If you could go now to any place in the world, where would it be? The author invites you to Ikaho, in the mountains of Japan. This is the backdrop for the tale of a strange, chance meeting between two wayfarers, a mendicant priest and a girl. What they learn from each other unfurls something of the very heart of timeless Ikaho.
A novella from Quentin S. Crisp set in the Edo period, Ikaho is in the tradition of the Japanese ninjōbon, or 'books of human feeling'. Warm as an old tale told over heated saké, Ikaho is also a meditation on place, time and eternity, a revolving door of open-ended narrative by which the reader might enter and visit the magical time-and-place known by that name.
“my soul an invisible lightning, my consciousness in the wonderful neutral gear that is a kind of youthful eternity.”
Ikaho is an exquisite literary incantation. Sitting somewhere between short story and novella, fable and folk tale and metaphysical disquisition, this beautifully produced hardback by Zagava Books is a real treasure.
Set in the picturesque mountain spa resort of Ikaho in Edo period Japan, on one level it’s a simple and bittersweet tale of the chance meeting between a boy and girl, Jirō and Ohisa, two lost souls on the run. They meet, and in one helping the other, a connection is made, they share an enchanted night together and then, reluctantly, part. It feels like a forgotten folk tale. Crisp has stated he wanted to evoke the spirit of ninjōbon, the sentimental tradition in Japanese literature. Bookending this folk tale, the narrator is interested in the moment of creative inspiration and how it feeds into a metaphysical “eternal moment”.
Remembering his impressions of the town on his first visit, the narrator tells us that Ikaho felt like an unreal place; and uncannily, felt sure that he had been there before, and had a sense that he would come back. This book, in its lyrical prose and enchanted evocations, feels like that augured return.
The story, the narrator explains, germinated from a powerful image he ‘saw’ whilst walking up the steep steps of Ishidangai. This kernel of inspiration he recognises as “a small section from an otherwise lost mosaic”, in which “the meaning and life of the whole seems implicit.” Throughout the novella, Crisp conveys a sense of the delicacy required in teasing the story out of this isolated mosaic fragment.
In the bravura coda, the writer asks the reader to forgive his “mongrel education” if he has failed to communicate what he feels is “true and essential”, foreseeing the reader’s “puzzlement, indifference, even scepticism”. The coda touches on the nature of writing, on the communication of subtleties of thought and feeling between writer and reader, and on the magic of the eternal present that literature can evoke.
Ikaho is such a singular work, at once both wistful and philosophically searching, there is no one writing anything like this in contemporary fiction.
A beautiful tale of 2 people, their eventual connection, and a memorable place in Japan. It feels written in such a way as one might read an old legend….a bit wistfully.
The chance encounter between two travelers. A young girl, more of a child actually, and an itinerant monk. Even though he is poor, begging for alms, Jirō recognizes the hunger in Ohisa’s face immediately and shares his food. As both walk into Ikaho, a small place and a bend out of time, they reveal thier stories. Recent histories. The sorry reasons why both are on the road, and not indoors, safe and warm. With encounters, there is often an exchange. As well as understanding, empathy, perhaps a solution to temporary difficulty. Crisp’s novella is the muted connecting of sympathetic souls, not kindred spirits, although they both “see” each other. While Ikaho itself is not dissimilar to Erith, it does seem less solid, more a place we stroll into in a dreamlike amble. Ikaho would be a magical village to wander, rest, observe, recharge, before continuing on.
[Zagava] (Autumn of 2023). HB. 13/199. 48 Pages. Purchased from Zagava.
Dreamily evocative; sad and charming with flashes of horror and menace to spice a mesmeric narrative. Saudade concentrate.
A beautifully produced serving of literary delight:
“Thread-stitched hardcover bound in blood-orange linen, with illustrated endpapers which we can partially see through Zagava’s trademark die-cut, complete with head and tail-bands and a silk ribbon marker.”