This is probably the most beautiful book I've ever seen.
The book unfolds accordion-style in the orihon format, a traditional Japanese bookbinding style that is, appropriately, associated with Buddhist literature. Gorgeous art, mostly comprising abstract blues and greens, forms the binding on which vellum paper is overlaid. The effect is delicate and stunning, and then it's done again when you open the book in the opposite direction and see the conversation reproduced in the other language. I don't think I've ever opened a library book that made me feel like I was unwrapping a present or a work of art.
It is on that vellum paper that the text is printed. An interview between American poet-writer Tess Gallagher and Japanese nun and writer Setouchi Jakucho, conducted in 1990, is republished after its initial appearance in a magazine.
It's impossible for me to read the conversation--part of which is centered on Gallagher's celebrated husband, Raymond Carver--and not imagine the things unsaid. Setouchi at one point mentions that, in her life before nunhood, her lovers were often married men who wanted to have their cake and eat it too: they had her on the side but intended to keep it a secret from their wives and children, never letting their love disturb their "normal" lives. "Japanese men are sly," she says. Given how tumultuous I gather Carver's love life was--from the book and a skim of Wikipedia--I wonder how Gallagher felt hearing that.
Also loved the following part; I'm not sure if the difference in narrative expectation is best characterized as cultural or personal: Setouchi discusses a project of hers that delves into the lives of great Japanese Buddhist priests. "But none of these noble-minded priests, no matter how great he was, started out being wise about everything. They had to suffer from the problem of love."
Gallagher: "So do you begin with the early life of those priests and then go on to write about how they were delivered from such troubles and sufferings--how they overcame them?"
Setouchi: "I write in a fictional style, not in chronological order. Take Ryōkan's case, for instance. He became a priest, and then, when he was seventy, he met a thirty-year-old nun." The promise of linear progress, of overcoming and triumphing, followed by a plateau of more-or-less easy success, is such a natural desire. I found it charming that Gallagher wished for it in the lives of these priests, whereas Setouchi saw in their lives a constant struggle to live up to the ideals of Buddhism.
The conversation flits from topic to topic, flowing right from Buddhist concepts of the afterlife to hair (which, of course, ends up being about love). Gallagher asks Setouchi if it was hard to part from her hair. Setouchi responds, "Well, since I thought my long hair was my most charming feature, yes, I cared a lot. But 'form first' was my decision at the time. I believed I couldn't be a true Buddhist nun until I shaved my head."
One last quote I loved, also from Setouchi: "To love somebody means to hope to be with that person for as long as possible--even if it's only for a second or a minute."
The text is short, but I'm not mad. I'd heard of Setouchi and wanted to know more about her. There are worse ways to use paper than to beautifully reproduce a conversation between two interesting people. At the very least, it did make me want to read Tess Gallagher's works.