W mroźny sylwestrowy wieczór Izumi znajduje swoją matkę błąkającą się po parku. To jeden z pierwszych dni, kiedy Yuriko zaczyna zapominać swojego syna. Mimo natłoku obowiązków związanych z pracą i zbliżającymi się narodzinami dziecka Izumi poświęca dużo czasu matce, która ma coraz większe problemy z pamięcią, traci orientację w czasie i przestrzeni. Jednocześnie wraca on do wydarzeń z dzieciństwa, zwłaszcza do prześladującego go wspomnienia związanego z nagłym zniknięciem Yuriko. Powoli odkrywa przemilczaną prawdę o historii sprzed lat.
Sto kwiatów to intymna opowieść rodzinna, która uświadamia, że dla każdego z milionów ludzi cierpiących na demencję, a także ich bliskich, choroba jest odrębnym, boleśnie osobistym doświadczeniem. Nie zawsze wystarczy czasu, żeby zrozumieć przeszłość i się z nią pogodzić.
Genki Kawamura is an internationally bestselling author. If Cats Disappeared from the World was his first novel and has sold over two million copies in Japan and has been translated into over fourteen different languages. His other novels are Million Dollar Man and April Come She Will. He has also written children's picture books including Tinny & The Balloon, MOOM, and Patissier Monster. Kawamura occasionally produces, directs, and writes movies, and is a showrunner. He was a producer of the blockbuster anime film Your Name, which is currently being developed into an live-action film by J. J. Abrams.
"One Hundred Flowers" is a gentle and touching story about a son trying to understand his mother as she begins to lose her memory.
It speaks about sadness, family love, and the power of memories. 😭😢
Now I understand what the title "One Hundred Flowers" means. It reminds me of watching fireworks—like a hundred flowers blooming in the sky all at once.
Beautiful things like lights, colors, patterns, and sounds don’t last forever. They disappear quickly. Our memories are the same. They may fade, but the truly special ones are impossible to forget.
What is a half firework? You’ll find out in the novel yourself.
"So what makes us human is our memories, not our bodies?"
This story gently touches your heart.
It might make you think of your own parents or loved ones, and maybe even bring a tear to your eye.
Non dimenticare i fiori è il secondo romanzo dell’autore e produttore Kawamura Genki, già piuttosto conosciuto in Italia per il suo esordio con Se i gatti scomparissero dal mondo, entrambi editi da Einaudi.
La storia che ci racconta ha come protagonista Izumi e il suo rapporto con la madre Yuriko: proprio quando lui sta per diventare padre, la madre inizia a mostrare i primi sintomi dell’Alzheimer.
Quello che ci troviamo davanti è un romanzo molto introspettivo: la narrazione si concentra, appunto, sul rapporto madre-figlio, sul suo deteriorarsi e rafforzarsi allo stesso tempo.
Se da un lato, infatti, la malattia di Yuriko la porta a dimenticare le cose, i nomi, persino i volti delle persone a lei care, dall’altro Izumi arriva pian piano alla consapevolezza di quanto sino ad allora non era mai stato vicino a sua madre come credeva. Ed è per questo che cerca, ora, di rimediare.
Non dimenticare i fiori è un romanzo molto intenso, e soprattutto doloroso: assistere al cambiamento di Yuriko, vederla perdersi, fisicamente e mentalmente, tra persone sconosciute, scaffali di un supermercato e stazioni di polizia, provoca nel lettore un forte senso di tristezza e tenerezza.
Kawamura crea in queste pagine una storia che parla di umanità e di affetto, con una scrittura delicata che riesce a non appesantire nonostante il tema così importante.
Une jolie histoire pleine d’émotions mais que le style d’écriture m’a rendue un peu lointaine. J’avais l’impression d’être détachée... mais ça reste une sujet hyper touchant et une très belle découverte.
O carte foarte emoționată despre maternitate, grijile unei mame singure, greutățile și efemeritatea vieții, dar și despre boala Alzheimer, care aparent face ravagii în Japonia, dar și în lume. Mi-a plăcut mult lectura, dar poate sunt subiectivă, căci mie îmi place simplitatea cărților scrise de japonezi. O recomand! ♥️
🪷synopsis: we follow izumi a man in his thirties struggling to balance his career, marriage and impending fatherhood, when another weight is added to his shoulders—his mother, yuriko. she is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in her late sixties. yuriko becomes increasingly forgetful making her fading mind a dread for her son. after his mother left him and vanished for an entire year, only to return without explanation leaves unturned stones that persist into adulthood. making their son-mother relationship complicated. it isn’t until Izumi discovers her old diaries that he uncovers the truth behind her absence—this makes him reminisce moments of his childhood he had forgotten, whilst his mother loses the memories she has been cherishing.
despite their fractured past tiny meaningful moments are shared with us between mother and son, izumi’s favourite food, the single flower in the vase, the fireworks that wanted to be enjoyed and spending time with one another. This novel point outs beautifully the cruel irony of memory—one robbed of their past, the other one revisit and reminiscing it—while underscoring the fragile beauty of human connection.
🪷thoughts: as someone deeply moved by (the power of) memories, I found this novel profoundly thought-provoking and achingly beautiful. Genki, author of ‘if cats disappeared from this world’, gave his magical touch to this novel. he reminding us that even in an age dominated by AI, what makes us human is our capacity to hold memories—both joyful and painful—close to our hearts. life is undeniably difficult, filled with challenges and heartache, but this story reaffirms that love and shared experiences can make even the hardest moments bearable. memories, whether of laughter or tears, are treasures we must never take for granted.
i read this somewhere and I wanted to give it a place in my review as well: the visualisation of semi-circle fireworks—represent that memories somehow will be shared, half yours, half belonging to those who lived them with you.
Küçük vazosunda daima bir adet çiçek bulunduran bekar bir anne ve oğlu birbirinden ne kadar kopabilir? Oğlanın yaşı ilerledikçe evden uzaklaşmaya başlar, anne kabuğuna çekilir. Senede birkaç kez görüşülmeye başlanır. Ama mekanlardan, birlikte olunan kişilerden, yapılan işlerden daha önemlisine sahiptirler onlar: bugüne dek biriktirdikleri anılara. Gün gelip hatırlanmayacak bile olsalar.. . Derinliği olmasa da sıcak, kalbe dokunan bir hikaye ‘Annem Kokan Çiçekler’. Genki Kawamura anne-oğul ilişkisini anlatırken kimi noktalarda yan hikayelere de sapıyor gibi görünse de hepsi sonda bir bütünlüğe kavuşuyor. . Defne Gürtunca çevirisi, Geray Gencer kapak tasarımıyla ~ . Gözlerim kitapta yazar ve çevirmen hakkında bilgi kısmını, birkaç yerde de dipnot aradı, bunu da söylemeden geçmeyeyim ~
Between the lacklustre characters, wonky pacing, and bleak undertones, I didn't have a good time with this one.
Story and Cadence: 🎆 The book felt too long for the story it was trying to tell. All those sections on Izumi’s workplace drove me nuts! They were boring and gratuitous and only seemed to exist to interrupt the flow of the core story! 🎆 The pacing was inconsistent: There were times during the main story that I was rocketing through without noticing my progress; there were other times (during the job scenes or Izumi’s inner monologue) that I struggled to pick the book up and continue with it. 🎆 The overall vibe is quite bleak.
Characters, Relationships, and Setting 🎆 Izumi felt like a child to me. I couldn’t understand his motivations or actions. Why would Izumi wait until his mother had advanced Alzheimer’s to start interrogating her about his father? Like, you’ve had decades to have this conversation and you’re getting pushy about it now? Also, the guy is almost 40 and only just realizes that his mother is a woman? Yikes. 🎆 While Yuriko’s illness and deterioration was upsetting, I couldn’t connect with her as a character either. She seemed almost Oedipal in her obsession with Izumi. Her motivations didn’t make sense either: like she just vanishes without a word leaving a 14/15 year old at home for a year so she can play house with a married man? WTF. 🎆 The relationship between Izumi and Yuriko made me deeply uncomfortable: it felt like they were in a toxic romantic relationship at times and despite being told over and over how close they were, I didn’t get a sense for this at all. They didn't listen to each other or communicate like adults, and felt like they were kinda gaslighting each other with their conflicting memories. It just felt unhealthy to me. 🎆 I hated how neither Izumi or Kaori seemed to want a baby but were just having one anyway. Yeesh, listening to their mental gymnastics was exhausting. 🎆 Despite place name-dropping, I didn’t get a strong sense of place in this book.
Language, Writing, and Presentation: 🎆 There were some beautiful phrases sprinkled throughout the story 🎆 I liked the little illustrations at the beginning of each chapter 🎆 The book had a lot of filler and was longer than it needed to be 🎆 Much of the dialogue was stilted and unnatural, distractingly so. In some cases, it made the characters feel super robotic and inhuman. 🎆 The writing style kept me at arm's length. Despite the sad subject matter, I wasn't able to emotionally connect with the characters or the story like I'd hoped. There was something detached about the writing/translation that kept me on the sidelines throughout the story. 🎆 The note at the end, by another author, telling me how to interpret the story was a bit strange. It felt defensive?
A Note on Translation: I found the translation rocky. There was a distracting amount of Britishisms and language that made the characters feel more British than Japanese. This may be a personal preference, but I wish translators would take more care about considering what a Japanese person would say or at least use widely-recognized terms for things instead of niche British terms (like “pushchair”). British colloquialisms will draw non-British English speakers out of the narrative and, for me anyway, it makes me question the authenticity of the translation.
When I finished this book, I felt relief. I was glad to leave the world and characters behind, which isn’t great testimony.
I had my request to review this book approved by Bonnier Books on NetGalley.
〔❝ Forse è insito nella natura umana non allungare la mano verso le cose che si hanno sempre a disposizione. O forse è una sua prerogativa. ❞〕 Riso hayashi e tamagoyaki dolce. Il cibo è un veicolo per i ricordi dell’infanzia. Quante volte ci è capitato di esclamare: ‘’Com’era buono quel piatto!’’, forse perché era stato preparato per noi da una persona cara? Izumi ricorda molto bene i piatti cucinati dalla madre Yuriko ma tutto ad un tratto è la madre a non ricordare più. Il nome della nuora Kaori, e persino la ricetta della zuppa di miso. Lei, che aveva sempre cucinato tanti manicaretti per il suo adorato figlio. Si dice che se dimentichiamo qualcosa, è perché essa non era importante. Ma è veramente così? Questa storia mette in contrasto la memoria con la malattia e i ciliegi in piena fioritura fanno da spettatori a questo dramma familiare. Tutti però hanno scheletri nell’armadio e anche il rapporto tra la madre Yuriko e il figlio Izumi nasconde delle piccole crepe. Verremo a conoscenza dei dettagli grazie al diario di Yuriko, ritrovato da Izumi. Cosa è accaduto tra il 1994 e il 1995 che ha cambiato il loro rapporto? A rendere ancora più complicato il tutto, ci sono i sentimenti di inadeguatezza di Izumi, che sta per diventare padre. Non avendo un modello di riferimento, teme di non essere un buon genitore per il suo bambino. Kawamura Genki non delude le mie aspettative: così come con ‘’Se i gatti scomparissero dal mondo’’, le sue parole riescono a sfiorare le corde più recondite del cuore. Una trama più lenta e descrittiva rispetto a quella del libro con cui abbiamo conosciuto l’autore, ma non per questo meno toccante o profonda. I numerosi salti temporali tra passato e presente, reminiscenze e realtà, hanno dato vita a una storia ben architettata, ricca di realismo e scene di vita quotidiana. Una storia forte ma colma di tenerezza, delicata come i petali dei fiori.🌸
When I read this book, it reminded me of my mom. Our parents, who are getting older, don’t expect anything from us except our presence by their side. They miss the liveliness we brought into the house when we were little. Even if we go back to visit them, that is enough for them. I felt emotional this morning as I wrote this review.
This book tells the story of Izumi, who has to uncover a secret behind his mother, Yuriko’s dementia. I don’t really know how to describe the relationship between Izumi and Yuriko, whether they were close or otherwise. So my question is the same as Kaori’s, Izumi’s wife. But, we can see that Izumi loves his mother eventhough he also celebrated new year and birthday with his mom and always comeback to visit his mom since she got an early dementia.
In just a few months, Izumi will become a father, and he wonders if he can be a good one since he grew up without a father figure. (Yuriko was a single mother and it is tough & challenging to be a single mother 🥺)
There was a time when Izumi was in elementary school and Yuriko suddenly disappeared, leaving him behind. So when Yuriko suffers from dementia, she keeps repeating, “Iwon’t leave you again, Izumi” and keeps calling her son’s name over and over as if to never let him go again. Strange right? What is hiding behind this, althought Izumi himself cant remember all those.
When Yuriko was placed in a nursing home because of her dementia, that was where Izumi found her diary and began to unravel all the questions that had haunted him.
This story stirred a lot of emotions in me. I love the mother-and-son scenes in it. But the parts about Izumi’s work felt unnecessary to me, they slowed down the story and made it a little boring to read. Otherwise, I would have given it a full 5 ⭐️.
When you want to grow up, you have to lose something on the way. One Hundred Flowers was an emotional, heartwarming book of love & loss between an ageing, dementia mother and her son. Its the unique closeness dynamic between this pair of mother and son that brought the book to life. A story that pulled your heartstrings on the depth and struggle of losing memories of your loved ones, the memories you created together, as they dwindled and get forgotten by days with the disease taking over both the mind and body. This book explored on the relationship of a single mom and her son so well, it made me felt for each of them as we look at what made them close to each other but also the distance that kept them apart. Yuriko is a piano teacher & slowly losing her memories to dementia and Izumi Kasai, her son alongside his pregnant wife, tries to understand and care for his old mother, racing against time that relentlessly took over his mother's memories
The symbolism of the book cover shone through in this story, the single flower kept in a vase dated back to a memory of Izumi's first ever birthday present to her mother which till this day, she will get a flower for her home. The piano is her source of passion, love and also an income as a single mother raising her only child alone, cut off from her family. Her love for music & playing piano as one of the skills she retained as her mind start deteriorating. The half fireworks scene was one scene that made me cry the most. I was devastated by the end for how melancholically sad this was. A story that showed the struggle of elderly care especially taking care of dementia and Alzheimer's patient bcus losing memory may felt as if the person is losing their identity once they forgot their names, the loved ones even reverted back to childlike personality. But this book actually showed you that even in the worst condition of the disease, they still are themselves perhaps in their most vulnerable way yet there is still deep within, the person you once knew and remember. I appreciated the slice of life, mundaneness of the story as we followed Izumi & his mother in close proximity as they remember their memories together in a way that each of them remember was both sad & endearing
Devo ammettere che ho fatto un po' fatica ad entrare in questa storia perché mi sembrava che l'autore si soffermasse su troppi dettagli superflui. Poi però ho capito perché lo fa. Perché sono tutti frammenti di memoria, piccoli pezzi che vanno a ricostruire la storia di un rapporto madre-figlio nel suo passato e nel suo presente. Il continuo riferimento al cibo diventa un modo per ricordare episodi, ma anche emozioni e sensazioni legate ad un particolare momento. In questo romanzo il tema della memoria è centrale, dal momento che Yuriko, la mamma di Izumi, è affetta dal morbo di Alzheimer. E questa devastante notizia arriva proprio quando Izumi ha appena saputo che diventerà presto papà per la prima volta. Affiancando sua mamma nella malattia Izumi scoprirà particolari della sua infanzia che ai tempi non aveva compreso o che non poteva conoscere, imparando a vederla anche come donna, non solo come madre. In questo romanzo emerge molto il tema dell'identità. I nostri ricordi definiscono chi siamo? E se non abbiamo più la memoria siamo ancora noi stessi? E se non c'è più chi ci ricordava in un determinato modo, scompare anche una parte di noi? Questi sono alcuni interrogativi che emergono nel corso della storia mentre Izumi si trova pian piano a ricoprire il ruolo di genitore della sua stessa mamma, chiedendosi, nello stesso tempo, se sarà in grado di fare da padre a suo figlio che sta per nascere. Proprio lui, Izumi, che un padre non l'ha mai conosciuto e che non ha nemmeno idea di quale possa essere il rapporto padre-figlio. Un romanzo molto attuale, profondo ed emotivamente intenso. Personalmente ho preferito "Se i gatti scomparissero dal mondo" dello stesso autore, ma anche questa seconda opera merita senz'altro la lettura.
Tema di tendenza (Alzheimer) ma difficile da trattare, trama scadente con molti luoghi comuni (a partire dal titolo), personaggi poco delineati (persino i due protagonisti, madre e figlio).
Leave it to Genki Kawamura to bring another deeply emotional story to the table.
This one's another favorite of mine and it explored the bond between a mother and her son. The story follows a young man on the verge of becoming a father who discovers that his mother is suffering from dementia. It’s one of those cruel twists of timing—right as his new chapter of life begins. As he struggles with the heartbreaking reality of watching her slowly become a stranger, their relationship which is already strained, begins to unravel in unexpected ways. This isn’t just a story about memory loss, but it's about regret, forgiveness and the unspoken things that sit between family members for years.
There’s something about the way Genki Kawamura tells a story that hits you so bad. One Hundred Flowers is one of those quiet, emotionally layered stories told in a gentle manner. The story goes back and forth with the flashbacks, where we start to understand the complicated history between Izumi and his mother, Yuriko. There’s love between the mother and the son—but there’s also painful distance and things unsaid. And that’s real. That’s what families are. Messy. Beautiful. The story doesn't rely on dramatic or big plot twists. Just the slow realization that sometimes, the people closest to us are the ones we understand the least. Although I am not fond of the mother's choices and the reason she disappeared, I can understand why she did it.
What I loved most about One Hundred Flowers is how the author handled the characters. They are inconsistent, messy and flawed which feels so human. Izumi is both caring and distant. He loves his mother but at the same time, he quietly resents her too. I love that Yuriko is not just a 'sick parent' character. She has her own depth, her own decisions and secrets even as her mind begins to betray her. There’s a beautiful sadness in watching Izumi piece together fragments of his mother’s past, only to realize that she may have been carrying her own quiet regret and pain all along. I love that the story focuses on how as a child, we often see the parent in one-dimensional roles. We forget that they were once young. They had dreams, heartbreaks, and regrets, just like how Izumi slowly discovered his mother is not just a woman who raised him but also a person with a full, complicated life before and beyond her role as his mother.
Overall, One Hundred Flowers is about holding on to love, remembering someone even as they begin to forget themselves and what happens when the one we shared memory disappears. What happens to the bond between a family when one can no longer recall it? It’s a tender, thoughtful book and the ending broke me (now we understand what's the fireworks in the book cover really mean :( ) 4.25 ⭐️
A casa di Yuriko non è mai mancato un singolo splendido fiore nel vaso in salotto, tranne di recente. Ultimamente infatti la donna è confusa, non riesce a svolgere normalmente anche le più semplici azioni quotidiane. Ha bisogno di scrivere su un foglio tutto quello che si ricorda di se stessa: ‘Mi chiamo Kasai Yuriko. Sono nata il primo gennaio. Mio figlio si chiama Izumi’. Izumi si accorge forse troppo tardi della malattia incalzante della madre, tutte le sue energie sono assorbite da un lavoro a tempo pieno in una casa discografica e dall’imminente nascita del primo figlio. Quando però arriva la diagnosi di Alzheimer è colpito dai sensi di colpa. Ora che la madre sta perdendo la memoria della sua vita potrà conoscerla davvero? Questo romanzo è un capolavoro, commovente e straziante. Scritto in modo impeccabile ed evocativo. Per tutta la narrazione pensiamo che sia Yuriko a star perdendo tutti i ricordi, ma poi ci accorgiamo che è Izumi ad aver dimenticato le cose più importanti. Proprio come capita ad ognuno di noi, quando smettiamo di prestare attenzione ai dettagli della nostra vita e di chi ci circonda. Ma anche se i ricordi svaniscono, le emozioni restano. Proprio come i fuochi d’artificio: “ «I fuochi d’artificio mettono malinconia. Voglio dire, uno se li dimentica appena finiscono e non ricorda più colore, forma o altro. No?» «Sí, forse ci si dimentica la forma o il colore, ma non le emozioni provate durante lo spettacolo o la persona con cui li si è visti...non trovi?» Yuriko aveva fissato Izumi e gli aveva stretto la mano. «Sí....quelle cose non si dimenticano.» «Mi ricorderò senz’altro di oggi» aveva quindi mormorato Izumi mentre guardava i fuochi d’artificio a metà. «Chissá...» gli aveva risposto Yuriko osservandolo di profilo, dopodiché aveva sorriso. «Sono certa che te ne dimenticherai. Tutti dimentichiamo qualcosa, ma non c’è nulla di male.»” ~ “Fuori dalla finestra i fuochi d’artificio a metà continuavano a brillare nel cielo. Erano meravigliosi. Sbocciavano e subito sparivano, proprio come le centinaia di fiori schiusi e appassiti nella casa dove Izumi e Yuriko avevano trascorso i loro giorni. Nella memoria sarebbe rimasto solo il loro ricordo. Una folata di vento dal mare portò con sè l’odore della polvere pirica e il fumo. I fuochi d’artificio a metà che brillavano nel cielo sfocato gli avrebbero ricordato per sempre la figura di sua madre da giovane.”
Odkąd ją skończyłam to po prostu siedzę z pustką w głowie. Zostawiła u mnie poczucie smutku, zrozumienia, ale i lekkiego niedosytu.
To była przejmująca opowieść z matką i dzieckiem w roli głównej.
U Yuriko postępuje choroba Alzhaimera, razem z synem musi zmierzyć się z nową rzeczywistością. Autor bierze na pierwszy plan chorobę, ale i relację matka-syn oraz sprawę rodzicielstwa.
Chaotyczna niczym skutki choroby, z którą zmaga się bohaterka. Błądzimy między teraźniejszością, a przeszłością, jednocześnie obserwując to samo u Yuriko. Odpływamy w lawinę wspomnień, dostajemy odpowiedzi na niewypowiedziane pytania, jednocześnie przez wiele niedopowiedzeń pozostajemy z niejasnością.
Jeśli podobał Wam się film "Ojciec", to może przypaść Wam do gustu i ta książka, chociaż efekt nie jest aż tak mocny jak tam, lecz mamy podobne zabiegi i robi to robotę.
Ściskający za serce finał i zmierzenie się z własną pamięcią, i żalem.
Czemu jej nie pokochałam w pełni?
Momentami narracja była po prostu sucha i odbijała się ode mnie mimo sytuacji czy dialogów, które powinny być mocne i do mnie trafić... Niestety, zabrakło mi niejeden raz głębi co nie pozwoliło mi pokochać tej historii, BO WIEM, ŻE DAŁO SIĘ TO ZROBIĆ. Lecz podejrzewam, że to już jest kwestia tłumaczenia, bo przy poprzedniej książce autora takiego problemu nie było, a tłumacz się zmienił :( Nigdy się nie przekonam czy faktycznie. No chyba, że przeczytam kiedyś w oryginale!
Ale pomijając tę kwestię, była bardzo dobra, po prostu mogła być lepsza. Wiem co to znaczy demencja, wiem jaki ma wpływ na życie rodziny i czytając tę książkę po prostu ją rozumiałam. Możliwe, że mocniej niż inni. Odnalazłam się w niej i mnie kupiła.
Początkowo drażnił mnie chaos, te wszystkie przeskoki między miejscem i czasem, i nie rozumiałam poruszania niektórych kwestii. W końcu do mnie dotarło, że to nie tylko opowieść o demencji, ale i o rodzicielstwie i własnych pragnieniach i niepewnościach. No kurde, super to było.
Ode mnie 7.5/10 ⭐ Bardzo polecam!
I dziękuję wydawcy za prezent w postaci przesłania tekstu do przedpremierowego przeczytania!❤️
Ο Ιζούμι, περνάει πάντα την πρωτοχρονιά με τη μητέρα του. Είναι μια ιδιαίτερη μέρα μιας κι εκείνη έχει τα γενέθλια της. Όμως, φτάνοντας στο σπίτι της, εκείνη δεν είναι εκεί- όταν αργότερα τη βρίσκει καθισμένη σε μια κούνια, είναι αρκετά αποπροσανατολισμένη- ο Ιζούμι προσπερνά αυτό το γεγονός κι όταν αργότερα η μητέρα του διαγνωστεί με Αλτσχάιμερ, αποφασίζει να τη φροντίσει όσο μπορεί ενώ παράλληλα ετοιμάζεται να γίνει πατερας.
Σε αυτή τη γλυκόπικρη ιστορία, ο συγγραφέας μας βάζει να αναλογιστούμε τον τρόπο που καθένας μας φυλάει τις αναμνήσεις του και κατά πόσο αυτές διαμορφώνουν ποιοι είμαστε. Βλέποντας τη μητέρα του να χάνει τις δικές της, ο ήρωας μας φέρνει στο νου του γεγονότα κα�� καταστάσεις και τη σημασία τους. Έχοντας μεγαλώσει μόνος μαζί της, αμφιταλαντεύεται για το αν θα καταφέρει να γίνει σωστός πατέρας για το γιο του. Ενα βιβλίο βαθιά συναισθηματικό!!
«Θα ξεχνούσε ποιος ήταν ο γιος της; Οχι μόνο το όνομα του, αλλά και όλα όσα σήμαινε ο γιος της για αυτήν; Κι εκείνη τη μέρα, τι θα είχε απομείνει από την ίδια;»
Assez décevant par rapport au diamant brut qu'était son précédent ouvrage "Et si les chats disparaissaient du monde...". Le sujet est touchant, mais je n'ai pas trouvé l'étincelle...
The moment I started this book, I knew it would wreck me.
One Hundred Flower was an emotional read especially through the lens of Yuriko and Izumi’s mother–son relationship. What should we do when a disease slowly takes away our parent’s memories? This is how exploration of fragile bond between the kids and parents happened when loves are there but sometimes resentment surfaces whenever needs and expectations don't align.
I love reading Izumi's thoughts: his struggles in dealing with his mother, his uncertainty about becoming a father, and their way of embracing memories altogether. It felt nice, and I enjoyed that perspective.
I think the part that wrecked me was you could feel the feeling of devastation when your parents slowly lose both their physical and emotional strength, just like Yuriko. I could see my own parents through her, honestly. It makes me feel like I hadn’t done enough since my relationship with my family is not that close. It was like wanting to be there for them, but you still choosing to keep a distance because of past wounds.
It doesn't break me deeply but I do think this book left me an impact. It made me ponder about family, love and most importantly, memory.
Yeni il gecəsi İzumi anasının evini ziyarət edir, ancaq onu orada görmür. Neçə saat arayıb-axtardıqdan sonra anasını parkda yelləncəkdə oturan vəziyyətdə tapır. Bu davranış anası Yurikonun xəstəliyinin - Altsheymerin ilk simpotumun göstəricisi idi…
İzumi evlidir və üstəlik, yoldaşı da hamilədir. İzumi və yoldaşı musiqi şirkətində səhərdən axşamacan işləyirlər, başlarını qaşımağa belə vaxtları yoxdur. Yuriko musiqi müəlliməsidir, uşaqlara piano dərsi verməklə güzəranını keçirir. Ancaq ananın xəstəliyi İzuminin qarışıq həyatını daha da dolaşıq edir.
Ananın yaddaşı silinir, oğulun xatirələri canlanır. Atasız böyüyən, ata olmağa hazırlaşan İzumi anası ilə daha çox maraqlanarkən niyə ondan bu qədər uzaqlaşdığını, ailə olmanın mənasını, anası ilə necə vidalaşacağını, xüsusən də vidalaşağı qadının anasımı olacağını sorğulayır…
Əsərin təhkiyə bölgüsü belədir: Yurikonun dilindən, İzuminin gözündən və təhkiyəçinin ifadəsindən hadisələr cərəyan edir. Mən ən çox Yurikonun dilindən və Yurikonun olduğunu səhnələri sevdim…
Deste autor li o "Se os gatos desapareceram do mundo" e simplesmente amei. Quando este chegou à livraria fui logo atraída pela capa e pela sinopse e não resisti a ler. É uma história bem diferente da outra mas igualmente bela. Aqui é contada a história de uma mãe e filho. A mãe começa a sofrer de Alzheimer e o filho, ao mesmo tempo que vai reaprendendo a lidar com a mãe, vai recordando momentos da relação dos dois. Este autor tem uma escrita linda que nos faz continuar a querer ler mais e mais.
Thanks to NetGalley and Bonnier for the advanced copy of this title in return for an honest review.
Oh how I wanted to love this.
I generally love Japanese fiction. They're all so warm and cosy and heartwarming, but they do all seem to have a sense of tragedy or longing in them, which makes them more than just an entertaining story. They make you think and make you feel.
We assume that Yuriko has dementia, or certainly some severe memory problems.
It can be difficult to get the same meaning from the original language into the translated one. Now, having not read the original Japanese version, I can't say it's 100% accurate, but it feels right. It is hard to explain something like dementia if you haven't experienced it. To be honest, it's hard to explain it even if you have experienced it, but Genki and Cathy have managed that well. It's not overly gratuitous or morbid, it's sensitive but they haven't hidden from the annoyance and anger and short fuse that comes with it. You know they don't mean it. They don't know they've aske the same question five times, but we do, and we snap at them and then feel bad.
But the characters were a bit of a let down. Perfectly fine, but lacklustre and I didn't find myself gelling with any of them. They weren't bad, in fact I'd have preferred if they were bad, but they're just quite flat. Yuriko is probably my favourite and that's because I had a soft spot for her; she's struggling but she's not always sure why.
I really thought I'd have more of an emotional connection to it. I have experienced dementia in my family and it's horrible. And whilst I did feel involved at times, it was a bit harsh and so pushed me away a lot. I didn't think Izumi handled his mother's situation well, pushing her away and in turn pushing me away.
The pacing is a little off too. We spend too much time describing Izumi's office, and too little time focussing on what I thought were the important bits - family and memories.
It's not a bad book, but not a great book. It's interesting to spend a few hours with, but it wouldn't be one that will stick with me. It's too long, clunky passages, and flat characters, but I admit I did think the description of how dementia can affect you and the wider family was well handled in general.
What does it feel like to slowly lose someone you love, even while they’re right beside you? That’s what Izumi faces when his mother, Yuriko, is diagnosed with dementia. But years before, Yuriko once vanished from Izumi’s life for a whole year without a word. Why?
The 3️⃣ Things:
💭𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒅, 𝒅𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒂 & 𝑨𝒍𝒛𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒓🕰️ This story made me ask my friend about his late father, who had dementia, to understand what family members go through while supporting their loved ones. It also reminded me of the mother in the Singapore Malay drama Forensik. I’ve read that Kawamura was inspired by his grandmother’s battle with dementia. Sounds Like Love by Ashley Poston also talk about dementia suffer by the mother.
🌸𝑰𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔.💫 Work obligations often cut into family time, yet Izumi never fails to celebrate his mother’s birthday with him. I love how the author creates an irony in the story, a son who forgets her childhood memories, while his mother remembers them despite suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s.
⏳𝑨 𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔. 🔄 The narrative feels a little jumpy, shifting quickly between present and past, which at times left me rereading lines. Still, the challenge was worth it, and I especially enjoyed Kyoko Nakajima’s afterword on memory, memory loss, AI, and the story itself.
Thank you miss Izah @feisasola @izahisreading and @definitelybooks for giving me the copy. 🥰 #parareads #pansing #onehundredflowers #bookstagram #japaneseliterature
Nu știu exact la ce anume m-am așteptat de la “O sută de flori”, dar pot să vă spun că, la prima vedere, coperta m-a dus cu gândul la primăvară și la faptul că florile pomilor înfloriți trec atât de repede. După ce am terminat cartea, mi-am dat seama cât de bine portretizează coperta povestea dintre pagini. Florile le-am văzut ca pe mici frânturi din mama lui Izumi, Yuriko, care își pierde memoria de la o zi la alta.
Mă așteptam la o poveste mai emoționantă, având în vedere subiectul. Iurico suferă de Alzheimer, dar boala este depistată foarte târziu. Izumi își privește trecutul cu nostalgie și durere, pentru că nu a avut o copilărie ușoară, iar prezentul îi reamintește de ceea ce i-a lipsit. Pe de altă parte, urmează să devină tată și este cuprins de sentimente pe care nu știe cum să le gestioneze. Se simte prins între ciocan și nicovală, neștiind cum să găsească echilibrul între a avea grijă de mama sa, care are nevoie de ajutor, și a fi alături de soția lui, însărcinată.
Este o poveste frumoasă, chiar dacă nu am regăsit emoția la care mă așteptam. Totuși, jurnalul descoperit de Izumi a reușit să mi-o înfățișeze pe Yuriko într-un mod nou, pe care nu l-am putut vedea până atunci, și m-a făcut să o înțeleg mai bine. Romanul vorbește despre intimitate și emoție, dar și despre muzicalitate, având în vedere că Iurico este profesoară de muzică și are un lirism aparte. În același timp, demonstrează cât de importante sunt amintirile și cât de mult contează să nu le pierdem, fie ele plăcute sau dureroase, pentru că din toate putem extrage învățăminte care ne modelează.
Recomand acest roman, chiar dacă eu nu am rezonat pe deplin cu stilul și mi-a fost uneori mai greu să urmăresc anumite pasaje, ține, probabil, de preferințele mele literare. Dincolo de asta, este o poveste despre fragilitate, despre forța iubirii și despre cât de mult contează să fim alături de cei dragi.
"Quem realmente me ama? Quem chorará de verdadeira dor perante os meus restos mortais?" (página 162)
Comecei esse livro sem muitas expectativas, nunca tinha ouvido falar nele e, para mim, era totalmente desconhecido. Mas então, um dia, fui ao mercado e o encontrei. De alguma forma, ele chamou a minha atenção. Eu estava empolgada para conhecer a história de Yuriko e Izumi. Ao longo da leitura, esse livro me surpreendeu de diversas maneiras. A forma como o autor retrata uma mãe solo imperfeita e seu querido filho me tocou muito. A mãe foi falha, o filho foi falho. Mas, afinal de contas, não é assim na nossa realidade? Eu entendi o Izumi e, acima de tudo, também entendi a Yuriko. Foi com lágrimas que eu terminei este lindo livro, e me faltam palavras para descrever o quão feliz sou por tê-lo comprado naquele dia. Espero carregar as lições deste livro maravilhoso pelo resto da minha vida.
"Como estas flores são despreocupadas! Não saberão que as suas horas estão contadas?" (página 74)