Atsushi Nakajima (中島敦, Nakajima Atsushi, 5 May 1909 – 4 December 1942) was a Japanese author known for his unique style and self-introspective themes. His major works include "The Moon Over the Mountain" and "Light, Wind and Dreams".
During his life he wrote about 20 works, including unfinished works, typically inspired by Classical Chinese stories and his own life experiences.
this is my first book by Atsushi Nakajima—it’s a peculiar book, really, and a peculiar choice for me to read. Nakajima’s choice to interpret Robert Louis Stevenson’s life as a novel is a bold one, and this was his last work before he died. i appreciate his admiration for Stevenson; yes, I can tell, Mr. Nakajima, that he is your favourite author.
it’s also a weird choice for me to read because my feelings for Stevenson are tolerant at best. however, i’m a freaking weeb i was interested in Nakajima and this just happened to be the first work of his i found. so.
I LOVED IT. Nakajima’s prose is beautiful and finely-tuned. i noticed it was rather formal. i’m not sure if that’s his style, but i really liked it. his characterisation of Stevenson is amazing and respectful to Stevenson’s legacy as a writer.
it was almost lucid and i kept forgetting i was reading!! seriously. i was so into it that i forgot entirely. Nakajima’s writing has the power to just sink you in into his world and it’s amazing. it’s baffling that he isn’t more popular.
“why are you writing a thorough, proper review for this one book even though your other reviews are just nonsensical 1-sentence rants?” because i have too much time on my hands today. next question.
my appreciation for this beautiful book is through the roof. however, i must criticise the occasional lack of action. otherwise, it was perfect and smooth and calming. i just wish there’d been a bit more action and conflict.
now, who wants to join my Atsushi Nakajima appreciation club?
3,5 ⭐️. «He knew almost instinctively that "he is not the person he takes himself to be." He also thought that "Though the head may be mistaken, the blood never is. Even though it may, glance, seem mistaken, it is, in reality, the thing which makes us take the course most faithful to ourselves, not to say the most prudent." He knew that "There are unknown things within us that are wiser than we ourselves," and in deciding on a plan for his own life, he gave all his strength just to traveling, loyally and diligently, this single path, this path shown him by "those things wiser than we ourselves." He never hesitated regard all other things. He continued in this way of life, indifferent to public ridicule and the sorrow of his parents, from his youth until just before his death.»
Rest well, storyteller. These are the last words in a book that tells the story of Robert Louis Stevenson's last years in Samoa, drawing inspiration from his letters and turning them into a diary, interspersed with chapters that look like non-fiction. The result is an extraordinary book, a Japanese telling the story of a Westerner's struggles against colonialism, brutality and the sense of impermanence resulting from his own illness. A book that holds layers upon layers of meaning, if you know that the author witnessed Japanese colonialism and his brutality himself, that he was resisting the political pressures to write stories aligned with a politics that would result in Japan's participation in World War 2, and that he was ill himself. After Larsson's story of Long John Silver, it appears Stevenson was written in my stars, this January.