資優

by Suzumi Suzuki, 鈴木涼美, 緋華璃 (Translator)

失去好友們的那個夏天，「我」即將失去的是，
曾在我的手臂上留下 刺青（疤痕）的母親——

經歷了兩位好友前後離世，陪酒小姐的「我」答應了母親一起同住的邀請。
母親也即將步入死亡，骨瘦如柴的她和「我」記憶中的完全不同。

「即便如此，我仍希望母親向我道歉。」
「為了什麼都好，我希望母親向我道歉。」

橫亙在兩人之間的，是一道非常久遠，卻令「我」記憶猶新的疤痕。
為什麼當初要這麼做？為什麼事到如今才來聯絡？
距離「我」能找到答案的時間，似乎已經不多了——

Genres: Fiction, Japan, Japanese Literature, Contemporary, Asia, Literary Fiction, Audiobook

160 pages, Paperback

First published July 12, 2022

Reviews

[Alwynne · Rating 4 out of 5]

Suzumi Suzuki’s debut novella’s focused on a woman in her twenties living and working in a Tokyo entertainment district, probably Kabukicho. It’s 2021, Suzuki’s narrator’s employed by a hostess bar, restricted in what’s available to her in the wider sex industry because of an extensive collection of tattoos – an issue in sections of Japanese society because of lingering associations with criminality. The narrator considers herself little more than “spoiled goods,” a body devalued by its visible markings. But her tattoos disguise past trauma, concealing burn marks inflicted by her mother. Yet, despite their scarred relationship, mother and daughter maintain a tentative bond. Now the mother’s dying, her only wish to stay in her daughter’s tiny apartment: her career as a poet never quite took off but once there, she believes she might be able to produce a final poem.

Suzuki’s novel proffers a series of reflections on women’s lives, restricted choices, mortality and loss. The narrator’s internal conflict over her mother’s illness is complicated by ongoing grief over the recent death by suicide of a close friend. Another hostess, like Suzuki a marginalised figure; it seems she’s already close to being forgotten. Suzuki’s narrative blends matter-of-fact accounts of her protagonist’s activities with an oblique depiction of the intricate ties between friends and within families. In many ways mother and daughter mirror each other. A single parent, the mother made a living singing in a bar - not unlike the one employing her daughter. They also share a “gift” of beauty but that’s as much curse as blessing: adding to men’s perceptions of them as objects to be owned or briefly paid for. A situation that made me wonder if the mother’s earlier abuse was an extreme manifestation of the so-called ‘whip of love’ or ‘ai-no-muchi.’ A once-tolerated type of intense parental discipline, here perhaps intended to prevent the daughter following in her mother’s footsteps.

Suzuki’s style’s deceptively simple, honing in on the minutiae of her narrator’s existence. But I thought this pared-back approach was a highly effective means of communicating the form grieving may take. The narrator ritualises her routines, suggesting she’s intent on just making it through each day, staving off intense emotions that might otherwise sink her. Suzuki’s well-versed in the nature of grief, she witnessed her own mother’s death from stomach cancer. Now a journalist and sociologist, Suzuki’s also a former sex worker. Although her situation was vastly different from her character’s, Suzuki’s story draws on her personal experiences. Overall, it’s a skilfully-constructed understated piece but, for me, its muted quality made it all the more powerful. Translated by Allison Markin Powell.

Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Transit Books for an ARC

[Meike · Rating 4 out of 5]

Suzuki is a sociologist and former adult-film actress who married a Kabukichō host, and her Akutagawa-nominated debut novella is largely set in Tokyo's red light district. Presented in unsentimental, disaffected prose, the story revolves around the dysfunctional relationship between a dying mother, who once was a struggling singer in bars, and her daughter, who works as a hostess in similar establishments. Due to her single mother's severe abuse during childhood, the daughter carries burn scars that she has covered up with tattoos, but she still considers herself somewhat disfigured - her body image issues cause problems for her employment in the wider sex work industry. While her mother approaches death, she tries to come to terms with her past, a burden that feels so severe that she habitually drowns her memory in pills and booze.

The ghosts of her past also include Eri, her friend who worked as a dominatrix and jumped off a building. The narrator herself ran away from her mother, they meet again now that the mother is unable to take care of herself or pay for professional help. Clearly, the mother has been traumatized by her failing career and the treatment she experienced by the daughter's biological father, and she seems just as desperate to process her story as the other women in the book. Loneliness seeps through the pages, the entertainment and diversion tactics turn from fun escapes into black holes to hide in, at least temporarily. The laconic language and evasive thinking of the narrating daughter effectively add to the claustrophobic feel of the text.

I'd love to read Suzuki's scientific study on the commodification of sex in Japan and her memoir "If You Sell Your Body, Then Goodbye!", but they're not available in any language I can read - yet. Suzuki's second novel was also nominated for the Akutagawa, and I guess we'll hear a lot more from her.

[Roman Clodia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I found this an uneven book: at times upsetting, at others almost mundane. I struggled to see the writing as 'sharp, elegant prose' in this translation: it's plain and some sentences just don't parse well: 'I... then went for a quick drink at the club where the host who the woman from the bath-house said now had Eri's dog worked'.

At its best, though, this deals in an emotionally restrained way with a problematic mother-daughter relationship heightened by the presence of near death. The setting against the red light district of Tokyo exacerbates disconnected relationships and a sense of solitude only briefly alleviated by tentative connections. The ending is especially emotive with an unfinished poem saying what has been unsaid, but without sentimentality.

This ends up being a delicate evocation of these female lives: sensitive, restrained and undramatic. 3.5 stars.

Thanks to Scribe UK for an ARC via NetGalley

[Henk · Rating 3 out of 5]

Longlisted for the republic of consciousness US/Canada prize!
A worker in the red light district of Tokyo is confronted by a dying mother and suicides in her friend group. Not much happens in this atmospheric read, but much is implied in respect to the fraught mother-daughter relationship
With my mother I always felt like an outsider

Gifted is set in 2009, and starts with a hostess daughter who has her mother visiting. The 53 year old mother is dying of cancer, and soon ends up on drugs in the hospital.
The daughter reminisces of dead friends and has a mysterious older man visiting her at the hospital. They have a fraught history, with the daughter leaving at 17 and working in the red light district of Tokyo. Her mother burned her with a cigarette, and funerals are interspersed with conversations about S&M gigs and makeup the cold prose.
Tattoos obscure scars, and similarly much is unspoken
Detached and quiet, and I am not 100% sure what the novel is meant to express or what it exactly is that Suzumi Suzuki wanted to investigate. In a sense this might be a reflection of grief impacting the main character more than she can express in words: No matter where I am, I feel no sense of reality

[*TUDOR^QUEEN* · Rating 2 out of 5]

I gravitate towards books translated from the Japanese because I love their forthright, concise writing style. We have that here, plus the book is just 120 pages...and that's the only reason I was able to stomach finishing it.

The main character was a young woman living in Tokyo's Red Light District, working as some sort of escort in bars, calling her clients a "host"- but not delving deeply into what that lifestyle was like. What she did dive deeply into was talking about how she entered her building, how she opened doors and used her key to enter her apartment, the sounds it generated...in excruciating and boring detail. She also intricately described certain actions she took like washing her hands. Yet she danced around the edges of describing really important issues like why her mother would inflict burns on her one fateful evening. There was a bizarre imbalance to what she put the spotlight on in this story. I don't know if this was an artful trope employed, but it just felt like I was wasting my time as I yearned to learn more.

Thank you to the publisher Transit Books who provided an advance reader copy via Edelweiss.

[luce (cry bebè's back from hiatus) · Rating 3 out of 5]

★★★½

By day, our narrator—a woman in her twenties—takes care of her terminally ill mother, despite their troubled history. She struggles to decipher her murky feelings: the resentment, the pity, and the inevitable prelude to grief. By night, she ventures into Tokyo’s underbelly: drinking and smoking with friends, entertaining clients, and embracing a nightlife aesthetic that feels distinctly 90s or early 2000s. That sense of disillusioned, nihilistic youth rejecting tradition and the status quo brought to mind Kyoko Okazaki’s work, films like All About Lily Chou-Chou or Thirteen or Lilya 4-ever, or even series like Ikebukuro West Gate Park—though the latter leans more into absurdist, inane even, dark humor. Suzuki’s novella also reminded me of Izumi Suzuki, but whereas I could not get along with the latter’s Suzuki’s affected edginess, in Gifted I found myself liking the story’s stylized and gritty ambiance.

The narrator reflects on death—her mother’s impending one and the ones of people she knew, like her friend Eri. What I appreciated is that her musings never lead to an “eureka” moment. Her internal monologues feel muddled and unresolved, which is what made them realistic and relatable. Suzuki explores a variety of themes, not by tackling them head-on but by implication: the rules women like her must navigate, the monetary value society and her clients place on her, and so on. It’s this subtle, indirect approach that really works, creating an atmosphere of alienation, where characters aren’t seeking intimacy or love but are instead caught in a kind of emotional numbness. There’s also the duality of the narrator’s identity—between the real self and the carefully constructed persona needed for her work.

The parallels between the mother and daughter’s lives are there but never heavy-handed. What makes the novella effective is Suzuki’s oblique style, her insight into life in the red-light district, and the way she writes about sex, death, and loneliness—candidly but with nuance. Sure, in line with the 90s and early 2000s media and subcultures she evokes, she leans into a certain edginess (like a blasé attitude toward self-harm), but, if anything, it gave the novella even more a nostalgic feel.

Gifted is an unromantic yet atmospheric portrayal of a woman’s uneasy feelings toward her mother, her experiences of grief, and how her work as a hostess and sex worker shapes her view of herself, others, and her murky understanding of loneliness and desire.

[Maddie · Rating 4 out of 5]

Sometimes nothing really happens in a book, and that’s okay

[Paul Fulcher · Rating 3 out of 5]

Longlisted for the 2024 Republic of Consciousness Prize, United States and Canada

No matter where I am, I feel no sense of reality. Not at the host club or in my mother's hospital room there is an inconsistency between me and whatever scene I find myself in. Not even the rooms where I live seem real to me, but so long as the sounds of the door and the key ring out, I can feel a small measure of security.

Gifted (2024) is Alison Markin Powell's translation of the 2022 novel ギフテッド (a phonetic rendition of 'gifted') by 鈴木 涼美, Suzuki Suzumi, which in the original was nominated for the 167th Akutagawa Prize. The English translation is published by Transit Books.

The novel, set in the Kabukichō red-light district of Tokyo, and set in 2008, opens:

I go around the back of the building that faces the road separating Koreatown and the entertainment district, push open the heavy door at the rear of the car park, and ascend the interior staircase. On the third floor, I heave my weight against another heavy door that leads to a hallway, and once it opens wide enough there is always a metallic creak. While that door slowly closes, I put the key in the lock for the door to my own apartment, turn it to the left, and hear a click as the latch releases. These are the two sounds I hear every night when I come home. If the interval between the creaking of the hinges and the turning of the pins in the old lock cylinder is too long or too short, there will be no sense of security. If I'm carrying something heavy and have to set it on the floor or if I carelessly drop my keys, the rhythm breaks.

Our narrator is a woman in her mid 20s. She left home at 17, and has worked as a hostess in the area for the last several years. Her mother, aged 53, and who is terminally ill, asks to come and stay with her, but is only able to stay a few days before she has to be admitted to hospital for pallative care, leaving her with some guilt since even in those few days she snuck out, late at night and when her mother was asleep to either entertain or be entertained.

As she visits her dying mother in hospital, the narrator muses on their relationship including the time in her mid teens when her mother burned her badly with a cigarette, the scars from which she has covered up with a tattoo, and also learns more about her mother - a wannabe poet, but who sang, scantily clad, in a bar - and her past when she is visited by a man who pursued her before the narrator was born (from an affair with a married man).

Although this examination of her own life and her mother's is relatively superficial (and the novel brief). I've seen other reviews that find this frustrating, and it can feel odd how incidents like the cigarette burns are mentioned but not really probed, but I think this is deliberate on the author's part, and reflects not just the way she processes her grief, but also the nature of the narrator's role as a hostess, and also a habitee of host bars, where the conversation is always at a shallow level. Similarly when she speaks to fellow hostesses and others she works with the conversation seldom buries into the real issues - when she quits her job saying her mother is sick, they assume it's an excuse (one retorts that her own grandmother has 'died' at least four times) and the suicide of another hostess is a talking point but not an inflexion point.

When the narrator visits as a bar as a customer she praises an experienced host:

He didn't pester me with questions, instead he allowed the conversation to follow what I wanted to talk about, and I could tell he was a host with a range of topics at his disposal, none of which carried any whiff of discomfort or danger.

And she only really now - when her mother is unable to respond and possibly even unable to hear - asks the questions she has never asked:

I rattled on, knowing there was no longer any meaning attached to my mother's reactions. Never in my life had I asked her so many questions. My mother would occasionally pepper me with questions, but I hardly ever asked her about anything. Will you be home tomorrow night? Why doesn't my father live with us? How much do you make from language classes and selling your poetry collections? Why do you put on makeup and wear stockings even when you're not going to see anybody else? How come you don't get angry about me smoking and drinking? Why am I not allowed to see my father? Do you know what kind of work I do in this district? Do you know when I'm lying to you? Why did you burn me instead of beating me or kicking me out? I hadn't asked her any of these questions.

And - as per the quote that opens my review, and the opening passage of the novel - the sound of the closing corridor door and her key are the one thing that anchors her in reality. The novel ends on a poignant note when she discovers, in her mother's belongings, a poem she wrote in their few days living together:

Soon it will be nightime
Are you all right?

The door will swing shut
When the door closes, no explanation is necessary
I wish you would close it gently

A well-written work, if perhaps more a promising debut than entirely successful.

The publisher - Transit Books

Transit Books is a nonprofit publisher of international and American literature, based in the San Francisco Bay Area. Founded in 2015, Transit Books is committed to the discovery and promotion of enduring works that carry readers across borders and communities.

Transit Books publishes a carefully curated list of award-winning literary fiction, narrative nonfiction, essay, and literature for children. Transit authors have received the Nobel Prize in Literature, a National Book Critics Circle Award, and the PEN Translation Prize, and have been finalists for the National Book Award, the International Booker Prize, the National Translation Award, and more.

Initial verdict from one of the judges

Judge Luis Alberto Correa recommends Gifted by Suzumi Suzuki (tr. by Allison Markin Powell) from Transit Books:

"A portrait of the complicated entanglements of care and its razor-thin relationship to cruelty. Amid Tokyo’s red-light district, between time spent with friends and fellow sex workers, a young woman looks after her ailing and abusive mother. Taut and intimate, this English language debut portends a writer with a keen eye on the often invisible corners of labor and memory with a beautifully lucid voice, made evident here by Allison Markin Powell’s translation."

[Gohnar23 · Rating 5 out of 5]

#️⃣2️⃣9️⃣5️⃣ Read & Reviewed in 2025 ⛈️⚡🚨
Date : 📢 Tuesday, June 17, 2025 🍙⚔️
Word Count📃: 26k Words 🏕️

──★ ˙💥🪨💣🪨💥 ̟ ⋆✮˚.*⋆

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ My 33th read in "Explosive Impactful Reads June"

5️⃣🌟, sometimes, mostly the lesser of things is the one that you cherish the most. 🫶
——————————————————————
➕➖0️⃣1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣7️⃣8️⃣9️⃣🔟✖️➗

(I MAY HAVE DONE ONE OF THE MOST UNFORGIVABLE SIN IN ALL OF HUMANITY 😭😭😭 I HAVE FAILED AS A HUMAN BEING I DIDNT MANAGE TO READ A SINGLE BOOK IN THE SPAN OF 2 DAYS. me not managing to read a single book in one day is already shameful BUT TWO ENTIRE DAYS?!?!??! hell nah. It's all because of this "first day of school" thing that is just the utmost of stupidity 🙄 that wasted my entire Sunday and Monday but i mean i am in my 33th read this month sooo i think it's not really a a big of a deal)

Anyways onto the review:


Sometimes one of the best written novels is just about a woman who suddenly gets home invaded by her own mom (over exaggerated) and then the two of them just proceeds to live their own entire lives, process and tries to solve all of their problems, and learn to all of those for the importance and significance of human relationships and connection.

It's quite a nothingburger really but it's the good type of nothingburger, it just shows the simplicity of life and how it just comes and goes, all the friendships and all the people that you've met, some commit suicide, some don't. Your own mother has an illness that slowly kills her and you now have to spend the last few moments on the earth with her. All this is written in a beautifully simplistic way, mirroring how small, tiny & simplistic all of our problems and successes are. It's an emotional collection of moments between mother and daughter and how both of their lives parallel each other. There is also this one thing where the main character is actually a hostess and sex worker and that also shapes her perception on many things such as what a meaningful and fulfilling relationship is supposed to be, such as family relationships that can never ever be taken away, it's sad yet at the same time it's uplifting at the same time and I love the atmosphere and the imagery that this book provides.

[Kate - The BookSirens Librarian · Rating 3 out of 5]

Gifted is a short yet intense look at a mother-daughter relationship set against the backdrop of Tokyo's entertainment district. As a debut novel, it certainly stands out, however, and even though short, the book tends to drag a little after an engaging start. It's a good study of Japanese culture as well as interpersonal relationships. Still, for some reason that I cannot pinpoint, it's not as impactful as some of the other Japanese literature I've read recently.

[Rachel Louise Atkin · Rating 3 out of 5]

As a young woman watches her mother die in hospital, she thinks back to the abuse she suffered at her hands and spends the novel musing about her childhood and what caused her mother so be so violent. This is a quiet novel but which carries really heavy themes. Quiet because the voice is so cold and detached that there is no sense of tension, but more of the narrator finally beginning to slow down now that they have the space to reflect on their damaging relationship with their mother. It’s a short book, but if you like novels about women floating around Tokyo, drinking, smoking and reflecting, then you will very much enjoy this sharp little book.

[cycads and ferns · Rating 4 out of 5]

She listens for the clicks when she unlocks the door to her apartment.
Her mother comes to stay with her, an
illness in her stomach.

“No matter where I am, I feel no sense of reality….there is an inconsistency between me and whatever scene I find myself in. Not even the rooms where I live seem real to me, but so long as the sounds of the door and the key ring out, I can feel a small measure of security.”

She takes out the other bedding, bought for a visitor but rarely used.
Her mother wants to write her poetry, probably her last, away from the hospital.

“Sharp pain coursed through me instantly, and as I looked at my mother's fingers digging into my arm, it felt like she was tethering rather than grasping me.”

She smokes continuously and has trouble walking up the steps to her apartment.
Her mother touches her just above the elbow, on her tattoo, and she feels a burn from the contact.

“…it's my fault, he [her father] lamented. I came to see you knowing that she would never allow it. Your mom has always been afraid of losing things, he added.”

She wash her hands repeatedly and notices the picture of a family on the soap container.
Her mother’s cough intensifies and she returns to
the hospital.

“What remains is only a vague recollection of half the day, and I spend the other half making memories that will soon vanish. Whether delusions or hallucinations, hazy, dreamlike memories do sometimes rear their heads, and I'm always a bit disappointed when things I only wish were illusions turn out to be all too real.”

She drinks at the club, at home and on her days off. There are days when she cannot remember where she was or what she did.
Her mother whispers, “I’m glad I had you. I told Papa so too.”

[Literatursprechstunde · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5 Sterne

Die japanische Soziologin und Kolumnistin Suzumi Suzuki hat mit „Die Gabe“ eine Geschichte rund um das tokioter Rotlichtmilieu und eine schwierige Mutter-Tochter-Beziehung verfasst. Die Mutter ist sterbenskrank und hat die selbstauferlegte Mission, ihr Gedicht „In Freiheit“ zu Ende zu schreiben. Wird sie es schaffen, oder ist der Tod schneller?!

Die namenlose Protagonistin begleitet den Sterbeprozess ihrer Mutter. Dabei fühlt sich von selbiger schon ihr ganzes Leben lang vereinnahmt: „Meine Mutter hat nie geheiratet. Auch nachdem ich die Hülle ihres Körpers verlassen hatte, bis ich selbst etwas zu essen greifen konnte wenigstens, hatte ich mit Haut und Haaren ihr gehört.“
Sie hadert mit ihrer Selbstbestimmung, fühlt sich von ihrer Vergangenheit verfolgt.

Um der Situation zu entfliehen und sich zu betäuben greift sie vermehrt zu Alkohol und anderen Suchtmitteln: „Die eine Hälfte des Tages verbringe ich in dunkler, die andere in schwindender Erinnerung. Hin und wieder treten unwahre Erinnerungen, Wahnvorstellungen oder Halluzinationen in den Vordergrund, aber das, von dem ich wünschte, es wäre Wahn, ist leider immer wahr, damit habe ich mich schon abgefunden.“

Eine gute Freundin hat sie in der Vergangenheit schon öfters kontaktiert und über ihren Suizid philosophiert, bzw. ihn angedroht - auch heute ist das wieder der Fall, doch warum sollte sie es gerade heute in die Tat umsetzen, wenn es vorher doch eher nur ein Heisch nach Aufmerksamkeit war?!
„Sie hatte so oft von Selbstmord gesprochen, dass wir das im Freundeskreis nur noch als Synonym für >>ich habe schlechte Laune <<, >>mir ist was trauriges passiert<< oder >>ich will dich sehen<< verbucht hatten.“
Und genau an diesem Tag meint sie es ernst und bringt sich um. Was löst das nun in unserer Protagonistin aus?! Selbstvorwürfe und -zweifel, Wut, Ohnmacht gegenüber der Situation - es lässt sich nicht ungeschehen machen, die Zeit verläuft nur nach vorne.

Ihre Mutter ist derweil aufgrund ihres gesundheitlichen Zustandes ins Krankenhaus übergesiedelt. Sie denkt nun über ihr Verhältnis mit ihr zu Zeiten ihrer Kindheit nach. Sie war selbst eine S*xarbeiterin, aber versuchte dies stets zu verheimlichen vor ihrer Tochter. Als Alleinerziehende struggelte sie mit den Finanzen, schaffte es aber immer über die Runden zu kommen mit erspartem Trinkgeld, dass sie durch Gesang hinzuverdiente, gab Kurse und veröffentlichte einige Gedichtbände.
Ihre Mutter war keine, die oft schimpfte, doch eines Tages kam sie nach Hause, wurde von ihrer Mutter am Arm festgehalten und sie drückte ihre Zigarette an ihr aus, ihr T-Shirt fing dabei Feuer, was die Mutter mit ihrer Tasse Kaffee löschte. Was macht so eine Tat mit einer Tochter?! Brandwunden und eine wulstige Narbe bleiben ihr als Erinnerung, die sie später mit Tattoos zu überdecken versuchte, doch noch heute denkt sie oft an diesen Tag zurück:
„Da war ich zwanzig, hatte aber immer noch Angst, an der besonders wulstigen Stelle am Oberarm berührt zu werden. In meiner Erinnerung macht meine Mutter in dem Moment, in dem sie ihre Zigarette an mir ausdrückt, ein irgendwie verzweifeltes, weltvergessenes, getriebenes Gesicht. Es war keine Wut, das spürte ich. Sie war nicht wütend, sondern irgendwie ohnmächtig. An diesen Gesichtsausdruck meiner Mutter dachte ich manchmal, wenn ich in der Bar saß und auf Kundschaft wartete.“

Auch mit Klassismus werden wir in „Die Gabe“ konfrontiert. Die Protagonistin fühlt sich nicht zugehörig zur Gesellschaft, hadert mit ihrer Rolle als S*xarbeiterin:
„Es gibt wertvolle und weniger wertvolle Menschen auf der Welt, und wir gehörten zu jenen, die man gemeinhin wohl als weniger wertvoll bezeichnet, jede einzelne von uns.“

Klar und präzise, fast schon sachlich erzählt Suzumi Suzuki eine Geschichte über Prostitution in Japan, weibliche Selbstbestimmung, Suizid, häusliche Gewalt, Klassismus, finanzielle Abhängigkeit und die Abgründe einer Muttter-Tochter-Beziehung.
Wichtige Themen, die man nochmal in einem anderen Licht sieht, wenn man weiß, dass die Autorin früher selbst im Rotlichtmilieu als S*xarbeiterin tätig war.
Ich hätte mir eine zweite Perspektive gewünscht und zwar die, der Mutter und damit auch eine Umfangserhöhung des Buches.
„Die Gabe“ ist definitiv keine Wohlfühlgeschichte, aber sie behandelt Themen, die Aufmerksamkeit verdient haben.
Mich hat die Geschichte mit einem diffusen Gefühl zurückgelassen, dennoch bin ich dankbar ein weiteres Werk der japanischen Literatur zu meinen Leseerfahrungen zählen zu können. Denn die asiatische und besonders die japanische Literatur hat einen ganz besonderen Platz in meinem Bücherherz!
Triggerwarnung: Bitte überlegt Euch, ob Ihr gerade die psychischen Kapazitäten für diese Art Geschichte habt! (Themen wie zuvor angesprochen Suizid, S*xarbeit, Drogen, Sucht, häusliche Gewalt)

[endrju]

All I can say about the novel is that it was too short and too flat for me to enjoy any of it. There was an interesting story in it, but I needed more pages and more flourish to really get into it. As it stands, I'm not unhappy to have read it, but I didn't enjoy it.

[Zain · Rating 4 out of 5]

A novella about an inexplicable habit of the human condition

[Katrin Olak · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nagu ikka jaapani ilukirjanduse tõlgete puhul, saab teada miskit uut Jaapani eluolu kohta. Masendav ja aus lugu ema kaotusest ja prostitutsioonist.

[maya ☆ (aced her finals!) · Rating 2 out of 5]

it started alright, then it was mid, then i got bored and i don't have to be reading something that bores me. i did not finish this even thought i had literally 40 pages left or less. life is too short for me to force myself through a novel i'm not enjoying. (70% in)

i was very indifferent to the writing, aside the very occasional three lines on page 44. i feel it could be better edited and surprisingly, it wouldn't suffer from taking more time and pages to set and describe scenes and people. it would clear alot. more pages and more edits would aid in text tone AND visually edited the page to reflect dialogue that is spoken and those that are text messages. it would help for dialogue clarity too and in the daughter's voice/character. if i was the editor, i would also break this into chapters bcs a two-space as a separator does nothing.

i do have to admit that this novel was nothing what i was expecting. it thought it would deal much more with the red-light night district day to day life and sex work in tokyo - the lives and jobs of sex workers is something that intrigues me so i'm a bit disappointing that we didn't get any of that - at least as far as i got into it, there wasn't much about that in my opinion.

as for the "maternal cruelty" aspect, by the time i finished there wasn't much except for that one time the mom burned a cigarette butt in the daughter's arm and the mom preventing her daughter to see her father. but i would argue that it wasn't as much explored, especially if i compare other reads with this dynamic in display. mother-daughter relationships are always things that i'm looking forward in literature but god, you couldn't pay me to care about these two. and i'm sorry for it.

in the end, the fact is: i was bored out of my mind like it felt like we're doing roundabouts in a cargo plane, specifically. this may have been gorgeous in japanese, i don't know, but i'm not hooked.

[Michael Boersma · Rating 1 out of 5]

Gifted me with boredom

[Inês Mouta · Rating 3 out of 5]

—The door will swing shut.
—When the door closes, no explanation is needed
— I wish you would close it gently.

This is a debut novel from a Japanese sociologist and columnist, who also used to be an adult film actress (amazing cv, which I had to include). She’s the author of several nonfiction works, which I am very interested in reading.

Gifted follows a daughter navigating the end of her mother’s life. Their relationship is both strange and strained, even in these last days of suffering. One of the daughter’s friends has committed suicide recently. Between hospital visits and trips to a local host club, our main character is having a hard time handling all these emotions.

No matter where I am, I feel no sense of reality. Not at the host club or in my mother's hospital room-there is an inconsistency between me and whatever scene I find myself in. Not even the rooms where I live seem real to me, but so long as the sounds of the door and the key ring out, I can feel a small measure of security.

It’s a short book, with few sceneries and characters, focusing on the day to day of someone who is feeling apathetic towards life and what it has thrown her way. The writing is simple, but effective in conveying the confusion and haze that surrounds the everyday actions of our main character. This is a “no plot, just feels” kind of book, very character focused and a good debut story. I am looking forward to seeing what the author does next.

[Clarissa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Für mich war dieses Buch leider zu kurz, um viel in mir auszulösen. Die Sprache in der deutschen Übersetzung empfand ich als so spröde, dass ich trotz der kürze Schwierigkeiten hatte, dran zu bleiben. Die Mutter-Tochter-Beziehung ist wirklich zum fürchten, von subtiler Grausamkeit und Gleichgültigkeit geprägt. Da das Buch so kurz ist, kann man es, finde ich, auf jeden Fall damit probieren und eventuell etwas daraus mitnehmen.

[Buchdoktor · Rating 4 out of 5]

Suzumi Suzukis namenlose Icherzählerin arbeitet in Tokio in einem Nachtclub. Durch eine riesige Brandwunde am Arm, die sie mit Tattoos überdeckt hat, muss sie sich mit weniger lukrativen Jobs zufriedengeben als andere Frauen. Unter deutlich zu großem Alkohol- und Drogenkonsum grübelt die jüngere Frau auf befremdliche Weise über den Selbstmord einer Kollegin.

Ihre Mutter, Schauspielerin, Dichterin und unheilbar an Krebs erkrankt, zieht direkt aus dem Krankenhaus für kurze Zeit bei ihr ein, um in Ruhe ein Gedicht zu schreiben und danach zum Sterben ins Krankenhaus zurückzukehren. Für die Pflege einer Schwerkranken ist die Wohnung deutlich zu klein und das Zusammenleben der beiden Frauen entpuppt sich als kompliziert. Ein unbekannter Besucher eröffnet der Tochter, dass er bereits vor ihrer Geburt ihre Mutter gekannt habe und überreicht ihr eine „Gabe“. Auch das Gedicht der Mutter stellt eine Art Gabe dar, beide könnte man als weitere Desillusionierung betrachten in einem bedrückenden Leben, aus dem es keinen Ausweg zu geben scheint.

Episodenhaft, sehr präzise und mit zynischer Erzählstimme zeigt Suzumi Suzuki eine alleinerziehende Mutter, die sich und ihre Tochter mit mehreren Jobs gleichzeitig über Wasser hielt, und eine Tochter, für die es offenbar kein anderes Arbeitsfeld als das Rotlichtviertel gibt. Mit rund 100 Seiten hat der Roman eher den Umfang einer Novelle und lässt am Ende viele Fragen offen. Auf mich hat er wie ein sozialkritischer Text zur Situation japanischer Frauen ohne Berufsausbildung gewirkt.

[Quinn · Rating 4 out of 5]

Molto toccante e decisamente stupendo.

[Rachel · Rating 3 out of 5]

In this short book, our unnamed narrator lives, works, and parties in the nightlife district of Tokyo. She has no reason to ever leave this little corner of the city if not for her estranged mother who shows up one day and after a short stay, is sent to the hospital to live out the last few weeks of her life. While visiting the hospital in the day and working at night, our narrator reflects on her childhood and attempts to work out the reason for the physically violent act her mother subjected her to when she was younger.

The prose is simple and the tone distant. Despite the mother’s impending and eventual death, it’s not emotional or poignant. All in all, it’s not a waste of time but it’s too short to do all that much.

I don’t really recommend this book, but I also don’t not recommend. Basically, if this has been on your radar, give it a shot, it’s less than a hundred pages after all. If you’ve got a lot of great books lined up, don’t feel too bad about not getting to this one.

[Repellent Boy · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5. Pese a su juventud, la narradora parece haber vivido infinitas vidas, y el peso de su pasado marca su día a día. Apenas cumplió los 18 años, huyó de su casa y acabó trabajando en uno de los barrios rojos de Tokio atendiendo a clientes en bares y vendiendo su cuerpo. La complicada relación con su madre marcó su infancia y adolescencia, alterando para siempre la forma en la que se relaciona con los demás. Sin embargo, su mundo se pone del revés cuando su fuerte y decidida madre cae enferma, viéndose obligada no solo a lidiar con la enfermedad de su madre, de la cual no parece poder recuperarse, sino que también con los complicados sentimientos que experimenta hacia ella.

“Mi último regalo” de Suzumi Suzuki tiene dos grandes virtudes, que me han hecho tragarme el libro en dos ratos. El primero es la complicada relación madre-hija. Una de mis cosas favoritas de la literatura son las relaciones que se dan entre personajes femeninos, tales como amigas, hermanas, abuela-nieta u otras variaciones, pero quizás la que desarrolla vínculos entre madres e hijas es mi preferida. En este caso, nos encontramos con una relación compleja, llena de silencios, de palabras que se mueren en los labios sin ser nombradas. Nuestra protagonista no entiende a su madre, desearía poder sentirse más unida a ella, saber porque la trató como lo hizo de niña, comprender la dureza, incluso la brutalidad con la que su madre se relacionaba con ella, pero teme verbalizar sus dudas.

La nueva fragilidad de su madre, lejos de animarla a abrirse, a conocerla más, a encontrar todas esas respuestas a las preguntas con las que lleva años torturándose, la sumen en una profunda tristeza. Lamenta el estado de salud de su madre y anhela tener recuerdos con ella que la reconforten, que le generen bienestar. Sus días pasan en un infinito desasosiego, abandona su trabajo y divide su tiempo entre cuidar a su madre, e ir a bares para emborrarse y olvidarse de sí misma y echarse a dormir sobre un montón de ropa al volver a casa. La neblina mental que la posee, le ha quitado las ganas de, prácticamente, todo.

Creo que la autora, refleja muy bien ese hastío ante la vida que presenta la protagonista, esa depresión por la que atraviesa y que se ve incrementada por la pérdida de varias de sus amigas, una se ha suicidado recientemente, la otra se ha casado y cortado lazos con su vida pasada. La enfermedad de su madre termina siendo el último golpe para dejarla casi en un estado catatónico, como si nada la afectara, como si ella misma estuviera esperando su momento para irse.

El otro gran punto a favor es que la autora habla desde la propia experiencia de las mujeres que se convierten en trabajadoras sexuales. Me ha resultado muy interesante poder entrar un poco en el mundo desde la propoa vivencia de la autora y ver hasta que punto ella y sus compañeras tienen una coraza que las aleja de su propio yo, como si pudieran separar el cuerpo del alma. También me ha dejado mal cuerpo según que comentarios, e incluso, quizás, esperaba un poco más de contundencia o crítica hacia un mundo que trata a las mujeres como las trata. Por eso, al final me ha dejado un regusto agridulce en cuanto a como se muestra el tema. Por una parte, la vida las lleva a un desapego completo entre su físico y su mente, hasta el punto de que algunas de sus compañeras anhelan huir de esa vida o incluso acaban quitándosela, pero esperaba ver más reflexiones que denunciaran el trato que recibe la mujer. El suicidio también es uno de los tema que toca, pero me ha generado dudas la forma en la que lo hace.

Por otra parte, la parte final me ha dejado algo desencantado, porque esperaba algo más potente, no sabía bien si sería un final más emocional y crudo que me llevase hasta las lágrimas o incluso lo contrario, uno tan frío que me dejara casi paralizado, pero lo que he recibido es algo tibio, la peor opción. La relación de madre e hija era tan compleja, y me había resultado tan interesante los cachitos que la autora va aportando a lo largo de la historia, que esperaba una resolución a esos complicados sentimientos algo más concreta.

En definitiva, “Mi último regalo” de Suzuki Suzumi es una obra interesante que explora las relaciones de una madre y una hija, cuando la vida no se lo pone fácil a ninguna de las dos, llevándolas por lugares sórdidos donde sufren la violencia que generan los que se aprovechan de los más vulnerables. Quizás me ha gustado más la primera mitad, que la segunda, pero ha sido una historia que he disfrutado mucho. Un detalle a valorar es que a veces parecía estar viendo la escena de una película mientras la protagonista caminaba por las iluminadas calles de Tokio en la noche. Se entiende su nominación al Akutagawa, uno de los premios japoneses más prestigiosos, porque toca temas rompedores que no se suelen tratar desde la visión de las propias mujeres que los viven.

[hans · Rating 3 out of 5]

A short quick read novella with a poignant and bitter tale of a mother-daughter relationship told in a daily fragmented insight and flashback from the daughter’s perspective during her days as a caregiver to her ailing and abusive mother. A narrative of one’s trauma, identity, life struggles and grief that was highly composed in an engaging lens of womanhood, societal pressures and economic survival that was set in a gritty underbelly of the Tokyo red-light district following the daughter’s life of working as a hostess and a sex worker.

Dense and quite wordy on the execution, bit dull too on the storytelling yet loved how quiet and unsentimental the tone goes. It was thought-provoking in a way of how the exploration immersed me in its emotional toll and depth; of the unresolved trauma and fractured memories burdened by the daughter, those repetitive rants towards her scars and tattoos (which relates to her mother), of her deceased friends as well that unsettling societal gaze she felt due to her job and responsibility as a daughter and a woman.

Not a happy read overall, could see how it’ll end too with those lingering emotions wrapped in between the daughter’s resentment and her duty— a painful enduring weight even after she confronted a closure. Somehow I loved how the daughter narrated that captured lines of poetry from her mother’s notebook on the last paragraph.

A recommendation only if you are into literary genre, love flawed character-based fiction or like societal critiques premise.

📍descriptive scenes on abuse with images of trauma and suicide

Thank you Pansing Distribution for sending me a copy to review!

[Serena Ramsey]

This is…… very bleak😀 it almost reminded me of it’s such a beautiful day but without any of the humor? Not in terms of content but in terms of tone and style. They both have this stream of consciousness quality that drifts between past and present tense and causally make these simple, matter of fact statements that are actually quite profound. Im glad this was a quick read bc im not sure if i would have wanted to endure how this made me feel for more than a weekend. Pretty decent book tho!

[Hanneleele · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ah ma ei pannud seda õigel päeval kirja! Selles oli kuidagi puudu see jaapani kirjanduse õhulisus, mida ma hindan, tundus lugedes raske, tihke, kuigi lühike. Aga temaatika haakus mitme muu raamatuga, mida olen hiljuti lugenud. Hindaksin sellise 3,5-ga, kui Goodreads laseks.

[Bianca Sandale · Rating 1 out of 5]

Jo eh
Wenigstens dauerts nicht lange

[Maite Reesink · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

[Chiari · Rating 3 out of 5]

The longer I read the more it had me in its grip.