Want your book to be considered DEEP by default? Set it in Japan.
Bonus points if you don’t use contractions, don’t let the characters interact or even speak much, and change scene every four sentences, even if nothing is happening. And if you happen to know what Wikipedia is, you can write a historical novel!
This is one of those books. In addition to the stuff listed above, the plot doesn’t make much sense. So there is a family of noh actors – or actor, his wife and daughter – living in a social vacuum so absolute that they accept a mask carver, who appeared from nowhere – literally nowhere, a forest where he was trained by a monk named Tamashii (“Soul” – talk about cheesy names) – so they accept this absolute stranger and give him the daughter. Why? Do they live in the wilderness? Is there a dearth of young guys there? Hell no, it’s the long-suffering Kyoto! But you see, the dad accepts the guy because he recognized his great talent:
“Grandfather knew this carver was empowered with a gift far greater than even his own acting ability. He pondered the young man before him and then found his concentration shifting to his daughter. With no heir to carry on the Yamamoto name, he marveled at the idea of a possible family union.” [The young guy has no family to speak of, by the way.]
Then the mask carver sort of shows his son – the eponymous hero of the novel – that he’s disappointed because the son didn’t follow in his footsteps, but became a painter instead. This is, I think, the focus of the story. The whole situation is not even remotely Japanese.
There is also a lame subplot featuring poisonous plums – I didn’t understand it at all, underripe plums lethal? really? – obviously it is there for the plot to work, that is, to make characters suffer. This passive, nonsensical suffering seems to replace character development in DEEP books like this one. A family member or a lover dies or is otherwise removed from the plot, and nothing much happens beside that, but it sets the tone; the main character decides that there’s no joy left in this world and acts accordingly, mainly by ignoring everyone else or holding them in contempt. He or she will, however, randomly notice the beauty of nature.
Despite the Meiji-period setting, it’s a stiff version of modern Japan. The lack of detail and faulty research was nearly unbearable for me. I kept picturing these characters in cramped 1 LDK Japanese apartments:
“Well, I am not sure of your schedule, but next Thursday my wife Chieko is planning to teach our daughter to prepare chawanmushi. Should you have the time, we would be delighted to have you join us.”
This is not even Meiji, it’s Edo period. The guy speaking is a noh patriarch, who should have a huge household with lots of servants, family, and pupils, and barely be aware that his womenfolk exist. He’s talking to a young man he’s never seen before, a man who has no family and no past, offering to show him his marriageable daughter, mentioning his wife’s name. It’s also painfully obvious that the author has never seen a traditional Japanese kitchen. But scratch this – a few pages later the reader is treated to a depiction of a ceremonial o-miai introduction. I guess they couldn’t get the eggs for the chawanmushi.
There are a lot of eye-rolling anachronisms, stereotypes, and outright blunders. There are slippers, there are tables. There is old, tired stuff about women’s neck being oh so erotic. People ride in carriages to a shrine for a Shinto marriage ceremony. Women constantly take down their hair. Wooden houses are heated throughout the night by charcoal braziers – this one is really maddening. The hero’s mother, the young woman of the chawanmushi, is of course an artist herself and goes alone to paint her favorite mountain or something, and stays there till dusk (her dad complains that “she should be concentrating more on her tea ceremony than on those ink drawings” – hahaha!), because, wait for it, her son had to inherit her talent! Tokyo is this horribly modern place:
“All around Tokyo, from the elaborate construction of the Kabuki Theater in the Ginza to the Ministry of Justice Building in Kasumigaseki, Japanese architecture could no longer be distinguished from the structures of Europe. [Kabuki-za is a really bad example of this, since it was rebuilt in a distinctively Japanese style.] It seemed as though Greek Revival and Italian Renaissance had replaced wood and shoji. [is shoji another building material, like wood?] I would soon grow accustomed to seeing my reflection in the pane of leaded glass, no longer my silhouette on rice paper.”
It’s also smelly: “I recalled my first smells of Tokyo: the rank stench of the fermenting natto, the heavy grease frying the tempura, and the fish skins roasting on the fire.” LIKE KYOTO SMELLED DIFFERENTLY
By the way, I wonder what kimono exactly looks like, because: “In a kimono one can hide nothing, and so it was easy to see the line of his skeleton, the curve of his back, and the sinews of his muscles.”
“The melody of the Japanese, however, was continually broken by a strange word – impureshunisumu. Takada could not discern whether it was a French word or just a word that he was unfamiliar with in his own language. He soon realized that the word impureshunisumu was in fact the word “Impressionism” converted into a Japanese word.” – This is a reminder that not all foreign concepts in Japanese language are loanwords. Impressionism is 印象主義, inshōshugi, or 印象派, inshōha.
There is one more thing, and it's sort of big. There is a lot about noh theatre, but in that time noh was called sarugaku – not noh.
And of course Meiji Restoration was evil, evil, evil. Good people were traditionalists, bad people valued progress and Westernization. I’ve had enough of this cheap, ignorant, pedestrian, simplistic concept. It’s ubiquitous in historical books about Japan. It needs to die a painful death.
I’m tired.
But you know what, it’s still not the worst book about Japan I’ve read. That would be “The Painting” by Nina Schuyler. I finished it about a month ago. I’m still licking my wounds. Review to come.