Paris agreement strategically deals with the greenhouse gas emissions mitigation, finance, and adaptation as well. It was sanctioned in 2016.

A Geisha's Journey is the story of a young girl who dreams of becoming a maiko. Starting in China, we meet a Japanese girl named Ruriko, who travels to Miyagawa-cho, one of the five famous hanamachi districts in Kyoto. Ruriko is given the name of Komomo as she starts her journey as a maiko. Learning how to wear kimono, speak the hamamachi dialect correctly, and immersing herself in historical dance and music, Komomo's story gives us a beautiful insight into a disappearing world.

 

Full of gorgeous photographs taken throughout a 7+ year time period, this hardcover is a purchase I am glad that I made. Where Komomo describes her life and feelings, Naoyuki Ogino translates that story into some of the more beautiful photos that I have seen. From seeing Komomo has the young girl Ruriko in China, to candid photos of her shopping with other maiko in Kyoto, to capturing a vision in dance, I can only stare at the beauty captured in color.

 

Unfortunately, it appears that this book may be currently out of print, but if you can find a copy online or even borrow one from your library, it is a wonderful glimpse into the hanamachi and the people living the traditions today.

 

"They say Kyoto is ancient and elegant. And this is true. Sort of. But Kyoto is also a mishmash of architectural madness, from post-war era concrete buildings on up to recent prefabricated monstrosities made of plastic. It’s all over the place aesthetically and I love it. … [E]ventually the whole chaotic collage of the city seeped into my life and work, so I gave up lamenting “progress.”

I am comforted by knowing the city well enough to know where my own private “old” Japan still exists, and also I must say that I have a fondness for urban grunge and the detritus of modern city life. I love the forgotten corners, the less trod paths, unknown buildings stained with the patinas of age and all of the head-turning eclecticism. For me, a lot of the magic lies in the nameless details here that change day to day, and the light as it shifts from season to season. To see all of this stuff for what it is, see what the city continues to become, and accept it all, right alongside the cultural icons here is what makes things all the more interesting. It’s connecting the dots; seeing the continuum between present-day Kyoto, as a functioning, transforming city and it’s romantic past." ––Joel Stuart, “In Praise of Uro Uro”

"I had to acknowledge that I had to come to Japan in order to see that a 7-Eleven here was just as Japanese — as foreign — as any meditation-hall, and no less full of wonder (or even kindness and attention). Sanctity lies not in any object but in the spirit you bring to it." ––Pico Iyer, “Into the Tumult”

These two quotes perfectly encapsulate the spirit of the city I call home, and this collection of eighteen essays from long-time residents are as diverse as Kyoto herself.

This book should not be considered a guidebook. While it is true that there are directions, here and there, on how to find the intimate locations mentioned in Deep Kyoto Walks‘s pages, the true heart of the collection is in the people, and their experiences, both as Outsider Looking In, and Already Through the Looking Glass. A memoir of multiple consciousnesses, readers can expect to be taken into the lifeblood of Kyoto’s real culture, not just the stereotype emblazoned by so many years of postcards painting geisha crossing red-lacquered bridges.

Step into the tsukemono (pickle) shops of Nishiki Market, the mish-mash architectural landscape of Kyoto’s ever-changing streets, ancient forests and mountain trails, shrines with less than peaceful origins, and the many smiles (or scowls) of Kyoto natives.

[FULL REVIEW ON: http://alex-hurst.com/2014/06/26/deep...]

it's generally understood in Japan-specialist circles that books on Japan, and indeed Japanese authored fiction, generally fall into two categories: the books on the illusion of Japan (1) or the books on the gritty reality (2). it's considered a mark of taste to prefer the latter; you are 'daring,' 'hard,' 'tough,' perhaps 'manic,' 'mean,' 'cool,' or 'strict' to find, review, read, enjoy the underbelly stories; the stories about criminals, drug-use, beatings, the underclass, the poor, the weak, rather than "the beautiful cherry blossoms of Japan, and how they swirled around me as I navigated the mists climbing the hill to the whoppermill castle, upon which I spied the first glint of an autumn approaching, samurai, sumo, geisha, My Japan." (bwahahahah) the difference exists as well for Japanese writers on Japan: Ryu versus Haruki Murakami, Mishima Yukio vs. Banana Yoshimoto, Tanizaki and Dazai and to some degree Soseki versus a thousand lesser known writers who time and historical opinion have confined, duly, to the dustbin.

Conde Nast's printed review at the beginning of Lady and Monk seems to capture Pico Iyer's achievement best:

Iyers get as deep into the Japanese soul as a perceptive foreigner can...a love story unique in the annals of travel writing.

for what Iyer is attempting--the cherry blossoms and sweeping autumn leaves swirling around temples and Zen contemplation of Kyoto, as I begin to meet more and more regularly with a thirty-year old married woman who seems to be afraid to unfold her wings and let fly--he has achieved all that is possible for this task. but since he belongs to the school (1) of Japan, the elevation of the illusion, the obsession with the love side of the love-power equation, his work is necessarily limited, and he fails to excite a genuine breakthrough in J-literature, even as he undoubtedly manages to charm ten of thousands of readers and create a boy's romance story.

Iyer's book seems to move from an Indian's philosophical approach to a British realist over the course of the travelogue, but while his clear lucid prose invites entry into his more read 'Video Nights in Katmandu,' it's also clear that his talent does not lie in the island country. the work deserves its repute as a solid piece of craftsmanship and a welcome addition to J-lit, but it is not groundbreaking and it is not bold. the clash between Indian upbringing, Oxonian manners, California in-knowledge, and the setting of Japanese austerity is at times lyrical, but there's no especial reason to make this a book you pack into a steamer case when you switch countries--it's fine to know it exists in public libraries across the developed countries, but never something to invest in terms of the weight-meaning tradeoff when you're on rails or carrying a rucksack.

earns points for skill of writing, for Iyer's extremely well-read background and philosophical readings at Oxford (by which we gain some of the Derrida-post-structuralist tradeoff against Japan's empire of no-meaning-- Barthes was it?), wins points that Iyer knows his limits and doesn't go past, but belongs to the category of foreigner who one generaly leaves to their own take. a pretty work.

These sunny, baffling sentiments were everywhere in Japan--on T-shirts, carrier bags, and photo albums--rhyming, in their way, with the relentlessly chirpy voices that serenaded one on elevators, buses, and trains; it did not take a Roland Barthes to identify Japan as an Empire of Signs. These snippets of nonsense poetry were also, of course, the first and easiest target most foreigners in Japan, since they were often almost the only signs in English, and absurd: creamers called Creep, Noise snacks that came in different colors, pet cases known as Effem...Every newly arrived foreigner could become an instant sociologist...- Iyer, p. 220

A bold deconstruction, but as about as a non-speaker can get into interpreting the Japanese world. And yet Iyer married a Japanese woman, so who can plumb the mysteries of this 200 IQ double Harvard- Oxford grad and world traveler? Lady and the Monk is redeemed, partially, by musings on both obscure and well-known Zen thinkers, existentialists, Jewish New York philosophists and -ers, and his characterization of the "in-out" cycle of airport-driven life is spot on, but it's hard to escape the feeling that he would have benefited from more language acquisition before his foray, and it's not clear Iyer really "gets" the heart of the story he attempted. plus points: lucid prose, some ability to minimalism where appropriate, emotionally fine-tuned scenes; negative: a tourist's eye superficial look at Japan, little appreciation of the inside dynamic.

14 March 2013

what a difference a month makes. reading Lady and the Monk LATM right next to [b:Speed Tribes|178081|Speed Tribes Days and Night's with Japan's Next Generation|Karl Taro Greenfeld|http://d.gr-assets.com/books/1172456627s/178081.jpg|172025], I kept noticing how much Iyer was a) superficial b) non-speaker c) uncool d) a fuzzy focus romanticism liar. well, all those judgments may still hold true. but I've liberalized.

maybe we do need these gossamer-spinners, these illusionists and crafters. in a world of so much harshness, pollution, poison, factory wasteland, somebody creates a myth about japan, and then starts to believe it?

and Iyer gets points because he saw the edge of religious interest that presaged Japan; whereas Crichton and Clancy in 1991 had entirely different takes on the country?

i guess I will write more later, but suffice to say, I accept a 4/5 rating. Iyer is a myth-weaver, and these judments may still hold true... but that is what it is.

Kate Walbert is an extraordinary author. She has a way with words, both lyrical and seductive. If she wrote the telephone book, I know that it would be one of the most beautiful books ever written. This is my third novel by Walbert, and each time she amazes me again with the poetry and imagery with which she imbues every story.

Like her other novels I've read, A Short History of Women and Where She Went, The Gardens of Kyoto weaves stories within stories. It is ostensibly a coming-of-age tale during and following the second world war. Ellen is a young girl, growing up in eastern Pennsylvania, in love with her cousin Randall, whom we learn in the first sentence was killed on Iwo Jima. The rest of the book moves back and forth in time, mingling their tragic story with that of Ruby and Sterling, Daphne and Gideon, Ellen and John.

The narrative is written in stream of consciousness, jumping from one memory to another as she narrates her history to a person identified only at the the end of the novel. The whole novel moves at a slow pace, there is no rush of action or emotion, no crescendo, and yet it is perfect in this. It is not a story that would lend itself well to a huge reveal or adventure. And this is exactly what I love about it. It is a novel that you read simply for the joy of a beautifully written word.