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hardback £10.99
Vintage
Paddyfield.com
My Name is Sei Shonagon
hardcover $19.95
Overlook Press
Paddyfield.com
Powells.com (USA)
More reviews by L.S. de Lamas
Readers may purchase reviewed books from Paddyfield.com, Asia's online bookseller.North American readers may prefer to buy US editions from Powells.com.
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My Name is Sei Shonagon by Jan Blensdorf
"This is how he loved me," begins one of this novel's many exquisite passages. "A hand passing down the arm of a kimono, as wind might sing to water." Indeed, the greatest strength of this first novel by JAN BLENSDORF lies in its poetic language, which manages to capture the intense pain and longing of the half-Japanese narrator, as well as the beauty and restraint of traditional Japan: its arts and mythology, its behavior and sensibility.
Although MY NAME IS SEI SHONAGON is set in present-day Tokyo -- where the narrator lies paralyzed in a hospital, mentally pouring out the story of her life to her unborn child -- it is "old" Japan, which Blensdorf clearly loves, despite its dark side, that permeates the atmosphere of this novel, giving it an almost anachronistic feeling. This is especially evident in the central conceit of the book: the narrator identifies strongly with another artistic chronicler, Sei Shonagon, a tenth-century imperial lady-in-waiting and author of The Pillow Book, a charming miscellany of lists, anecdotes, and observations of Japanese court life that is considered one of the great classics of Japanese literature.
From her hospital bed, the narrator recalls her brief happy life in New York with her parents; her return to Japan at age seven, with her mother, after the death of her American father; and their miserable life under the thumb of her rigid, traditionalist uncle, who has what can only be called a samurai fetish: he likes to dress up in full samurai attire in the privacy of his room, and drills his young niece on "the way of the sword." Years later, while in university, she inherits an incense shop (rather obviously named "The Bridge of Dreams"), a remnant of old Japan in the heart of trendy Tokyo. Over time -- the "how" of it is not altogether convincing -- she becomes a kind of counselor to unhappy men. In a small upstairs room, seated behind a screen like the women of Sei Shonagon's time, she listens to a parade of men divulging their secret sorrows. At their request, she devises soothing narratives for them drawing on her knowledge of Japanese history and legend. In this way, she eventually meets the man who will give her the courage to emerge from behind the screen and reclaim her life.
Throughout the book, the author weaves images of imprisonment and escape, outer appearance and inner reality, drawing parallels between aspects of ancient court life and modern Japanese society, and emphasizing artistic creation as one way to escape the relentless pressure for conformity. One of the key turning points in the novel is marked by the line: "And then I picked up my brush." However, Blensdorf's explicit attempts to critique contemporary Japanese society ("a collective cry of unstoppable pain") are less convincing. This is not because her observations are wrong -- in fact, this will be an enlightening book for anyone not familiar with Japan -- but because the men who come to the incense shop are more representative "types" than full-blooded characters. Even their voices are virtually indistinguishable from the narrator's. Similarly, although the mother is painfully believable, the uncle fits almost too neatly into his role as the villain, with his character reflecting the "unbreakability, rigidity and cutting power" of his swords.
The biggest flaw in the novel is, unfortunately, an important one: although the narrator is supposed to be Japanese, her perspective sounds like that of a foreigner. Her half-American ancestry and feeling of alienation simply aren't enough to explain her non-Japanese way of perceiving, describing, and analyzing everything around her, including daily habits of behavior and thought that are so intrinsic to Japanese life that they are, for all practical purposes, invisible.
Nevertheless, despite its flaws, this is a beautifully crafted first novel by a writer with a gift for lyricism and a deep love of her subject matter. Authors who can write sensitively about Asian subjects are rare and one hopes she will continue exploring her Asian experience in future novels.
L.S. de Lamas
12/10/2003
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L.S. de Lamas, a longtime resident of Asia who lives in Tokyo, is completing an MFA in Writing at Vermont College, following an international corporate career and a master's in public policy from Princeton. |
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