the novel expresses that "humans were like bacteria clinging to the tiniest puddle of moisture." Space is fascinating and all, but at the same time, it is dark, cold, depressing, lifeless, endless, etc. Space travel sounds amazing in theory, but practically, I think people would quickly realize that earth is where we are suited to be. And in this story, the characters realize that once it is too late. We also see how humanitarian issues we experience on earth have carried over into space. For example, you have war between The Vessel of Life and the people inhabiting Jupiter-1. Here, people are similarly pulled from home in order to fight a war (like any war in the world). In this instance, they are pulled from their home of Mars to travel across the solar system to fight. We also see instances of prejudice and racism, such as Harding mentioning regarding Tei, "You're a broad-minded one. I don't have it in me to be so tolerant." Rounds feel inferior to the monaurals, and similarly, they are treated this way by Harding and others. So although earth is no more and humans have abandoned it, the very systematic issues live on with us but on a galactic scale. 

As for The Place of Shells, I think this quote nicely sums up what I got out of it, "I understand full well how precarious reality was, and yet it seemed I still maintained an unconditional belief in the stability of its foundations." As humans, we all believe in this tranquil stability until reality rips that fabric apart. As this story expresses, one instance of this was of course the pandemic. However, another instance of this was of course the March 11th earthquake and tsunamis. At one moment, people can be living peaceful lives, but in an instance, that can be ripped away, as happened on that day. And as the novel expresses, the very things that bring us comfort and tranquility in nature can devastate us - "The sea, which had remained a stable presence throughout the majority of Nomiya's time, hadn't left behind the slightest trace of their memories." That is an amazing sentence. With all of this in mind, trauma is of course another fundamental theme of this story. Not only does Nomiya return in ghost form, but our narrator also mentions, "I tried burying my ears in the pillow, but I could still hear the faint rumbling, trapped inside my head like a ringing." Furthermore, I think that tragedy of Nomiya's death is described beautifully in this sentence (where he first arrives at the station) - "Casting off the impression of a saint imprisoned in glass." As for one last thing I'll mention on this story, a super interesting contrasting point appears, in comparison with The Cage of Zeus. As I previously mentioned, we find peace in the night sky, some long to explore space, etc. However, in that story, the characters realize that earth is their true home, and that leaving it was immensely regrettable. However, in this story, our protagonist says, "Up there, facing this one, was a world of peace and tranquility" (when describing space). As we learn, that appearance of peace and tranquility is largely an illusion...

Self-Reference ENGINE  by Toh Enjou is a bit hard to read, but that is also because he is really intelligent... holding a degree in physics and a mathematical PhD on language from the University of Tokyo. Still, I at least did enjoy the surrealist, meta-commentary on the Japanese language. In this story, similar to Scattered All Over the Earth, Japan has disappeared. Researchers are attempting to decipher the language and history, but they are struggling terribly. For example, there "appears" to be over 12 billion characters, characters do not appear to repeat, the use of some symbols is unclear, etc. And most important of all, the researchers appear to be stuck in a loop - we learn at the end that his text was brought back by the first research team to visit the former Japanese archipelago. However, this piece of work simply describes the researchers studying it. Therefore, in a funny yet uncanny way, the researchers are trying to decipher a piece of text of them deciphering a piece of text. In other words, the object of study and the analysis are the same thing. Following that, the piece also expresses, "To further understanding, more new material would be needed, but the materials brought back by each research team only promoted greater diversity of interpretations." Therefore, in another ironic way, studying the Japanese texts creates more texts. Therefore, any attempt to understand the text simply creates greater misunderstandings. I didn't care for this read on the first attempt, but after reading it a second time and seemingly or ostensibly coming to understand it, I think this one may be my favorite here. 

As for The Missing One, this story is an allusion to the story of Okiku. Similarly, no matter how many times she counts, Kikue only has 9 plates - she is missing the 10th one. Of course, Okiku is associated with Himeji Castle, and over the years, Himeji Castle has become very famous. As the town that Kikue lives in becomes dilapidated, worn down, etc, constant renovations go into the castle. As she says, "It was as though the city channeled every last drop of its sublime energy into Himeji Castle." The town is described as having the old, no longer used monorail, uncared for botanical gardens, etc. However, the castle is renovated, and, Kikue runs a gift shop. Therefore, part of me wonders if this story is a criticism of tourism, similarly to On High. It is a lot more apparent (in my opinion) in that story, but it seems to be present here. Lastly, although this is an allusion to Okiku, our main character Kikue seems to be a lot more independent and in control of her life, in contrast to Okiku. For example, she runs her own gift shop, and most importantly, although it was missing, Yuta HIMSELF brings her the missing plate (he is a guy of course, like Okiku's master was). In the other story, the master hides it and kills her, but here, the man brings it to her, seemingly representing a more modern, empowering feminist account of the story (similar to Doujouji). 

And as I just mentioned, On High is also about Himeji Castle, but its critiques of tourism seem to be more apparent. For example, "Not a single person stopped to appreciate the fact that real people had once lived real lives in this place." Tomihime is of course a ghost, and I might of missed something, but I am wondering if she herself is supposed to represent Okiku in the modern day, given that Okiku came back to haunt the people who harmed her. However, whether this story is empowering or not is debatable. The castle does "belong" to Tomihime in a sense, as described in the story. She gazes down on the castle, and she behaves how she pleases, even if her behavior is, "not befitting a princess." However, if she does represent Okiku, she of course must live on as a ghost - the master still killed her back in the day, and she is stuck in this form. Still, the castle is hers, and she is the princess of it.

Lastly, A First-Rate Material was the most straight forward of the stories we read. This is one of those stories where I feel as if Japanese context goes a long way, as resource waste is incredibly frowned upon in Japan vs. the USA. With this sentiment in mind, Sayaka Murata plays with the idea of using the "resources" of dead humans, whether that involves skin, teeth, hair, etc. An argument is made that expresses - is using a dead human's hair really so much crueler than incinerating their corpse? Whether you buy the argument or not, it at least leads to a moment of reflection. Also, it was interesting how the husband was utterly opposed to the idea until he sees the wedding veil on Nana. In that moment, he sees  beauty in it, going on to say, "Maybe everyone's right, and making things out of people after they die really is a wonderful, moving thing to do." So that being said, cynicism leads me to contend with this idea. As we know, we do not wait until animals die peacefully to utilize their resources - we murder them. Whether that is meat or fur, animals are killed for those very resources. In turn, in a society that begins to commoditize human resources... things could go south. This idea makes me think of the novel Tender is the Flesh. In that novel, once animal flesh is unavailable, the wealthy/government turns to breeding and consuming humans for sustenance. And if the resources that humans possess become valuable...