I'd read the first novella in Kitchen before, but embarrassingly, I'd never read the second! I love the first one so much, I was a bit worried that I wouldn't love the second. Honestly, I don't love the second as much, but I loved it anyway. It has some of the most wonderful lines I've ever read.

This book is very personal to me - it hits me in exactly the right spot. It's come to be one of my comfort reads. I've been sick lately, and this book is thin enough to hold up while laying down, simple enough to not require anything beyond reading to get through it. (I looked up the one word I didn't know the first time.) It's a great read for illness because the women in it are grieving, longing, hurting, confused, exhausted, feeling helpless and hopeless and sometimes even sick. Sounds great, eh?

Despite the despair, they're comforting books about growing, getting through and going on even when it feels impossible. They are infused with so many kinds of women - each an individual in her own way. Now that I've read them both, it's still one of my favorites, but I can't tell you why beyond saying they make me feel far less alone. (And I don't even cook, which is a theme as you may be able to tell from the title.)

Also, how can you not love someone who renames herself "Banana"?

In preparing for my trip to Japan, from which I returned more than a month ago, I began to read a few of the Japanese works of literature that I had been gathering at library book sales over the years. Of course, this type of "theme" reading is something that I'm all about. Basically, I'll put together a theme reading list for just about any activity or event in my life, so absorbing some of the works of prominent Japanese authors throughout the 20th and 21st century was a given! 

Reading these works before taking off, during my stay in Japan, and after my return was quite interesting, as my experiences influenced both my response to the culture and changed how I saw the books I was reading as well. Here, I've arranged them in order of publication. 

I opened up my reading this summer with Botchan by Natsume Soseki. Often called the Japanese equivalent of Huck Finn, as in a classic work of literature that most people encounter in high school, Botchan was still a pretty funny read, even across the cultural and time divide. 

Written in 1906, during the Meiji Period, a time of great change in Japanese society as the nation works to modernize and industrialize itself, Botchan exemplifies this uncertain but exciting time. Following an self-confident, some would say arrogant, young college graduate from Tokyo as he reluctantly starts his first job as a teacher in an out of the way, rural town, I actually found a lot to sympathize with in his situation. In a way, I could see some parallels between this "untrustworthy narrator" and the complaints about Millennials today. 

As the headstrong kid butts heads with his fellow teachers and their set ways of doing things, he feels he is being set up to fail. Not sure exactly what he wants, homesick for his cosmopolitan hometown, he does not adapt well to this new environment and soon begins plotting to get back at these insincere phonies to hilarious result. I particularly enjoyed the nicknames he gave all of his coworkers on the first day. 

I first read this collection of eerie Japanese stories by Kyoka Izumi some years ago, when I was looking for weird tales from different cultural backgrounds. I found it even more interesting as a companion on the trip as I learned more of the locations and history written about by Izumi. 

Japanese Gothic Tales contains four novellas, written during the Meiji and Taisho periods of Japanese history. Eschewing the modernism aimed for by other authors at the time, Izumi's work is nonetheless influenced by this period of great change in Japanese culture. The stories themselves are surreal and eerie, particularly my favorite, "The Holy Man of Mount Koya," which deals with spooky creatures and magic in the mountains.

One of the major themes of all four of the stories is the relationships between men and women, and tragedy that results, along with strong supernatural elements- also, a theme of the story being told second hand via a secondary narrator relating some experience to a nameless viewpoint character gave the tales a folkloric air; there is also much to ponder regarding Buddhist and Shinto beliefs, Japanese philosophies, and the transforming history of the period. 

First published in 1956, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion was a gripping and taut psychological novel featuring a fictionalized telling of the infamous 1950 arson of Kinkaku-ji, a Zen Buddhist temple in Kyoto by a mentally unstable young monk. 

Yukio Mishima, one of Japan's foremost modern writers and himself a psychologically complex figure, delved into the dark resentments and philosophies of the neurotic Mizoguchi. A Zen acolyte groomed to join the clergy who developed a pathological love and hatred for the beauty of the Temple of the Golden Pavilion, bound in with his misogyny and self-hatred. Self described as ugly, and afflicted by stuttering, he finds his family's dream of him taking over the Temple taken from him, and responds by burning the temple to the ground, justifying it through his Zen beliefs. Not exactly a happy tale, it is nonetheless a riveting account of an unhealthy mind. It does contain much to think about regarding Zen Buddhist teachings as well. 

Published in 1961, this collection of stories by Yusanari Kawabata explore some dark and surreal territory. I think that one of the literary terms appropriate here may be "decadence." The title story, "House of the Sleeping Beauties," for instance, is a fairly disturbing tale of an aging man paying to sleep next to drugged, unconscious, naked women, and much of the story is the narrator describing the physical appearance of each of the women and how they remind him of people and places from his past. He also considers strangling them. 

"One Arm" also involved a surreal episode of a man paying for a woman's body, in this case her physical arm, which is painlessly detached and he takes away with him, later to swap with his own arm. The last tale, "Of Birds and Beasts," discusses the authors love of animals and how this love translates more into cruelty than kindness towards his favorite pets. Not really sure quite what to make of these ornate, complex stories.                      

Wow, what to say about this one, this tour de force of pitch black humor and deadpan surrealism, this fevered tour of Japan's deepest id. 

Kiku and Hashi, their lives haunted by their newborn hours spent stifling in adjacent train-station coin lockers, abandoned to die by their pitiless mothers attempted to navigate their way through a bizarre and labyrinthine world. Growing up as adopted brothers, most comfortable in the abandoned ruins of Japan’s former industry, they begin to plot revenge against the society that created their mothers. While stoic, pole-vaulting Kiku finds a soulmate in Anemone, a cynical, crocodile loving model who shares his hatred of Japanese society and a desire to destroy it all, the sensitive, neurotic Hashi becomes a male prostitute, a pop-star, and loses his mind. Both share a penchant for murder and rice omelets.

From Tokyo to up to the northern town of Hakodate, all the way down to the Ryukyuan Islands, the trio encounter a host of bizarre characters while struggling with their own inability to get over their maternal abandonment. There is much analysis that can be attempted about what aspects of Japanese culture Murakami was parodying and exploring in this bleak book. Of course, Coin Locker Babies finishes up with no real resolution, or even any real ending, though there is plenty of tension.

The two novellas by Banana Yoshimoto collected in this book, the titular "Kitchen" and "Moonlight Shadow," were both effecting, melancholy, hopeful, and beautiful descriptions of personal loss and everyday pleasures. Evoking both the mundane pleasures and the grief of lost loved ones, Yoshimoto's stories illustrate the complex feelings of life.

Also, particularly in "Moonlight Shadow," there is a magic realist theme that I really found interesting as well. Focusing on young people not sure where they are going and trying to cope with the loss of loved ones, I think a lot of people can really identify with them. It is also really interesting to see these common human feelings through the eyes of a different culture as well. Of course, owing to Yoshimoto's lush descriptions of food, I am definitely looking forward to going to some more restaurants in Tokyo.

Along with the more "serious" works I've looked at so far, I also thought it would be relevant to read a couple of manga titles before the trip, as well. The first volume of Yuki Urushibara's Mushishi was an eerie, understated fantasy read I quite enjoyed- it had a supernatural theme that echoed Japanese folklore and belief combined with an interesting naturalistic scientific background as well. 

Following the Western costumed "Mushi master" (mushishi) Gingko, as he travels a feudal Japanese countryside helping people deal with mushi- strange, and inexplicable phenomena that may or may not be life as we know it, but which predates plant and animal life by eons. Urushibara's lush, atmospheric art does a lot to cultivate the mysterious feelings explored in her writing. I'm looking forward to seeing where the rest of the series goes.

Shunju Aono's dramedy series "I'll Give It My All... Tomorrow" has been very interesting to me. With it's unusual art style and mundane, slice of life storytelling, it is a realistic, heart felt, and funny glimpse into everyday life in modern Japan. A contrast to the escapist, larger than life style of most manga, Aono's work is low key, touching, and funny.

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Following the "exploits" of Shizuo Oguro, a bit of a sad sack who, in the throws of a midlife crisis, quits his soul-sucking job as a salary-man to follow his dream of becoming a manga artist. A man who often changes his identity, Oguro finds himself whiling away his days working on his cliched manga ideas, taking advantage of his father and daughter's generosity before being forced to take a job in fast food to make ends meet. As the series continues, we watch Oguro's pathos evolve, particularly through the lens of his friends and family.

It was very interesting seeing how these accounts of Japanese life were reflected in my own experiences in the country, and how my own responses and mental pictures of them also changed. Now, I have a frame of reference to look at them, and likewise, reading these works also prepared me for what to look for during my journeys. Of course, they we'rent perfect, either. I could only read English translations, which leaves a lot of the original feel of the language out, I feel. In Botchan, for instance, Soseki was fond of using witty puns, puns which would make no sense in English and, for the most part, were left out. Still, even through this imprecise method, reading these books allowed me, in a way, to continue my trip even after I returned home.

Now that my trip to Japan is already quickly fading into the fuzzy pleasantness of nostalgia, these books will allow me to keep my experiences close, at least until my next trip!

*Theme music for entry: "My Magic Glasses," Shonen Knife, Genki Shock, 2005

Kitchen is two stories.  The first is the novella Kitchen which is a delightful surprise and the second is a long short story called moonlight shadow.

Banana Yoshimoto wrote Kitchen when she was only 24 and Moonlight Shadow was written prior to that.  Moonlight shadow reads like talented juvenalia and is a fairly standard magical realism work.  It deals with similar themes to Kitchen and is most interesting in how it relates to Kitchen.

Kitchen is extremely good.  Surprisingly good and is almost a five star book.  It is hard to tell if it is a case of lightning striking once or if Yoshimoto's later work will be of the same standard.  A review in the front of my copy compares Yoshimoto's style to Haiku's and surprisingly that is quite informative.  Especially in Kitchen her writing is very stripped down.  Her sentences structures are simple short and dense with meaning, but the overall tone is very light and airy.  Her primary theme is death, grief, loss and survival.  She manages the task of being honest and real, while being airy and light.  The style of the book forces you to slow your reading down and read at a pace more suitable to poetry.

Yoshimoto, also has a transgender character.  She is a good character but its not so insightful there, although it did totally humanize a transgender character in 1988.  Her style and characters are quirky, but I thought the whole thing very sharp and clever and real.  There is a sort of romance or non-romance in the work which is very well done.  

I had meant to read Kitchen for a long time, but it was far down my priority list.  I read it on a whim and was very taken with it.  Because she is so young, its hard to tell if this is a case of everything coming together once or if she is one of the best writers around.  I'm looking forward to finding out.

How can such sort stories be filled with so much emotions? This was the first thought that came to mind when I finished reading Kitchen and indeed this book was an emotional rollercoaster. Both of the stories were deeply touching and heartfelt, although they were short and concise.

Kitchen, the first and longest story included in the publication, is about a young woman named Mikage, who has lost her grandmother. She struggles to get over the grief, but it's too difficult for her, because she's left alone in the world, without another blood relation. But she finds hope when she moves in with a young friend of his grandmother, Yuichi, and his mother Eriko. After that she slowly gets closer to both of them, she finds a job and a new apartment. When tragedy comes to Yuichi she has to make an important decision, if she will stand beside him or let him deal with it alone.

In its core Kitchen is a love story, although death and loss and how to go on living after such a difficult situation are present all the time. But there is not a great dramatic gesture or a confession, or even sweet loving words. The feelings develop under the surface and the understanding comes from little gestures, like sometimes happens in real life. Sometimes to bring a takeout is enough, in order to convey the feeling of wanting to be together even if everything is so uncertain.

Full review at: http://thereadingarmchair.blogspot.gr/2015/04/review-kitchen-by-banana-yoshimoto.html

Kitchen was hyped quite a bit when I got my first bookstore job about 20 years ago. It remained one of those books I kept in the back of my mind to read, and this year's reading challenges gave me the incentive. Kitchen is actually two short novellas:

Kitchen details the story of an orphaned young woman who loses her grandmother, then goes to live with a young man and his transgender mother. Mikage measures comfort by the state of a person's kitchen, her favorite room in any room, and comes to help her friend in times of need - and in turn helping herself.

Moonlight Shadow is about a young girl mourning the loss of her boyfriend, who longs for closure. An encounter with a stranger helps her toward that wish.

Both stories are written simply, as another reviewer here describes as minimalism. I have only read one other Japanese writer (Kazuo Ishiguro), but this is my first translated work. I liked it, but did require some time to take it all in.