all hail japanese literature

i've just finished reading another jap lit novel; at first i was pretty hesitant to pick it up from my shelf bc it looked so imposing with its thickness but i am so glad i did (even though i kinda ambled through it). i've come to realise that the good thing about lengthy books is the slow growth of a sense of deep attachment - even to the point of developing a relationship with the characters, albeit one-sided (since they are afterall fictional, irrespective of how real they may seem).

anyway, it seemed unworthy to let such a good read pass without comment, so here i am - re: thoughts about (the sparse but growing) japanese literature books that i have hitherto read.

i am definitely not a fan of the otaku culture in japan (i think anyone who knows me well enough can vouch for that), but there is something about japanese literature that is wholly different from its modern counterpart; it possesses a unique quality that enthralls me & supersedes all other forms of literature in my heart i.e. american & british lit.

it has the inherent propensity to tug at my heartstrings with all its subtleties, with its gentleness that has the quality resembling something like a maternal figure; yet it simultaneously lures me with its darkness not unlike that of the bottom of the ocean - what i imagine to be a lonely & cold pit, beckoning with slimy hands of death - or a rope. (for people who worry about my state of mind after reading this: i am emotionally stable & doing v well, thank you for your unduly concern)

jap lit appears to be plath without the feverish madness (that can come across as too loud & aggressive) - the elements of an acute depression masked by a matching facade of serenity. it is like the calm before the storm, the only difference being the dearth of a storm in the first place. perhaps i over-generalise but i always get the feeling that there is hardly any strife (at least not outwardly) when the characters are dealing with grief. instead, there is merely resignation, a placid acceptance resembling that of a cancer patient who has gone past the stage of fearing death; a relent to the ghosts of the past to take him/her with them.

above the bouts of suicidal tendencies that seem to come as second-nature to the characters (which greatly intrigues me that it is more of a culture than a segregated, individual response), jap lit reveals to me the beauty of tradition - something that is so easy to scoff at bc it is admittedly rather passe. perhaps i am only able to say this from a distance bc i still find some of the traditions of my own racial group quite...pointless, but tradition placed in the context of the plot (usually in the backdrop of war-torn japan) immediately raises its standing in my heart. jap lit reveals to me the beauty of a past that is filled with so much pain & futile suffering, especially in light of the sufferings of the war. it shows me the human side of the occupation from the aggressor's own perspective, which is so rare bc we have only been taught of the atrocities from the victims' point of view in schools (since propaganda is named propaganda for a reason). it makes me realise how even most of the japanese people were merely victims of loyalty (some even forced), & how even the worst crooks (the masterminds) were also merely victims of their perceived infallibility.

it makes me realise how we are all victims of something that gnaws at our weakest - even the seemingly invincible characters are not spared.

"we're stepping into a new world, and an entire way of thinking must be changed. but the old ideas can't be easily discarded. like a pendulum, new ways must swing to the other side before returning." (the street of a thousand blossoms - gail tsukiyama) 

also, my favourite quote that has anchored me for at least the past three years is by a famous japanese author:

"if you only read the books that everyone else is reading, you can only think what everyone else is thinking." (norwegian wood - haruki murakami) 

coincidence? i think not.