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El hijo predilecto
Koko siempre ha vivido en el presente. Afronta cada día sin mirar atrás. Pese a las presiones de su familia, se fue a vivir a un piso con su novio. Ha criado ella sola a una niña de once años mientras sobrevive dando clases particulares de piano. Mientras tanto, la sospecha de un nuevo embarazo despierta en su interior viejos anhelos, culpas eternas y esperanzas ocultas. Yuko Tsushima pone a prueba las convenciones sobre la independencia y la memoria, y nos ofrece un asfixiante baile de máscaras donde familiares, amigos y amantes se empeñan en tener la última palabra sobre cómo deberían vivir la vida las mujeres.
Yuko Tsushima, la aclamada autora de Territorio de luz, se sumerge en los abismos del subconsciente en una novela que, 40 años después, conserva la vigencia de un clásico moderno.
Yuko Tsushima, la aclamada autora de Territorio de luz, se sumerge en los abismos del subconsciente en una novela que, 40 años después, conserva la vigencia de un clásico moderno.
240 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1978
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5221 people want to read
About the author
Yūko Tsushima
51 books638 followersYūko Tsushima 津島 佑子 is the pen name of Satoko Tsushima, a contemporary Japanese fiction writer, essayist and critic. She is the daughter of famed novelist Osamu Dazai, who died when she was one year old. She is considered "one of the most important Japanese writers of her generation" (The New York Times).
She has won many major literary prizes, including the Kawabata for "The Silent Traders," one of the stories in The Shooting Gallery, and the Tanizaki for Mountain of Fire. Her early fiction, from which The Shooting Gallery is drawn, was largely based on her experience as a single mother.
Her multilayered narrative techniques have increasingly taken inspiration from the Ainu oral epics (yukar) and the tales of premodern Japan.
When invited to teach Japanese literature to graduate students in Paris, she taught the yukar, and her seminar led to the publication of Tombent, tombent les gouttes d’argent: Chants du peuple aïnou (1996), the first French edition of the epic poems.
Tsushima is active in networks such as the Japan-India Writers’ Caravans and dialogues with Korean and Chinese writers. Recent novels have been set in Taiwan during Japanese colonial rule, among the Kyrgyz, in medieval Nara, and in post-3/11 Tokyo. Her work has been translated into a dozen languages.
She has won many major literary prizes, including the Kawabata for "The Silent Traders," one of the stories in The Shooting Gallery, and the Tanizaki for Mountain of Fire. Her early fiction, from which The Shooting Gallery is drawn, was largely based on her experience as a single mother.
Her multilayered narrative techniques have increasingly taken inspiration from the Ainu oral epics (yukar) and the tales of premodern Japan.
When invited to teach Japanese literature to graduate students in Paris, she taught the yukar, and her seminar led to the publication of Tombent, tombent les gouttes d’argent: Chants du peuple aïnou (1996), the first French edition of the epic poems.
Tsushima is active in networks such as the Japan-India Writers’ Caravans and dialogues with Korean and Chinese writers. Recent novels have been set in Taiwan during Japanese colonial rule, among the Kyrgyz, in medieval Nara, and in post-3/11 Tokyo. Her work has been translated into a dozen languages.
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April 8, 2019
There were times that I thought that a good title for this book could be “Men Explain Things to Me”. Just a thought. Besides, the book was first published in 1978 in Japan.
Kōko, the central character in this book, both charmed me and frustrated me. She charmed me with her stubborn demeanour, constantly struggling against the family that had oppressed her since childhood, and against the men who would not take her seriously, not as a lover, as a mother, as a person.
She frustrated me with her constant backsliding, her seeming inability to take a stand for herself, to take a decision and stick with it, to do the common, everyday things that would assert her independence.
Many of us know that feeling of being oppressed as a child, being the official family victim. It can take a lifetime to get out from under that. Being a woman in post-war Japan could make that mindset crushing. Being a single mother on top of all that would seem to be unbearable. And then to find yourself pregnant, unexpectedly.
What struck me most about this woman was that the real reason why I became so frustrated was because I was caught up in the reality of it. I could not get over the thought that the author, Yuko Tsushima, knew where of she spoke, that there was much that was autobiographical about this short novel. (I do know that she was the daughter of author Osamu Dazai who killed himself when she was one.)
As readers, we are left with a portrait of a woman who is unsure of herself in many situations and who often feels overwhelmed by the society that refuses to let her and her eleven-year old daughter be: to allow her to be the mother and the person that she wants to be. Mostly, she wants to be the person she wanted to be as a child. But I suppose that is too much to ask.
Not surrendering in the face of opposition is all that Kōko has. She makes mistakes. She misunderstands. And more than anything, she wants her daughter by her side.
I think that, after all is said and done, that Yuko Tsushima has given us a very real hero.
Thanks to Ilse, who first brought Yuko Tsushima to my attention with her review of Territory of Light and her kind suggestion that Tsushima would likely be to my taste. She was correct.
Some quotes:
“One thing, though, was certain: that she had never betrayed the small child she'd once been; the child who had pined for her brother in the institution; the child who had watched her mother and sister resentfully, unable to understand what made them find fault with her grades, her manners, her language. And she was not betraying that child now, thirty years later. This, she had always suspected was one thing that mattered.”
The male doctor explains:
“The female body, unlike the male, is so intricately and delicately organized that it can only be called mysterious. Almost all women's ailments - menstrual problems, morning sickness, miscarriage, the menopause, and even breast and uterine cancer -are deeply associated with the mind.”
Her ex-husband explains:
“Mingled with their voices, she heard something that Hatanaka had once said. It was when he was seeking a separation, and insisting how deeply he loved her. -You probably didn't know, but I've made more than one woman get an abortion before now, for your sake and Kayako's [their daughter].- This, he seemed to be saying, showed how much he'd always loved them both, and how hard it would be to leave them, and yet he must, he had to make a fresh start in life; if he stayed where he was it would finish him.”
On the universe:
“Nothingness was beyond her ability to grasp. She had once tried to approach the concept of outer space in some fashion of her own, but even before its boundlessness could terrify her it had made her feel sick. She was still in grade school then. It had seemed uncanny that she was actually living within something of which she had only the remotest conception."
Kōko, the central character in this book, both charmed me and frustrated me. She charmed me with her stubborn demeanour, constantly struggling against the family that had oppressed her since childhood, and against the men who would not take her seriously, not as a lover, as a mother, as a person.
She frustrated me with her constant backsliding, her seeming inability to take a stand for herself, to take a decision and stick with it, to do the common, everyday things that would assert her independence.
Many of us know that feeling of being oppressed as a child, being the official family victim. It can take a lifetime to get out from under that. Being a woman in post-war Japan could make that mindset crushing. Being a single mother on top of all that would seem to be unbearable. And then to find yourself pregnant, unexpectedly.
What struck me most about this woman was that the real reason why I became so frustrated was because I was caught up in the reality of it. I could not get over the thought that the author, Yuko Tsushima, knew where of she spoke, that there was much that was autobiographical about this short novel. (I do know that she was the daughter of author Osamu Dazai who killed himself when she was one.)
As readers, we are left with a portrait of a woman who is unsure of herself in many situations and who often feels overwhelmed by the society that refuses to let her and her eleven-year old daughter be: to allow her to be the mother and the person that she wants to be. Mostly, she wants to be the person she wanted to be as a child. But I suppose that is too much to ask.
Not surrendering in the face of opposition is all that Kōko has. She makes mistakes. She misunderstands. And more than anything, she wants her daughter by her side.
I think that, after all is said and done, that Yuko Tsushima has given us a very real hero.
Thanks to Ilse, who first brought Yuko Tsushima to my attention with her review of Territory of Light and her kind suggestion that Tsushima would likely be to my taste. She was correct.
Some quotes:
“One thing, though, was certain: that she had never betrayed the small child she'd once been; the child who had pined for her brother in the institution; the child who had watched her mother and sister resentfully, unable to understand what made them find fault with her grades, her manners, her language. And she was not betraying that child now, thirty years later. This, she had always suspected was one thing that mattered.”
The male doctor explains:
“The female body, unlike the male, is so intricately and delicately organized that it can only be called mysterious. Almost all women's ailments - menstrual problems, morning sickness, miscarriage, the menopause, and even breast and uterine cancer -are deeply associated with the mind.”
Her ex-husband explains:
“Mingled with their voices, she heard something that Hatanaka had once said. It was when he was seeking a separation, and insisting how deeply he loved her. -You probably didn't know, but I've made more than one woman get an abortion before now, for your sake and Kayako's [their daughter].- This, he seemed to be saying, showed how much he'd always loved them both, and how hard it would be to leave them, and yet he must, he had to make a fresh start in life; if he stayed where he was it would finish him.”
On the universe:
“Nothingness was beyond her ability to grasp. She had once tried to approach the concept of outer space in some fashion of her own, but even before its boundlessness could terrify her it had made her feel sick. She was still in grade school then. It had seemed uncanny that she was actually living within something of which she had only the remotest conception."
April 5, 2017
Loneliness floats, mixes with the gray of the clouds and turns into ghoulish substance that permeates, creates a different world, a world of shadows, an illusion. The illusion becomes a way to manage reality, a parallel universe, some way to deal with the dark forces of the world because otherwise, how can one look forward? One refuses to look forward, instead, the present becomes a way of life, thereby illuminating the halfheartedness of parenthood, the selfishness of individuality:
After having read a few Japanese novels, my humble theory is that the good novels from Japan are layers of psychological complexities. Nothing is as it seems and when it seems like it is, there is still more to be ascertained.
This story of mother and daughter is not what it seems, especially not at first. Hidden in each layered paragraph is a second story, in each chapter, yet another story. The prose is elusive, though terse. On the surface, another mother doubts herself, her choices of a father for her daughter, her choices of raising a daughter as a divorced woman, especially given the conventional society within which she finds herself. Her sister, the 'perfect' one, raises her child for her, in a two-parent home, and sends her to private schools. Meanwhile she drinks, teaches art, has lovers, and lives a life that labels her an outsider. She suffers inwardly, and so does her daughter.
What happens when a woman is still a child at heart and the old dictates of marriage and motherhood are forced upon her? How does she crumble? This novel, first published during 1980, reflects a changing female consciousness and explores the "social pressure against single motherhood." Koko is thirty-six years old at a time it is considered "middle age in Japan" and an age that would be an "embarrassment" for a new mother. I could call this laughable, except that I am aware that some societies, some people regardless of society, still feel this way (just recently we saw how much emphasis was placed on the age of the female presidential candidate).
Age is just a number, my oldest sister, who is in her mid forties, told me recently as we discussed plans for her first upcoming marriage. She looks thirty and has two sons that no one believes are my nephews, especially since they tower over me. Age is just a number, Tsushima seems to suggest, as she explores the pieces of a person that progresses out of the age restraints, those pieces that perhaps live in an imagined, shackle-free world. This novel seems to be as much about feminism as it is about ageism; it irradiates the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship and the social indictments placed upon such a relationship.
The world is just a great illusion flowing emptily by; we mustn't be deceived...Hidden in the present, in a single instant, is the power to shatter the illusion.
After having read a few Japanese novels, my humble theory is that the good novels from Japan are layers of psychological complexities. Nothing is as it seems and when it seems like it is, there is still more to be ascertained.
Then what was this time? This space? They were an illusion. Nothing but tangled strings.
This story of mother and daughter is not what it seems, especially not at first. Hidden in each layered paragraph is a second story, in each chapter, yet another story. The prose is elusive, though terse. On the surface, another mother doubts herself, her choices of a father for her daughter, her choices of raising a daughter as a divorced woman, especially given the conventional society within which she finds herself. Her sister, the 'perfect' one, raises her child for her, in a two-parent home, and sends her to private schools. Meanwhile she drinks, teaches art, has lovers, and lives a life that labels her an outsider. She suffers inwardly, and so does her daughter.
What happens when a woman is still a child at heart and the old dictates of marriage and motherhood are forced upon her? How does she crumble? This novel, first published during 1980, reflects a changing female consciousness and explores the "social pressure against single motherhood." Koko is thirty-six years old at a time it is considered "middle age in Japan" and an age that would be an "embarrassment" for a new mother. I could call this laughable, except that I am aware that some societies, some people regardless of society, still feel this way (just recently we saw how much emphasis was placed on the age of the female presidential candidate).
Age is just a number, my oldest sister, who is in her mid forties, told me recently as we discussed plans for her first upcoming marriage. She looks thirty and has two sons that no one believes are my nephews, especially since they tower over me. Age is just a number, Tsushima seems to suggest, as she explores the pieces of a person that progresses out of the age restraints, those pieces that perhaps live in an imagined, shackle-free world. This novel seems to be as much about feminism as it is about ageism; it irradiates the complexities of the mother-daughter relationship and the social indictments placed upon such a relationship.
August 31, 2025
Uf. Qué incómodo y genial
La premisa de acercarnos a la vida de una mujer soltera en el Tokio de los 70 me parecía una brutal, encontrarme con una historia sorprendentemente atemporal y global, ha sido incluso mejor.
La vida de Yuko Tsushima siempre se cuela en sus novelas con padres ausentes (el suyo, el escritor Osamu Dazai se quitó la vida con su amante, dejándoles a ella, su madre y sus hermanos en una situación muy complicada), madres solteras (ella misma lo fue), y personajes que se mueven en los márgenes de lo bien considerado en una sociedad tan estricta como la japonesa.
Koko lucha contra las presiones que le impone la sociedad, su familia y las personas con las que se relaciona. Ir siempre a la contra, por el motivo que sea, es agotador, y más hacerlo en la mayor de las soledades.
Lo mejor de esta novela para mí ha sido el conflicto que te genera, puesto que Koko es un personaje muy gris. La relación con su hija de once años es pésima, su decadente estilo de vida y huida de las responsabilidades ha alejado a Kayako de ella, tanto emocional como físicamente (ahora vive con su tía, que representa todo lo que Koko no es).
Es duro leer como Koko se autodestruye a muchos niveles, pero al mismo tiempo, juzgarla es demasiado simplista. Su vida actual y sus heridas tienen orígenes muy claros, es consecuencia de una serie de situaciones que vas conociendo poco a poco y de las que no todo el mundo es capaz de sobreponerse.
Además, y aquí si es importante el contexto y el tiempo, en el Japón de los 70 pedir o aceptar ayuda (incluso a tu familia), hablar de salud mental u optar por un estilo de vida diferente no era algo realmente posible sin pagar un precio emocional caro.
Koko desafía no solo las normas sociales tradicionales de su entorno, sino que se “atreve” a poner su individualidad y sus intereses siempre por encima de las de su hija, y eso es algo que incluso a día de hoy, es un tema candente.
Así, este es un libro que aborda maternidades complejas y sin idealizar, relaciones familiares complicadísimas, la libertad del individuo para equivocarse, deseo femenino, duelo, enfermedad… y mucho más.
Tu visión de Koko y de la novela dependerá mucho de cómo interpretes a la protagonista. En mi caso, fue imposible no verla como alguien que está sufriendo una depresión (y más), que la tiene confundiendo sueños con recuerdos, sin poder concentrarse y, que, además, pasa por todo esto sola y cuando no, mal acompañada.
Puede que Koko sea lo peor, pero tiene derecho a equivocarse y vivir su vida como quiera. O esa es mi lectura. Super recomendada para clubs de lectura porque el debate está servido.
Fascinada por Yuko Tsushima y deseando que nos siga llegando su obra (mucha aún sin traducir). Por cierto, si te gusta Doris Lessing, creo que puede gustarte mucho esta autora japonesa.
La premisa de acercarnos a la vida de una mujer soltera en el Tokio de los 70 me parecía una brutal, encontrarme con una historia sorprendentemente atemporal y global, ha sido incluso mejor.
La vida de Yuko Tsushima siempre se cuela en sus novelas con padres ausentes (el suyo, el escritor Osamu Dazai se quitó la vida con su amante, dejándoles a ella, su madre y sus hermanos en una situación muy complicada), madres solteras (ella misma lo fue), y personajes que se mueven en los márgenes de lo bien considerado en una sociedad tan estricta como la japonesa.
Koko lucha contra las presiones que le impone la sociedad, su familia y las personas con las que se relaciona. Ir siempre a la contra, por el motivo que sea, es agotador, y más hacerlo en la mayor de las soledades.
Lo mejor de esta novela para mí ha sido el conflicto que te genera, puesto que Koko es un personaje muy gris. La relación con su hija de once años es pésima, su decadente estilo de vida y huida de las responsabilidades ha alejado a Kayako de ella, tanto emocional como físicamente (ahora vive con su tía, que representa todo lo que Koko no es).
Es duro leer como Koko se autodestruye a muchos niveles, pero al mismo tiempo, juzgarla es demasiado simplista. Su vida actual y sus heridas tienen orígenes muy claros, es consecuencia de una serie de situaciones que vas conociendo poco a poco y de las que no todo el mundo es capaz de sobreponerse.
Además, y aquí si es importante el contexto y el tiempo, en el Japón de los 70 pedir o aceptar ayuda (incluso a tu familia), hablar de salud mental u optar por un estilo de vida diferente no era algo realmente posible sin pagar un precio emocional caro.
Koko desafía no solo las normas sociales tradicionales de su entorno, sino que se “atreve” a poner su individualidad y sus intereses siempre por encima de las de su hija, y eso es algo que incluso a día de hoy, es un tema candente.
Así, este es un libro que aborda maternidades complejas y sin idealizar, relaciones familiares complicadísimas, la libertad del individuo para equivocarse, deseo femenino, duelo, enfermedad… y mucho más.
Tu visión de Koko y de la novela dependerá mucho de cómo interpretes a la protagonista. En mi caso, fue imposible no verla como alguien que está sufriendo una depresión (y más), que la tiene confundiendo sueños con recuerdos, sin poder concentrarse y, que, además, pasa por todo esto sola y cuando no, mal acompañada.
Puede que Koko sea lo peor, pero tiene derecho a equivocarse y vivir su vida como quiera. O esa es mi lectura. Super recomendada para clubs de lectura porque el debate está servido.
Fascinada por Yuko Tsushima y deseando que nos siga llegando su obra (mucha aún sin traducir). Por cierto, si te gusta Doris Lessing, creo que puede gustarte mucho esta autora japonesa.
September 5, 2023
Soy un incondicional de la literatura japonesa, así que mi reseña va a ser especialmente subjetiva y sesgada. Ahí queda el aviso.
Si bien es un libro con ese toque oriental que tanto me gusta en cuanto al tratamiento de los sentimientos, de las relaciones sociales, los valores, etc... también es un libro con una visión femenina muy potente y que condiciona cómo se siente la historia en su conjunto. Es un libro creado por una escritora y que cuenta con una protagonista femenina, siendo además su temática principal la maternidad vista desde las circunstancias de una madre soltera. Eso hace que el contenido sea tan definido que la sensación de novela japonesa se diluye un poco.
La historia a nivel argumental es relativamente sencilla; la vida de una madre soltera que llega a sus treinta y seis años sin tener muy claro cómo entiende y vive su relación con los hombres, y las consecuencias que ello tiene en una sociedad especialmente dura en cuanto al rol establecido de la mujer y lo que se espera de ella. A partir de ahí surge toda la historia y sus idas y venidas. La verdadera complejidad no está en lo que sucede, sino en el desarrollo mental de la protagonista y sobre todo en la red de sentimientos que conecta a todos los personajes.
Me gusta especialmente que es un libro que no censura los pensamientos e impulsos más egoístas y sinceros de la persona. Todo aquello que algunas veces pensamos y sentimos, pero que nos costaría mucho admitir, la novela lo comparte sin censuras. La protagonista es muy transparente en ese sentido y no condiciona lo que siente o piensa, simplemente lo vive de la forma más valiente y coherente posible. Y quizá sea éste uno de sus mayores logros. Es una novela sincera, valiente y que se enfrenta a los convencionalismos sociales del Japón de los años 70-80.
¿Merece la pena leerla? Creo que sí, por la calidad de su historia y por la sinceridad de su protagonista. No es mi novela japonesa favorita, ni está entre las diez mejores, pero añade un valor propio que marca la diferencia respecto a otras lecturas. Sin ser una obra maestra, creo que merece la pena darle una oportunidad.
Si bien es un libro con ese toque oriental que tanto me gusta en cuanto al tratamiento de los sentimientos, de las relaciones sociales, los valores, etc... también es un libro con una visión femenina muy potente y que condiciona cómo se siente la historia en su conjunto. Es un libro creado por una escritora y que cuenta con una protagonista femenina, siendo además su temática principal la maternidad vista desde las circunstancias de una madre soltera. Eso hace que el contenido sea tan definido que la sensación de novela japonesa se diluye un poco.
La historia a nivel argumental es relativamente sencilla; la vida de una madre soltera que llega a sus treinta y seis años sin tener muy claro cómo entiende y vive su relación con los hombres, y las consecuencias que ello tiene en una sociedad especialmente dura en cuanto al rol establecido de la mujer y lo que se espera de ella. A partir de ahí surge toda la historia y sus idas y venidas. La verdadera complejidad no está en lo que sucede, sino en el desarrollo mental de la protagonista y sobre todo en la red de sentimientos que conecta a todos los personajes.
Me gusta especialmente que es un libro que no censura los pensamientos e impulsos más egoístas y sinceros de la persona. Todo aquello que algunas veces pensamos y sentimos, pero que nos costaría mucho admitir, la novela lo comparte sin censuras. La protagonista es muy transparente en ese sentido y no condiciona lo que siente o piensa, simplemente lo vive de la forma más valiente y coherente posible. Y quizá sea éste uno de sus mayores logros. Es una novela sincera, valiente y que se enfrenta a los convencionalismos sociales del Japón de los años 70-80.
¿Merece la pena leerla? Creo que sí, por la calidad de su historia y por la sinceridad de su protagonista. No es mi novela japonesa favorita, ni está entre las diez mejores, pero añade un valor propio que marca la diferencia respecto a otras lecturas. Sin ser una obra maestra, creo que merece la pena darle una oportunidad.
November 3, 2019
3.5 rounded up
Having enjoyed Territory of Light I was keen to check out Tsushima's other widely available novel, Child of Fortune. While the novels explore similar themes - isolated, divorced women raising children alone in 1970s Japan - I found this to be a strong novel but much heavier and more dispiriting read than Territory of Light.
Where Territory of Light was an often sweet story of a young woman struggling to raise her 3 year old daughter, Child of Fortune tells the story of Kōko, a 36 year old woman raising her 11 year old daughter, Kayako. Early on in the novel Kayako moves out of her mother's small apartment, choosing to move in with her aunt and cousins instead. Kōko only sees her daughter once a week, and misses her dearly. As things progress we learn how lonely and isolated Kōko is, and how her childhood - in particular her relationship with her mentally handicapped older brother who died aged 12 - has shaped the person she has become. Her family have very fixed opinions of what "kind of person" Kōko is, and project their own feelings about her situation on to her. While this made for frustrating reading at times it seemed quite true to life as to how a woman in her situation would have been treated at this time. Interspersed with the present day narrative are memories from her childhood and flashbacks to her relationship with Kayako's father. It quickly becomes apparent to the reader that Kōko's family (and society) have greatly helped shape the person she has become - while she's someone who wants to make her own way for herself in the world, Kōko is desperately unsure of herself and influenced by the overbearing, meddling people in her life - people who act like they're only being this way because they have her best interests at heart but instead (to me, anyway) come across as controlling and cruel.
It's when Kōko finds herself pregnant at 36 that things get even darker. She initially feels distressed at this news and reflects on past abortions, but then embraces her pregnancy, hoping that she can be there for this child in a way she wasn't for her daughter.
I'd recommend this with caution, as it won't be for everyone. If you enjoyed the style of writing and aren't afraid of a darker exploration of the themes in Territory of Light then it's worth checking out.
Having enjoyed Territory of Light I was keen to check out Tsushima's other widely available novel, Child of Fortune. While the novels explore similar themes - isolated, divorced women raising children alone in 1970s Japan - I found this to be a strong novel but much heavier and more dispiriting read than Territory of Light.
Where Territory of Light was an often sweet story of a young woman struggling to raise her 3 year old daughter, Child of Fortune tells the story of Kōko, a 36 year old woman raising her 11 year old daughter, Kayako. Early on in the novel Kayako moves out of her mother's small apartment, choosing to move in with her aunt and cousins instead. Kōko only sees her daughter once a week, and misses her dearly. As things progress we learn how lonely and isolated Kōko is, and how her childhood - in particular her relationship with her mentally handicapped older brother who died aged 12 - has shaped the person she has become. Her family have very fixed opinions of what "kind of person" Kōko is, and project their own feelings about her situation on to her. While this made for frustrating reading at times it seemed quite true to life as to how a woman in her situation would have been treated at this time. Interspersed with the present day narrative are memories from her childhood and flashbacks to her relationship with Kayako's father. It quickly becomes apparent to the reader that Kōko's family (and society) have greatly helped shape the person she has become - while she's someone who wants to make her own way for herself in the world, Kōko is desperately unsure of herself and influenced by the overbearing, meddling people in her life - people who act like they're only being this way because they have her best interests at heart but instead (to me, anyway) come across as controlling and cruel.
It's when Kōko finds herself pregnant at 36 that things get even darker. She initially feels distressed at this news and reflects on past abortions, but then embraces her pregnancy, hoping that she can be there for this child in a way she wasn't for her daughter.
I'd recommend this with caution, as it won't be for everyone. If you enjoyed the style of writing and aren't afraid of a darker exploration of the themes in Territory of Light then it's worth checking out.
August 27, 2025
La novela explora la vida de una mujer divorciada que intenta criar a su hija en medio de las exigencias sociales y los propios vaivenes de su mundo interior. Un mundo que parece casi perfecto, pero que comienza a agrietarse a fuerza de malas decisiones y de sus propios temores. Es una narración intimista, quizá demasiado introspectiva y hace que a veces la lectura se torne algo densa. Se evidencia muy bien el rol de la mujer en un Japón machista; también explora la maternidad y la soledad. El ritmo es pausado, a veces repetitivo, lo que dificulta la conexión emocional con la protagonista y ciertos pasajes se sientan demasiado prolongados; aun así, es una novela teñida de una mirada sensible y honesta sobre la independencia femenina que logra mantenerte atenta a la lectura. Un libro recomendable para quienes buscan un retrato íntimo y realista de la vida cotidiana, aunque puede no atrapar a todo tipo de lector.
July 10, 2023
What an interesting, powerful, and multilayered portrayal of a woman's struggles to find her way in 1970's Japanese society this book is. The main character Koko refuses to comply with mainstream societal expectations in so many ways. Projecting an air of stubborn independence she pursues relationships with men who can never reciprocate her love in an equal measure. She works at a part time job teaching music to children rather than find steady, full time employment. She even alienates her 11-12 year old daughter to such a degree that the girl goes to live with Koko's older sister where she can experience at least more stability, if not nurturance.
All the while Tsushima gradually but quite skillfully reveals just how fragile Koko really is. The loss of her father, an older retarded brother, and then her relationships with her mother and older sister have left her feeling unloved, alienated, and isolated from others. What Tsushima implies but does not articulate fully is the extent to which Koko tragically, through her unconventionality and rebelliousness, keeps recreating these experiences in her life.
In her 1982 introduction to the English language translation of this novel Geraldine Harcourt, the translator, advises the reader to realize that it was written in the context of Japanese culture. Thus, a 36 year old woman is seen as 'middle aged' and abortion is nowhere near the complicated and emotionally laden issue for most people in Japan that it was in Western society in those times (and still is today for many here in the USA). I would not only concur with that. I would add that one must also realize that this book was written 40 years ago. Perhaps divorced, 'rebellious' women in Japan would not try to confirm their independent identity via allowing themselves to get pregnant nowadays as Koko did.
These limitations inherent in the time frame in which this book was written did not keep me from appreciating its other assets. But its style may make it not so readily readable for some readers. Tsushima shifts from fantasy/dreams to reality without any warning. She also shifts from history to current circumstances with no notice, let alone seeming concern. On the one hand, these alternative realities and/or historical background which Tsushima creates provide the reader with much needed help in understanding the roots of Koko's personality, her perspective on society and relationships, and her state of mind. On the other hand, it can be a bit jarring, if not confusing at times, to shift from one level to another.
These 'deficits' aside I found this to be a worthwhile book to read. First, I cared about Koko enough at the end of the book to wonder what would eventually happen to her. Also, I was left with concern about how her daughter might grow up into adulthood. How would her life with her mother affect her own choice of relationships, careers, etc? Maybe Tsushima will write, or has already written, a sequel? Second, I want to read more of her work. Both of those are signs that I came away appreciative of an author's work.
Addendum (May 2023): I just re-read Child after having recently read two of Taushima’s subsequent novels which dealt with a single mother. The protagonist in those two later novels come to better resolutions than Koko did. The stylistic deficits I noted in my previous review were more disruptive to my reading of Child this time than before. Otherwise, I concur that the other elements in Child merit the praise I articulated in 2018.
All the while Tsushima gradually but quite skillfully reveals just how fragile Koko really is. The loss of her father, an older retarded brother, and then her relationships with her mother and older sister have left her feeling unloved, alienated, and isolated from others. What Tsushima implies but does not articulate fully is the extent to which Koko tragically, through her unconventionality and rebelliousness, keeps recreating these experiences in her life.
In her 1982 introduction to the English language translation of this novel Geraldine Harcourt, the translator, advises the reader to realize that it was written in the context of Japanese culture. Thus, a 36 year old woman is seen as 'middle aged' and abortion is nowhere near the complicated and emotionally laden issue for most people in Japan that it was in Western society in those times (and still is today for many here in the USA). I would not only concur with that. I would add that one must also realize that this book was written 40 years ago. Perhaps divorced, 'rebellious' women in Japan would not try to confirm their independent identity via allowing themselves to get pregnant nowadays as Koko did.
These limitations inherent in the time frame in which this book was written did not keep me from appreciating its other assets. But its style may make it not so readily readable for some readers. Tsushima shifts from fantasy/dreams to reality without any warning. She also shifts from history to current circumstances with no notice, let alone seeming concern. On the one hand, these alternative realities and/or historical background which Tsushima creates provide the reader with much needed help in understanding the roots of Koko's personality, her perspective on society and relationships, and her state of mind. On the other hand, it can be a bit jarring, if not confusing at times, to shift from one level to another.
These 'deficits' aside I found this to be a worthwhile book to read. First, I cared about Koko enough at the end of the book to wonder what would eventually happen to her. Also, I was left with concern about how her daughter might grow up into adulthood. How would her life with her mother affect her own choice of relationships, careers, etc? Maybe Tsushima will write, or has already written, a sequel? Second, I want to read more of her work. Both of those are signs that I came away appreciative of an author's work.
Addendum (May 2023): I just re-read Child after having recently read two of Taushima’s subsequent novels which dealt with a single mother. The protagonist in those two later novels come to better resolutions than Koko did. The stylistic deficits I noted in my previous review were more disruptive to my reading of Child this time than before. Otherwise, I concur that the other elements in Child merit the praise I articulated in 2018.
September 27, 2023
A veces la vida no acaba siendo como pensamos. Los caminos que imaginamos que tomaríamos pueden desviarse, desviarse o incluso derrumbarse. Y llegados a ese punto solo nos queda seguir avanzando, porque por mucho que nuestros planes se tuerzan, la vida continua y el mundo no se para. Esto es lo que le ocurre a Koko, la protagonista de esta novela, que se encuentra estancada en una vida monótona y de la que se siente ajena, pero será gracias a cierto acontecimiento personal, que comenzará a despertar anhelos del pasado, a replantearse su vida y afrontar un nuevo camino más acorde a sus deseos más profundos. ¿Conseguirá cumplir sus sueños o el peso de la vida y el estigma social acabarán por derrumbarlos de nuevo?
La respuesta a esta pregunta se esconde entre las páginas de “El hijo predilecto”, una novela desgarradora y cruda sobre la maternidad y el papel de la mujer y en la sociedad japonesa. Con una prosa sencilla y amena, pero cargada de significado y simbolismo, Yuko Tsushima va desgranando la historia de Koko, una mujer de 36 años que tiene una relación inestable con su hija adolescente, y que lucha por mantener su vida como mujer independiente en una sociedad en la que, por desgracia, es algo que no está bien visto.
Los personajes, sin duda, son uno de los puntos fuertes de la novela. Desde Koko, que es el personaje principal, hasta los secundarios como son su hermana, su hija, su ex marido o su amante, la autora presenta un abanico de personalidades y carismas que representan al cien por cien los espectros de la sociedad nipona. Ver como estos personajes interactúan con Koko, mostrando los diferentes puntos de vista ante las situaciones y acontecimientos es algo sublime que Tsushima consigue plasmar con una veracidad y crueldad social que pueden dar escalofríos.
Un libro que recomiendo encarecidamente, una joya literaria tanto a nivel de estructura como de prosa. Una obra sublime, desgarradora y desconcertante que pone sobre la mesa temas que a día de hoy, por desgracia, siguen siendo objeto de prejuicios.
La respuesta a esta pregunta se esconde entre las páginas de “El hijo predilecto”, una novela desgarradora y cruda sobre la maternidad y el papel de la mujer y en la sociedad japonesa. Con una prosa sencilla y amena, pero cargada de significado y simbolismo, Yuko Tsushima va desgranando la historia de Koko, una mujer de 36 años que tiene una relación inestable con su hija adolescente, y que lucha por mantener su vida como mujer independiente en una sociedad en la que, por desgracia, es algo que no está bien visto.
Los personajes, sin duda, son uno de los puntos fuertes de la novela. Desde Koko, que es el personaje principal, hasta los secundarios como son su hermana, su hija, su ex marido o su amante, la autora presenta un abanico de personalidades y carismas que representan al cien por cien los espectros de la sociedad nipona. Ver como estos personajes interactúan con Koko, mostrando los diferentes puntos de vista ante las situaciones y acontecimientos es algo sublime que Tsushima consigue plasmar con una veracidad y crueldad social que pueden dar escalofríos.
Un libro que recomiendo encarecidamente, una joya literaria tanto a nivel de estructura como de prosa. Una obra sublime, desgarradora y desconcertante que pone sobre la mesa temas que a día de hoy, por desgracia, siguen siendo objeto de prejuicios.
April 7, 2023
Yuko Tsushima’s Child of Fortune is a vacuum of amorphous shapes; layer upon layer of a life endured most acutely in memories than the present moment; the present moment being nothing but a prolongation of time to its utmost limits, dissolving the most indistinguishable parts of ourselves; a kind of nostalgia that stretches as far as the eyes can see – it’s a contemplation that demands much from the reader as it makes audible in words what one can only endure in the depths of feeling.
Every now and then you come across a book like this that embodies both strength and fragility. It points to justify, somehow, a kind of yearning that, at its highest peak, is able to suffocate the body that carries it.
The prose is as elusive as it is desperate. Its spirituality contains no corporeal boundaries; it can terrify those who are able to penetrate its cryptic desolation, bringing to the surface undeniably harsh truths about life and death, childhood and parenthood.
Tsushima’s Child of Fortune is the light that realizes its own darkness; it is the silence that cries; and the loneliness that comforts. Through the realm of consciousness and eternity, it navigates both the selfishness and selflessness of motherhood. Examining the torments of love that one only experiences and fully understands in love’s absence.
The book never offers a moment of reprieve. If anything, it leaves you more breathless as you reach the last few pages. It’s soft, writhing with aching unease, but it is in its softness only that you feel most deeply about what stands between reality and dreams – the tremors of time that offer a safe passage for our innermost fears and desires.
Every now and then you come across a book like this that embodies both strength and fragility. It points to justify, somehow, a kind of yearning that, at its highest peak, is able to suffocate the body that carries it.
The prose is as elusive as it is desperate. Its spirituality contains no corporeal boundaries; it can terrify those who are able to penetrate its cryptic desolation, bringing to the surface undeniably harsh truths about life and death, childhood and parenthood.
Tsushima’s Child of Fortune is the light that realizes its own darkness; it is the silence that cries; and the loneliness that comforts. Through the realm of consciousness and eternity, it navigates both the selfishness and selflessness of motherhood. Examining the torments of love that one only experiences and fully understands in love’s absence.
The book never offers a moment of reprieve. If anything, it leaves you more breathless as you reach the last few pages. It’s soft, writhing with aching unease, but it is in its softness only that you feel most deeply about what stands between reality and dreams – the tremors of time that offer a safe passage for our innermost fears and desires.
January 19, 2023
'Hark, my distant, quiet friend, and feel
Your breath still enriching this emptiness.'
Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus
Such a thought provoking novel.
Child of Fortune begins inside Koko's dream. Dreams appear often in the narrative, as do memories, not exactly nightmares, they make her uneasy, leave her feeling unsatisfied.The dream consisted simple of staring at the ice mountain. It had no beginning and no end. When she opened her eyes the mountain was there, and when she closed them it was gone. Cold and abrupt, it wouldn't allow her emotions free play like any ordinary dream.
36 year old Koko raises her 11 year old daughter Kayako alone, she works part time teaching piano, though the way she is obliged to teach it pains her. Since she bought her apartment (thanks to a partial inheritance) she has also become independent of her family, something her sister Shoko constantly criticizes her for.
Shoko chose to stay living in the family home after the death of their mother, using her money to upgrade their lifestyle, the children's schools. She is full of judgement. Undermining Koko, she lures the daughter away, to the point where Kayako only spends Saturday's with her mother.Koko was in fact proud of the way she and her daughter lived in their apartment - with no frills, and entirely on her own earnings - and she wanted Kayako to share that pride, but the cousins in their setting made a too-perfect setting.
Not wishing to nag and risk losing her completely (as she had done with the father and her lover), she allows her this freedom to come and go. She suspects the visit is a way of her sister keeping an eye on her. Her daughter confirms it.That's right. She said we can't let your mother out of our sight or there's no telling what she'll get up to next.
Koko begins to feel unwell.
She remembers her marriage to Hatanaka and how ill-suited they were, her husband so focused on his studies, never working, all his women friends, the loss of the few of her own, because they didn't like him. Though she has no memory of it, her father died when she was young, she knew he had gone to live elsewhere before she was born. Her mother too had raised her children alone.
Koko suspects she may be pregnant. She ignores it.Three people. Koko was strongly attracted by the number's stability. Not two, not four, but three. A triangle: a full, beautiful form. There was something to be said for the square, too, but the triangle was the basis of all form. The dominant.
She remembers her affair with Doi, three years before, how attentive he had become when he became a father himself. Then in the fall, she began seeing Osada, a friend of Hatanaka, stirring up old, deep regrets.
He reminds Koko of her brother who died, a child who found happiness in making others happy. The loss of this childhood connection is deep, profound, forgotten, almost non-existent. He had been Kayako's age.She was sure there could be no happiness for her without her brother. For the first time, Koko knew a kind of joy that had nothing to do with the intellect. The boy's emotions were unclouded: what pleased him meant joy, what displeased him meant anger; but he experienced his deepest joy in enduring what displeased him for the sake of those he loved. She wondered why. Though he lacked intelligence, he was endowed with love, which was another kind of wisdom.
The sister arranges an interview for Koko's daughter at the school her cousins attend. Koko isn't comfortable but allows it. Kayako is worried about what to say about her father, having heard a lot of people are turned down because of their home background.
Koko's dreams are like insights into a state of mind she can't quite grasp. She is passive, the consequences of which threaten to overwhelm her, the potential loss of her daughter, the pending arrival of a baby, the secrecy around it. She thinks of everything, except what she must do, make a decision, confront reality. She has become somewhat paralysed.She could hear her sister's voice now, drawing gradually closer: so you've finally begun to understand what a bad mother you've been, how little sense you've shown? And hear herself protest; no, that's not it - don't think I've liked choosing a different world from other people. I know I've been stubborn - but not about Kayako alone. All my life, though often I haven't known which way to turn, I have managed to make choices of my own. I don't know if they were right or wrong. I don't think anyone can say that.
Because of the insight into her mind, her thoughts, dreams, her past, we see all aspects of Koko and we hear the damning, irresponsible voice of her sister, the judgement that wears down what little self-worth remains. There is no recognition of her pain, of her depression, neither seen within nor by others. It is never mentioned, never thought of, yet it is obvious.One thing, though, was certain: that she had never betrayed the small child she'd once been; the child who had pined for her brother in the institution; the child who had watched her mother and sister resentfully, unable to understand what made them find fault with her grades, her manners, her languages. And she was not betraying that child now, thirty years later. This, she had always suspected, was the one thing that mattered. And although she was often tempted by a growing awareness of the 'proper thing to do' once Kayako was born - not only in the harsh advice she was constantly offered by others, but within her own mind - in the long run her choices had always remained true to her childhood self.
Tsushima explores this in a powerful stream of consciousness narrative that invites all kinds of reactions from readers, many sit in judgement, casting Koko as the bad mother, the unconventional mother, the selfish woman pursuing her own desires.
And yet, she is the new woman, safeguarding the home, choosing to do something she loves without it stealing all her time, so she has time for her daughter and herself. She is independent and does not aspire to that which accrued wealth can buy.
It is a reflection on the many manifestations of grief, of events, moods and emotions that arrive unbidden; often unseen, rarely unexplained, but very present; and how little patience our society can have for understanding, how punitive we can be in our insistence on conventionality, how intolerant of depression, of weakness, of prolonged grief.
Rather than stand for any one view, Tsushima presents her character Koko and shows us the effect of her struggle for freedom.
As I finished the book, which was originally published in 1978, I was struck by the relevance of a quote by the French author Constance Debré, author of Love Me Tender translated by Holly James; in the Guardian on 14 Jan, 2023:“There’s always a price to pay for freedom. To me, that’s a happier, livelier way to see things: rather than saying there are injustices or blows raining down on you, you realise it’s all because you’re living life in the way you want, seeking out an existence … trying to give life some shape. That’s why life and literature are so connected: it’s the quest for form.”
November 21, 2023
Esta es la segunda novela de Tsushima, y en líneas generales me estaba gustando más que
Territorio de luz
(misma editorial y traductora) hasta las últimas treinta páginas o así, donde creo que se precipita y cierra de cualquier manera. Mismo tema que aquella otra obra, y en cierto modo una especie de continuación, dada la edad de la hija de la protagonista. Esta, madre soltera, outsider que se ha llevado muchas hostias en la vida por ir a su bola —algo intolerable en la sociedad japonesa— lo paga a ratos con su propia hija y aquellos que tratan de acercarse a ella. Decían en alguna reseña que se trata de una novela "incómoda", algo que comparto. El conflicto y la tremenda veracidad de los personajes de Tsushima es de nuevo lo mejor, con una mujer que se debate entre el vacío del estigma social y los momentos de libertad que ser una marginada le proporciona. Me dejo en el tintero temas como el machismo sistemático en la sociedad japonesa, el aborto, la infidelidad... pero creo que son bastante comunes en este tipo de literatura. Si Territorio de luz, como su título indica, dejaba una sensación de esperanza a pesar de las tinieblas del relato, aquí sucede más bien lo contrario. Un publicista avispado habría titulado esta novela "Territorio de sombra" y se habría quedado tan ancho pensando que duplicaría las ventas.
March 16, 2024
First published 1978, Child of Fortune follows an independent woman named Koko and her tweenage daughter Kayako. Koko is divorced and effectively lives alone, as Kayako stays with Koko's sister for most of the week. It is a short novel of complex and subtle characterisation rather than plot. Koko is a compelling and sympathetic protagonist, although she's clearly not a good mother to Kayako. The tension of the family dynamics is shown with great insight in scenes like this:
I appreciated the sympathy and insight Tsushima had for her female characters, who were all trying their best with no real help from the feckless men in their lives. Child of Fortune is a subtle and memorable little novel. It would have been nice if this new edition had included an afterword or translator's note, though.
Her sister exchanged smiling glances with her own children for a long moment, then suddenly grew serious. "But isn't there something wrong with you? They say that when your weight changes very quickly it generally means you're ill. It's awful the amount you've put on. Have you been to a doctor?"
Koko shook her head, unable to find her voice. It wasn't time yet, not until dinner was over - or so at least she consoled herself. Not only had she lost her voice, but she was beginning to feel hot under the gaze of the three children. Strange, she thought, are people really so vague about what they see in others? Passengers on a train would surely be better judges of her this bulging belly. Why were her sister and the children so very certain that she couldn't be pregnant? The unsuspecting looks on all their faces let her helplessly irritated - thought she told herself she was behaving like a child who digs a trap then feels thwarted when no one falls in.
I appreciated the sympathy and insight Tsushima had for her female characters, who were all trying their best with no real help from the feckless men in their lives. Child of Fortune is a subtle and memorable little novel. It would have been nice if this new edition had included an afterword or translator's note, though.
October 29, 2022
3.5/5
November 24, 2022
4.5
Bellissimo, intimo, onirico, con colpi di scena ben cadenzati. Mi ha ricordato il film Kotoko, ma in maniera più soft e meno allucinata. Veramente una piacevole scoperta
Bellissimo, intimo, onirico, con colpi di scena ben cadenzati. Mi ha ricordato il film Kotoko, ma in maniera più soft e meno allucinata. Veramente una piacevole scoperta
August 12, 2025
El estilo de escritura es fabuloso, aunque a veces un poco cargante el ir y venir desde un determinado momento del presente al pasado.
Me pareció muy interesante toda la historia y especialmente el final. Como con cada obra que leo para mi club de lectura de Chinas de Sufrir, no dejo de encontrar temáticas similares dignas de crítica. Todas recurrentes, todas marcadas en una sociedad muy determinista y con reglas muy estrictas.
Ha sido una buena lectura pero creo que tengo que darle alguna que otra vuelta más.
Me pareció muy interesante toda la historia y especialmente el final. Como con cada obra que leo para mi club de lectura de Chinas de Sufrir, no dejo de encontrar temáticas similares dignas de crítica. Todas recurrentes, todas marcadas en una sociedad muy determinista y con reglas muy estrictas.
Ha sido una buena lectura pero creo que tengo que darle alguna que otra vuelta más.
February 7, 2024
Me alegra un montón que Impedimenta siga publicando a Tsushima. Territorio de luz me fascinó y este me ha sorprendido mucho, la subjetividad de la protagonista es interesantísima. Frases como «Kōko oteó las vistas de la calle envuelta en esa calidez, y de pronto se maravilló ante lo imparcial que era la luz» me devuelven a ese deje tan particular que sólo encuentro en la literatura japonesa y que busco en todos los libros
September 4, 2024
Neat, intricate and affectionately poignant. It reminds me a lot to Territory of Light for how it centered in a similar theme on single parenting and motherhood with an almost the same isolated apartment in its introductory setting.
I followed the journey of Kōko after her years of divorce with Hatanaka, still striving with her uncertain career at the age of 36 and enduring the emotional struggles to maintain a normal relationship with her tweenage daughter, Kayako who is currently in the care of her aunt, Kōko’s sister; Shōko. In between her familial and selfhood crises, a backstory was unfold through Kōko’s fragment of musings with a glance to her interior lovesick and longing for Doi as well her brief encounter with Osada.
Loved that emotional directness in Kōko’s narrative, bit sentimental on the exposition but gripping much on how her tale grasped the concerns and fear that churned her anxiety, fragility and consciousness of being a single mother. Due to her way of living, the familial drama in between her and Shōko gets tense and faltered out her relationship with Kayako a bit. Not a fan to Kōko’s whole attitude but her solitude holds me with sympathy at times that her agony deranged me into another episode of mental chaos; that feel of alienation which unexpectedly revealed a more complex realisation to Kōko’s condition.
It relates to societal expectations and feminism which somehow provoking much to observe (how this was first published in 1970s and still relatable and relevant to present). I won’t be commenting on the male characters as they just come and go (Osada and Hatanaka really irked me out at that last scene) but fairly loved the interactions anyway.
I followed the journey of Kōko after her years of divorce with Hatanaka, still striving with her uncertain career at the age of 36 and enduring the emotional struggles to maintain a normal relationship with her tweenage daughter, Kayako who is currently in the care of her aunt, Kōko’s sister; Shōko. In between her familial and selfhood crises, a backstory was unfold through Kōko’s fragment of musings with a glance to her interior lovesick and longing for Doi as well her brief encounter with Osada.
Loved that emotional directness in Kōko’s narrative, bit sentimental on the exposition but gripping much on how her tale grasped the concerns and fear that churned her anxiety, fragility and consciousness of being a single mother. Due to her way of living, the familial drama in between her and Shōko gets tense and faltered out her relationship with Kayako a bit. Not a fan to Kōko’s whole attitude but her solitude holds me with sympathy at times that her agony deranged me into another episode of mental chaos; that feel of alienation which unexpectedly revealed a more complex realisation to Kōko’s condition.
It relates to societal expectations and feminism which somehow provoking much to observe (how this was first published in 1970s and still relatable and relevant to present). I won’t be commenting on the male characters as they just come and go (Osada and Hatanaka really irked me out at that last scene) but fairly loved the interactions anyway.
December 9, 2022
“Non aveva scelto di vivere in un mondo diverso dagli altri solo perché le faceva comodo...Per tutta la vita, pur fra mille dubbi, aveva cercato di essere fedele alle proprie scelte. Non sapeva se fossero giuste o sbagliate. Ma chi lo poteva dire?”
Il figlio della fortuna è probabilmente il romanzo più famoso di Yuko Tsushima, scrittrice giapponese tra le più conosciute e apprezzate sia in patria che nel mondo. Dopo 30 anni dalla prima pubblicazione, Safarà l'ha ripubblicato permettendoci di leggerlo in una nuova traduzione. Il romanzo ha per protagonista Kōko, una donna single e divorziata che vive sola ma costantemente sotto il giudizio della famiglia che non la comprende e della società che non ne condivide le scelte di vita. Kōko ha una figlia, Kayako, ma il loro rapporto non è idilliaco. La ragazzina vive infatti con la zia, sposata ad un uomo ricco e che al contrario della madre rappresenta tutto quello che per la società giapponese è considerato giusto e decoroso, e sembra quasi disprezzare anche lei la madre e il modo in cui ha deciso di vivere la sua vita. Nonostante il costante giudizio che le pesa addosso, Kōko non si conforma, resta ferma sulle sue posizioni e continua a vivere come vuole, anche quando una gravidanza inaspettata la porta nuovamente a riflettere sulle sue scelte passate e future.
Introspettivo e malinconico, questo romanzo potrebbe essere definito come un breve viaggio all'interno della mente di Kōko e una visione d'insieme sul ruolo della donna nella società giapponese. Yuko Tsushima è sempre stata apprezzata per il modo onesto in cui ha parlato di donne e femminilità. Mi è piaciuto molto infatti il percorso psicologico della protagonista che, rifiutando di conformarsi a come la società la vorrebbe, decide di vivere una vita diversa, più difficile, una vita che però le consente di essere fedele a sè stessa nel senso più genuino del termine.
Il racconto è costantemente in bilico tra realtà e sogno, un sogno in cui Kōko riflette su episodi passati e illusioni che si scontrano continuamente con la vita reale. Il figlio della fortuna ha una sola protagonista, è stato definito il "romanzo dell'io" e credo che non ci sia definizione che meglio di questa gli si addica. La storia di Kōko è una storia di sopravvivenza, di lotta contro le pressioni della società, è un viaggio alla ricerca di sè, è desiderio di libertà, è voglia di essere semplicemente sè stessi.
Il figlio della fortuna è probabilmente il romanzo più famoso di Yuko Tsushima, scrittrice giapponese tra le più conosciute e apprezzate sia in patria che nel mondo. Dopo 30 anni dalla prima pubblicazione, Safarà l'ha ripubblicato permettendoci di leggerlo in una nuova traduzione. Il romanzo ha per protagonista Kōko, una donna single e divorziata che vive sola ma costantemente sotto il giudizio della famiglia che non la comprende e della società che non ne condivide le scelte di vita. Kōko ha una figlia, Kayako, ma il loro rapporto non è idilliaco. La ragazzina vive infatti con la zia, sposata ad un uomo ricco e che al contrario della madre rappresenta tutto quello che per la società giapponese è considerato giusto e decoroso, e sembra quasi disprezzare anche lei la madre e il modo in cui ha deciso di vivere la sua vita. Nonostante il costante giudizio che le pesa addosso, Kōko non si conforma, resta ferma sulle sue posizioni e continua a vivere come vuole, anche quando una gravidanza inaspettata la porta nuovamente a riflettere sulle sue scelte passate e future.
Introspettivo e malinconico, questo romanzo potrebbe essere definito come un breve viaggio all'interno della mente di Kōko e una visione d'insieme sul ruolo della donna nella società giapponese. Yuko Tsushima è sempre stata apprezzata per il modo onesto in cui ha parlato di donne e femminilità. Mi è piaciuto molto infatti il percorso psicologico della protagonista che, rifiutando di conformarsi a come la società la vorrebbe, decide di vivere una vita diversa, più difficile, una vita che però le consente di essere fedele a sè stessa nel senso più genuino del termine.
Il racconto è costantemente in bilico tra realtà e sogno, un sogno in cui Kōko riflette su episodi passati e illusioni che si scontrano continuamente con la vita reale. Il figlio della fortuna ha una sola protagonista, è stato definito il "romanzo dell'io" e credo che non ci sia definizione che meglio di questa gli si addica. La storia di Kōko è una storia di sopravvivenza, di lotta contro le pressioni della società, è un viaggio alla ricerca di sè, è desiderio di libertà, è voglia di essere semplicemente sè stessi.
July 30, 2017
It's funny - I spent the first half of this book reading it in a contemporary context, and only then realized it was written forty years ago. Many of the issues and reactions contained within remain unaltered, which is more than a little disheartening. Some might consider this book a difficult read because there's no crystal clear revelation or salvation. But I think the character's strength lies in her slowly increasing self-awareness, even in moments where it seems as though the entire world is attempting to force her into a role they expect her to take. This was an interesting novel to pick up alongside The Vegetarian. The ideas discussed aren't dissimilar. The blunt character of the writing is similar.
October 1, 2023
Yuko Tsushima vuelve de nuevo de la mano de @impedimenta con una obra que, 40 años después, conserva una cierta vigencia por su temática. Una obra basada en la propia experiencia de la autora.
En su anterior obra “Territorio de luz” una cita concuerda implícitamente con esta obra
«𝙇𝙤 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙟𝙤𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞́𝙖𝙣 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙤 𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙢𝙖́𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙡 𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙟𝙤 𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙢𝙖».
Koko es una mujer que vive su vida a través de sueños, de hechos pasados en su vida, de circunstancias que la marcaron y del devenir de la realidad que la rodea en su cotidianidad. Una complejidad emocional latente entre culpas eternas y esperanzas ocultas.
I
Me encantaría poder recrear un baile de máscaras en las que el tiempo y el espacio se entrecruzan, porque así es la vida de Koko, la protagonista de esta obra.
La temática del baile, la feminidad y la maternidad japoneses.
Vivir una vida en blanco y negro rodeada de personajes que no se quitan las máscaras,
Máscaras que ocultan el peso de una infancia de incomprensión, una adolescencia invisible y un proceso de vida que se escapa entre sus dedos sin poder retenerlo.
A pesar de las máscaras, el baile continúa y va dejando traspasar esa amargura que envuelve como un halo su devenir diario. Los recuerdos la anclan a la vida igual que le hunde la falta de perspectivas en su relación con su hija.
Dejarse llevar por las circunstancias, evitando mirar a los ojos de los demás para no mirarse así misma y aceptar su presente. Su soledad y la naturaleza de las relaciones humanas recreadas en noches que no acaban precisamente en mañanas que nunca empiezan.
La música como trasfondo de su historia.
Grandes estigmas sociales son los protagonistas de esta mascarada, el divorcio, ser madre soltera, una madre y una hija que no son espejo porque ambas han dejado de ser ejemplo para la otra, anhelos que se materializan en una fantasía errática. Sin embargo, algo empieza a cambiar en ella.
La realidad se impone
Quizás buscar un lugar donde poder contar lo que no puede decir y donde se pueda decir lo que quiere contar.
Territorio de luz y el hijo predilecto únicamente hay que leerlas para comprender.
«En realidad, lo único que hacían era huir del momento en el que inevitablemente tuvieran que quedarse a solas y mirarse a los ojos»«le sorprendía que, veinte años después, siguiera sin encontrar un solo motivo para vivir y que, pese a ello, continuara queriendo vivir a toda costa»
«Quería dejarse llevar por el impulso del momento y permitirse a sí misma una solución fácil y definitiva, dirigir-sé a ese lugar indiferente pero confortable llamado raciocinio. Ella siempre había optado por ser fiel a la niña que fue»
En su anterior obra “Territorio de luz” una cita concuerda implícitamente con esta obra
«𝙇𝙤 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙟𝙤𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙝𝙖𝙗𝙞́𝙖𝙣 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙤 𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙚𝙧𝙖 𝙢𝙖́𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙡 𝙘𝙧𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙟𝙤 𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙢𝙖».
Koko es una mujer que vive su vida a través de sueños, de hechos pasados en su vida, de circunstancias que la marcaron y del devenir de la realidad que la rodea en su cotidianidad. Una complejidad emocional latente entre culpas eternas y esperanzas ocultas.
I
Me encantaría poder recrear un baile de máscaras en las que el tiempo y el espacio se entrecruzan, porque así es la vida de Koko, la protagonista de esta obra.
La temática del baile, la feminidad y la maternidad japoneses.
Vivir una vida en blanco y negro rodeada de personajes que no se quitan las máscaras,
Máscaras que ocultan el peso de una infancia de incomprensión, una adolescencia invisible y un proceso de vida que se escapa entre sus dedos sin poder retenerlo.
A pesar de las máscaras, el baile continúa y va dejando traspasar esa amargura que envuelve como un halo su devenir diario. Los recuerdos la anclan a la vida igual que le hunde la falta de perspectivas en su relación con su hija.
Dejarse llevar por las circunstancias, evitando mirar a los ojos de los demás para no mirarse así misma y aceptar su presente. Su soledad y la naturaleza de las relaciones humanas recreadas en noches que no acaban precisamente en mañanas que nunca empiezan.
La música como trasfondo de su historia.
Grandes estigmas sociales son los protagonistas de esta mascarada, el divorcio, ser madre soltera, una madre y una hija que no son espejo porque ambas han dejado de ser ejemplo para la otra, anhelos que se materializan en una fantasía errática. Sin embargo, algo empieza a cambiar en ella.
La realidad se impone
Quizás buscar un lugar donde poder contar lo que no puede decir y donde se pueda decir lo que quiere contar.
Territorio de luz y el hijo predilecto únicamente hay que leerlas para comprender.
«En realidad, lo único que hacían era huir del momento en el que inevitablemente tuvieran que quedarse a solas y mirarse a los ojos»«le sorprendía que, veinte años después, siguiera sin encontrar un solo motivo para vivir y que, pese a ello, continuara queriendo vivir a toda costa»
«Quería dejarse llevar por el impulso del momento y permitirse a sí misma una solución fácil y definitiva, dirigir-sé a ese lugar indiferente pero confortable llamado raciocinio. Ella siempre había optado por ser fiel a la niña que fue»
October 24, 2023
me ha encantado, yo no sé si mágicamente me coinciden épocas de locura con estos libros o qué pero me siento muy conectada con la literatura japonesa en ese sentido. lo absurdo, la locura, irracionalidad, violencia y oscuridad que subyacen a la vida cotidiana y la apariencia del mundo adulto. me ha parecido extremadamente interesante la visión de género y la nota final de la autora al respecto de la evolución de la situación social de la mujer en su país. allí también habla de su situación personal a la hora de escribir el libro. a lo mejor estoy loca pero tengo relaciones parasociales con autores muertos y me hubiera encantado conocerla. no puedo evitar compararla con su padre, dazai, porque considero que, voluntaria o involuntariamente, hay bastante huella del estilo de él en la escritura de su hija, cosa que viene a mostrar cómo una ausencia moldea tanto como una presencia. pese a que veo muchas similitudes, como el pesimismo, la indiferencia y el humor, la perspectiva de yuko tsushima es totalmente novedosa, marcada por su posición social femenina (de opresión, pero tal vez por ello más crítica, subversiva y original), desde la que dazai nunca escribió con comprensión real. en esta novela recurre a varios temas que toca en los relatos cortos "of dogs and walls" y "the watery realm" y los amplía. qué ganas de leer más novelas suyas, esta la he devorado en los ratitos que tuve para leerla
May 12, 2025
Really struggled to get through this one. The main character was incredibly frustrating.
August 30, 2020
I’ve written before about Yuko Tsushima, the Japanese writer whose dreamlike novella, Territory of Light, was one of my highlights from last year. In her work, Tsushima frequently explores the lives of women on the fringes, individuals who defy societal expectations of marriage and motherhood – themes which are prominent again here.
First published in Japan in 1978, Child of Fortune revolves around Kōko, a thirty-six-year-old divorced woman, and her eleven-year-old daughter, Kayako. As the novel opens, Kōko is living alone in her apartment, Kayako having recently moved in with her Aunt Shōko, Kōko’s sensible older sister. Ostensibly, Kayako cited a need to focus on her schoolwork as the reason for the change in living arrangements; nevertheless, one can’t help but wonder if the real reason was somewhat more complex than this…
For much of her adult life, Kōko has been defying her relatives’ wishes by raising Kayako on her own, away from the traditional family unit. The more conventional Shōko clearly considers her sister’s approach to motherhood to be ill-judged and reckless. Kōko’s job giving piano lessons to children is hardly steady, offering little in the way of financial stability for the future. In short, there is nothing that Shōko would like more than to meddle with her sister’s lifestyle – after all, it is Shōko who will need to step in if things go wrong.
–That’s not what I call a real job– Kōko’s older sister had said to Kayako. –It’s only part-time. What makes her think she can support herself and a daughter on her pay? If anything goes wrong she’ll turn to us in the end. Which means in fact that she’s relying on us all along. Of course she has to, she couldn’t expect to make ends meet otherwise, so she should stop being so stubborn and simply come and live here. We’d be delighted to have her. She is my only sister, after all. Really, for someone who’s thirty-seven she has less sense than you, Kaya dear.– (p. 3)
To read the rest of my review, please visit
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2020...
First published in Japan in 1978, Child of Fortune revolves around Kōko, a thirty-six-year-old divorced woman, and her eleven-year-old daughter, Kayako. As the novel opens, Kōko is living alone in her apartment, Kayako having recently moved in with her Aunt Shōko, Kōko’s sensible older sister. Ostensibly, Kayako cited a need to focus on her schoolwork as the reason for the change in living arrangements; nevertheless, one can’t help but wonder if the real reason was somewhat more complex than this…
For much of her adult life, Kōko has been defying her relatives’ wishes by raising Kayako on her own, away from the traditional family unit. The more conventional Shōko clearly considers her sister’s approach to motherhood to be ill-judged and reckless. Kōko’s job giving piano lessons to children is hardly steady, offering little in the way of financial stability for the future. In short, there is nothing that Shōko would like more than to meddle with her sister’s lifestyle – after all, it is Shōko who will need to step in if things go wrong.
–That’s not what I call a real job– Kōko’s older sister had said to Kayako. –It’s only part-time. What makes her think she can support herself and a daughter on her pay? If anything goes wrong she’ll turn to us in the end. Which means in fact that she’s relying on us all along. Of course she has to, she couldn’t expect to make ends meet otherwise, so she should stop being so stubborn and simply come and live here. We’d be delighted to have her. She is my only sister, after all. Really, for someone who’s thirty-seven she has less sense than you, Kaya dear.– (p. 3)
To read the rest of my review, please visit
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2020...
October 5, 2023
«El hijo predilecto» fue originalmente publicado en 1978 pero sus temáticas siguen siendo muy relevantes en pleno 2023. Nos habla sobre roles de género, maternidad, memoria, estándares sociales con esa manera tan japonesa de examinar la psique humana. Juega con el arquetipo de la mala madre, le da un giro y hace un estudio de comportamiento que no juzga, sino que muestra. Nosotras somos las que hacemos el ejercicio mental de llegar a término con las situaciones que nos plantea.
Por supuesto, en «El hijo predilecto» hay una clara crítica social a todos estos temas. No duda en hablar tabúes y explica sin pelos en la lengua ciertos pensamientos contradictorios y a la vez difíciles de verbalizar que pasan por la cabeza de la protagonista: una madre que antes de madre es persona y que ha sido denostada toda su vida. Que no puede evitar verse arrastrada por el fango de los traumas generacionales.
Esta protagonista se ve constantemente juzgada por sus decisiones vitales: divorciarse, ser independiente, tener una vida s3xual activa, criar una hija sola, quedarse embarazada. Nos plantea preguntas como: ¿Qué es ser madre? ¿Qué significan esos roles impuestos? ¿Cómo llegar a término con el propio cuerpo? Está casi deshumanizada por su alrededor, que piensa que tiene la última palabra sobre cómo debe vivir su vida. Y, a pesar de ello, tampoco la plantea como una heroina. Es simplemente un ser humano.
Todo esto Tsushima lo cuenta con franqueza e introspección, con un estilo que me ha parecido precioso. Como único «pero» me pareció que a veces se perdía en divagaciones y abstracciones. Pero, en general, me ha parecido una novela relevante que invita a reflexionar.
Por supuesto, en «El hijo predilecto» hay una clara crítica social a todos estos temas. No duda en hablar tabúes y explica sin pelos en la lengua ciertos pensamientos contradictorios y a la vez difíciles de verbalizar que pasan por la cabeza de la protagonista: una madre que antes de madre es persona y que ha sido denostada toda su vida. Que no puede evitar verse arrastrada por el fango de los traumas generacionales.
Esta protagonista se ve constantemente juzgada por sus decisiones vitales: divorciarse, ser independiente, tener una vida s3xual activa, criar una hija sola, quedarse embarazada. Nos plantea preguntas como: ¿Qué es ser madre? ¿Qué significan esos roles impuestos? ¿Cómo llegar a término con el propio cuerpo? Está casi deshumanizada por su alrededor, que piensa que tiene la última palabra sobre cómo debe vivir su vida. Y, a pesar de ello, tampoco la plantea como una heroina. Es simplemente un ser humano.
Todo esto Tsushima lo cuenta con franqueza e introspección, con un estilo que me ha parecido precioso. Como único «pero» me pareció que a veces se perdía en divagaciones y abstracciones. Pero, en general, me ha parecido una novela relevante que invita a reflexionar.
August 2, 2015
Subtle multi-layered story-telling with some vivid imagery both dreamlike and realistic. Strong characterizations with a twist in this feminist tale of a single-woman in Japan struggling to negotiate family and societal pressures and mostly succeeding despite oceans of self-doubt at times.
October 19, 2025
unfortunate readers tho
April 18, 2022
Molto bello, arrabbiato e assurdo nei passaggi più realistici (non nel "colpo di scena" che invece parla ancora di corpo e di come si vive): sono le parole degli altri a sconquassare sempre ogni cosa.
August 10, 2025
3.5 maybe… i wish she had pulled out a gun at the end
December 8, 2022
Child of Fortune is a fascinating and uniquely told examination into one woman's struggles of finding herself and “place” in the world -or more specifically, a highly patriarchal and oppressive 1970's Japan. Where majority of traditions, attitudes and behaviours are not only unrealistic, but deeply unjust and prejudiced against women -especially single women and mothers.
Honestly my one major recurring thought whilst reading this was; GOD HOW I WISH IT FELT MORE DATED !
As with many Japanese novellas, Tsushima’s writing is deeply evocative and almost otherworldly and abstract in nature -which admittedly, probably won’t be for everyone. The structure too is probably another element that works both “for” and “against” the book. With Tsushima seamlessly switching between the past and present, fantasy and reality, in order to explore the more deeper -and darker, psychological complexities of womanhood.
Overall a fascinating exploration of; womanhood, motherhood, ageism and of course, feminism.
3 stars
Honestly my one major recurring thought whilst reading this was; GOD HOW I WISH IT FELT MORE DATED !
As with many Japanese novellas, Tsushima’s writing is deeply evocative and almost otherworldly and abstract in nature -which admittedly, probably won’t be for everyone. The structure too is probably another element that works both “for” and “against” the book. With Tsushima seamlessly switching between the past and present, fantasy and reality, in order to explore the more deeper -and darker, psychological complexities of womanhood.
Overall a fascinating exploration of; womanhood, motherhood, ageism and of course, feminism.
3 stars
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