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No One Knows: Stories
No one really understands how we suffer. One day, when we're adults, we may come to recall this suffering, this misery, as silly and laughable, but how are we to get through the long, hateful period until then? No one bothers to teach us that.
Osamu Dazai was a master raconteur who plumbed--in an addictive, easy style--the absurd complexities of life in a society whose expectations cannot be met without sacrificing one's individual ideals on the altar of conformity. The gravitational pull of his prose is on full display in these stories. In "Lantern," a young woman, in love with a well-born but impoverished student, shoplifts a bathing suit for him--and ends up in the local newspaper indicted as a crazed, degenerate communist. In "Chiyojo," a high-school girl shows early promise as a writer, but as her uncle and mother relentlessly push her to pursue a literary career, she must ask herself: is this what I really want? Or am I supposed to fulfill their own frustrated ambitions? In "Shame," a young reader writes a fan letter to a writer she admires, only to find out, upon visiting him, that he's a bourgeoise sophisticate nothing like the desperate rebels he portrays, and decides (in true Dazai style): "Novelists are human trash. No, they're worse than that; they're demons. . . They write nothing but lies."
This collection of 14 tales--a half-dozen of which have never before appeared in English--is based on a Japanese collection of, as Dazai described them, "soliloquies by female narrators." No One Knows includes the quietly brilliant long story "Schoolgirl" and shows the fiction of this 20th-century genius in a fresh light.
Osamu Dazai was a master raconteur who plumbed--in an addictive, easy style--the absurd complexities of life in a society whose expectations cannot be met without sacrificing one's individual ideals on the altar of conformity. The gravitational pull of his prose is on full display in these stories. In "Lantern," a young woman, in love with a well-born but impoverished student, shoplifts a bathing suit for him--and ends up in the local newspaper indicted as a crazed, degenerate communist. In "Chiyojo," a high-school girl shows early promise as a writer, but as her uncle and mother relentlessly push her to pursue a literary career, she must ask herself: is this what I really want? Or am I supposed to fulfill their own frustrated ambitions? In "Shame," a young reader writes a fan letter to a writer she admires, only to find out, upon visiting him, that he's a bourgeoise sophisticate nothing like the desperate rebels he portrays, and decides (in true Dazai style): "Novelists are human trash. No, they're worse than that; they're demons. . . They write nothing but lies."
This collection of 14 tales--a half-dozen of which have never before appeared in English--is based on a Japanese collection of, as Dazai described them, "soliloquies by female narrators." No One Knows includes the quietly brilliant long story "Schoolgirl" and shows the fiction of this 20th-century genius in a fresh light.
256 pages, Paperback
Published February 4, 2025
203 people are currently reading
2223 people want to read
About the author
Osamu Dazai
1,130 books9,546 followersOsamu DAZAI (native name: 太宰治, real name Shūji Tsushima) was a Japanese author who is considered one of the foremost fiction writers of 20th-century Japan. A number of his most popular works, such as Shayō (The Setting Sun) and Ningen Shikkaku (No Longer Human), are considered modern-day classics in Japan.
With a semi-autobiographical style and transparency into his personal life, Dazai’s stories have intrigued the minds of many readers. His books also bring about awareness to a number of important topics such as human nature, mental illness, social relationships, and postwar Japan.
With a semi-autobiographical style and transparency into his personal life, Dazai’s stories have intrigued the minds of many readers. His books also bring about awareness to a number of important topics such as human nature, mental illness, social relationships, and postwar Japan.
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March 20, 2025For all his misogyny he's weirdly good at writing compelling female narrators imo...
May 13, 2025
Dazai wrote frivolously. He was a master storyteller when it comes to self reflective, inner most confession of one's own suffering & plights. As miserable as his characters were, there are quiet strengths to each of these narrator's voice shown through their actions and words. With 14 tales of female centric narration, at the centre of this collection were the female characters and their unobstrusively, unfiltered thoughts on their life & feelings. From a young girl's love for her lover as she suffered great deals of shame of theft, a schoolgirl's stream of consciousness of the day in her life as she contemplates on her grief & uneasy life as a girl, an older sister affection for her ailing young sister with the hope her innocent love remained pure, a wife breaks out in skin rashes reflecting on her marriage, an unknown feelings during her youth and a friendship that lost its connection, of a wife initially comfortable with their poverty stricken life but found unbearable when her husband struck gold, a talented young writer being pushed to submit more essays to literary competitions, and so many more.
Each stories were told in a simple way but molded into a narrative that felt closer to the reader as if we are reading from their innermost thoughts. Some of the stories felt closer to truth, almost similar to Dazai's own story or rather an ominous prediction of what could be such as the double suicide in the last story. Its both disturbing & sad to read once you know what truly happened. Exploring on themes of alienation, loneliness, self-worth, beauty, the struggles of motherhood, youth, one's individuality, suffering aftermaths of war, while delicately touched on the complex emotions of one's desire to love and be loved, to find a comfortable place in society & to just find happiness in a bleak, insufferable world. They are tragic stories but some are written humorously with a depth of unintentional hope & consolation to be felt & this book prove that Dazai was a graceful writer of exposing our inner darkness with a touch of humor and hopefulness to it
Thank you Definitely Books #pansing for the review copy
Each stories were told in a simple way but molded into a narrative that felt closer to the reader as if we are reading from their innermost thoughts. Some of the stories felt closer to truth, almost similar to Dazai's own story or rather an ominous prediction of what could be such as the double suicide in the last story. Its both disturbing & sad to read once you know what truly happened. Exploring on themes of alienation, loneliness, self-worth, beauty, the struggles of motherhood, youth, one's individuality, suffering aftermaths of war, while delicately touched on the complex emotions of one's desire to love and be loved, to find a comfortable place in society & to just find happiness in a bleak, insufferable world. They are tragic stories but some are written humorously with a depth of unintentional hope & consolation to be felt & this book prove that Dazai was a graceful writer of exposing our inner darkness with a touch of humor and hopefulness to it
Thank you Definitely Books #pansing for the review copy
February 9, 2025
Dazai narratives through various women, who I suspect are talking about Dazai, among other things. Close to perfection as perfection can be. The short story form is made for Dazai, and every narrative in this volume stings a bit. It's a remarkable collection.
April 4, 2025
I had (have) my reservations about a man writing ‘soliloquies by female narrators’ and I am also aware that I lack the historical (written and set in the 1930-40’s) and cultural (set in Japan) knowledge to judge whether the experiences and emotions of young Japanese women then are accurately depicted in this collection of stories. With that being said, I do believe the stories reflect a general cultural mindset in (post-)war Japan.
The conflict between meeting societal expectations at the cost of one’s individuality serves as an interesting common thread in this series. The stories were easy to read and riveting. It felt like a deep-dive into the brains of some handpicked individuals and read as such: some felt like a fever dream, others were relatable in unexpected ways, and the different narrators came across as authentic in their own ways. The stories touch upon themes like familial relationships, (extra)marital affairs (a lot of drunken husbands), juggling external expectations, morality, beauty and passion, reality vs. fiction, in a casual manner, and don’t shy away from the obsessive, pervasive, the shame and the fears attached to those themes. The book (in my opinion) invites a refreshing amount of (self-)reflection (e.g., to which degree (if any) can an author’s character be judged by a work of fiction they have written? When the world around you goes to war, what does safety look like to you? Etc.)
I appreciate the simplicity of the writing and the insights into the then (and probably still, to some degree) present gender roles in relationships. As a theme across the different stories though, it seems like the drunken husband(/men) rarely changes while the wife seems to twist herself into knots to accommodate him or at the very least, she shifts emotionally in their relationship. Favourite story from the bundle was ‘Osan’.
The conflict between meeting societal expectations at the cost of one’s individuality serves as an interesting common thread in this series. The stories were easy to read and riveting. It felt like a deep-dive into the brains of some handpicked individuals and read as such: some felt like a fever dream, others were relatable in unexpected ways, and the different narrators came across as authentic in their own ways. The stories touch upon themes like familial relationships, (extra)marital affairs (a lot of drunken husbands), juggling external expectations, morality, beauty and passion, reality vs. fiction, in a casual manner, and don’t shy away from the obsessive, pervasive, the shame and the fears attached to those themes. The book (in my opinion) invites a refreshing amount of (self-)reflection (e.g., to which degree (if any) can an author’s character be judged by a work of fiction they have written? When the world around you goes to war, what does safety look like to you? Etc.)
I appreciate the simplicity of the writing and the insights into the then (and probably still, to some degree) present gender roles in relationships. As a theme across the different stories though, it seems like the drunken husband(/men) rarely changes while the wife seems to twist herself into knots to accommodate him or at the very least, she shifts emotionally in their relationship. Favourite story from the bundle was ‘Osan’.
May 2, 2025
"To master your feelings and quietly turn your own world around is the true revolution."
"Listen. When a woman convinces herself that it doesn't matter what may come tomorrow, that's when she's at her most womanly. Don't you agree?"
Dazai really said “let’s spiral, but make it literary”—and I was here for it (at least in the first half). The narrators in those early short stories had that signature Dazai touch: deeply reflective, existential, and painfully aware of their own contradictions. That sense of honesty and internal conflict is what always draws me to his work, and it was so present in the beginning of this collection.
But somewhere around the second half, the momentum started to fade a bit for me. The reflective moments I was loving earlier began to thin out, and some stories dragged more than they delivered. It didn’t fully lose me, but the emotional punch definitely softened.
That said—shoutout to the female narrators in this one. They were stellar. The way Dazai wrote their interiority felt sharp, layered, and at times, even more nuanced than his usual male voices. It gave the collection a distinct balance and a fresh angle that I really appreciated.
Overall, No One Knows was a moody, self-aware, and at times, devastatingly human collection that reminded me why I keep coming back to Dazai’s writing. Not perfect, but still one of his more memorable ones for me.
"Listen. When a woman convinces herself that it doesn't matter what may come tomorrow, that's when she's at her most womanly. Don't you agree?"
Dazai really said “let’s spiral, but make it literary”—and I was here for it (at least in the first half). The narrators in those early short stories had that signature Dazai touch: deeply reflective, existential, and painfully aware of their own contradictions. That sense of honesty and internal conflict is what always draws me to his work, and it was so present in the beginning of this collection.
But somewhere around the second half, the momentum started to fade a bit for me. The reflective moments I was loving earlier began to thin out, and some stories dragged more than they delivered. It didn’t fully lose me, but the emotional punch definitely softened.
That said—shoutout to the female narrators in this one. They were stellar. The way Dazai wrote their interiority felt sharp, layered, and at times, even more nuanced than his usual male voices. It gave the collection a distinct balance and a fresh angle that I really appreciated.
Overall, No One Knows was a moody, self-aware, and at times, devastatingly human collection that reminded me why I keep coming back to Dazai’s writing. Not perfect, but still one of his more memorable ones for me.
May 28, 2025
a collection of fourteen short stories all in the pov of a female narrator. some of them are still girls going to school, some are sisters and half of them are wives. what they all have in common is that they're all struggling in a way, either with their husbands, self-deprecating thoughts or something else.
i didn't like all of them but i don't think you have to. some of them have pitiful narrators with zero luck, especially the last two, but i liked the variety and realness of the stories.
i didn't like all of them but i don't think you have to. some of them have pitiful narrators with zero luck, especially the last two, but i liked the variety and realness of the stories.
April 29, 2025
14 tales in a ‘soliloquies by female narrators’ mostly set in a traditional Japanese household told and explored through a day-to-day premise; from a bittersweet marriage, of one’s affair and relationship concerns to a playful teenage girl adventure and stories of heartbreaks, one’s pride, ambition, on loneliness and survival. Loved Dazai’s melancholic writing tone with its almost bleak during a war time backdrop, so tender and strangely comforting in a way it gets quite addictive to devour most of the stories for its mix of beauty and subtle sadness— appealing much for how it was all narrated by a woman narrator but so intimately well written by a male author.
Favoured most of it and few that memorable much to me— Lantern (a woman in her anxious state of committing theft trying to make sense of her fool act with a list of her witty dramatic reasons), Schoolgirl (a teenage girl’s adventure over the course of one day—read it in another translation edition before and still enjoyed it as much), Skin and Soul (a delicate tale on one’s appreciation of beauty told in an interesting interaction in between a wife and her husband), Osan (a gripping story of a woman who is torn in between her love and knowledge about her husband’s infidelity) and La Femme De Villon (of poverty, disillusionment and survival told through a wife’s POV about her selfish, self-destructive husband).
I liked how some stories layered its theme with a touch of literary related character and premise like in Shame (of humiliation, self-loathing and dignity tale about a young reader and her fav novelist), Chiyojo (a promising young writer who was pushed by her mother and uncle to pursue a writing career) and the titular story; No One Knows (story of friendship and love with an avid reader character).
A raw with emotional subtlety prose and enticing exploration overall. A recommendation if you love a tender relatable-to-life stories with classic lifestyle setting, of personal, moral and selfhood theme.
(Thank you Pansing Distribution for the gifted review copy!)
Favoured most of it and few that memorable much to me— Lantern (a woman in her anxious state of committing theft trying to make sense of her fool act with a list of her witty dramatic reasons), Schoolgirl (a teenage girl’s adventure over the course of one day—read it in another translation edition before and still enjoyed it as much), Skin and Soul (a delicate tale on one’s appreciation of beauty told in an interesting interaction in between a wife and her husband), Osan (a gripping story of a woman who is torn in between her love and knowledge about her husband’s infidelity) and La Femme De Villon (of poverty, disillusionment and survival told through a wife’s POV about her selfish, self-destructive husband).
I liked how some stories layered its theme with a touch of literary related character and premise like in Shame (of humiliation, self-loathing and dignity tale about a young reader and her fav novelist), Chiyojo (a promising young writer who was pushed by her mother and uncle to pursue a writing career) and the titular story; No One Knows (story of friendship and love with an avid reader character).
A raw with emotional subtlety prose and enticing exploration overall. A recommendation if you love a tender relatable-to-life stories with classic lifestyle setting, of personal, moral and selfhood theme.
(Thank you Pansing Distribution for the gifted review copy!)
July 13, 2025
I picked up this book, wondering if I could really enjoy an anthology of female-narrated stories written by a man?
I still have no clear answer, as this book left me with a lot of conflicting feelings. On one hand, I read each story like a feast; I wanted to savor every word, but more often than not, I greedily devoured them whole. On the other hand, I was wondering whether the subtle hints of misogyny
come from cultural differences, the passage of time, or the author's intentional irony. Regardless, I find this book valuable and enjoyable for many of its other qualities, beyond its portrayal of gender equity.
In each story, we get a glimpse of the daily life of Japanese women of different ages and statuses. The IIWW casts its shadow over their routines, but their biggest troubles seem to come from the men surrounding them, not the dark realities of war. The heroines may not feel like traditional strong female leads; instead, their strength comes from putting up with the everyday life with incapable men: alcoholics, cheaters, and unfulfilled poets.
The female narrator's perspective reveals a humble approach to coping with men who drown their demons in sake, take their own lives, or squander their family savings by smuggling, all while harboring silent resentment towards the West. Dazai strips his characters of any privacy, exposing their every thought and deepest darkest secrets to the reader, making them very easy to identify with. Each of the 14 brilliantly written stories is thought-provoking and leaves you with a sense of literary satisfaction.
I still have no clear answer, as this book left me with a lot of conflicting feelings. On one hand, I read each story like a feast; I wanted to savor every word, but more often than not, I greedily devoured them whole. On the other hand, I was wondering whether the subtle hints of misogyny
come from cultural differences, the passage of time, or the author's intentional irony. Regardless, I find this book valuable and enjoyable for many of its other qualities, beyond its portrayal of gender equity.
In each story, we get a glimpse of the daily life of Japanese women of different ages and statuses. The IIWW casts its shadow over their routines, but their biggest troubles seem to come from the men surrounding them, not the dark realities of war. The heroines may not feel like traditional strong female leads; instead, their strength comes from putting up with the everyday life with incapable men: alcoholics, cheaters, and unfulfilled poets.
The female narrator's perspective reveals a humble approach to coping with men who drown their demons in sake, take their own lives, or squander their family savings by smuggling, all while harboring silent resentment towards the West. Dazai strips his characters of any privacy, exposing their every thought and deepest darkest secrets to the reader, making them very easy to identify with. Each of the 14 brilliantly written stories is thought-provoking and leaves you with a sense of literary satisfaction.
December 31, 2025
A lot of these Goodreads reviews say the collection was surprisingly sharp given Dazai’s rampant misogyny. Am I taking crazy pills? Each of the women in this collection seemed to pretty much hate themselves, and I kind of had trouble differentiating them. Maybe I’m not sophisticated enough…
I do enjoy the fact that the husbands of this collection (idiots whose self-importance destroys those around them) seem to resemble Dazai. I also appreciated the implicit commentary he was making about class and gender in post-WWII Japan.
I do enjoy the fact that the husbands of this collection (idiots whose self-importance destroys those around them) seem to resemble Dazai. I also appreciated the implicit commentary he was making about class and gender in post-WWII Japan.
April 12, 2025
I’m always wary when a male author chooses to write from a female character perspective especially an author like dazai. However I find the characters compelling and their torment believable. Quite funny reading about the contempt they feel to various artist men who are just a collective image of himself. Sad he opens the book with preface confessing he finds these stories cringe.
May 22, 2025
This book has so few reviews, I'm kind of proud of myself and also have to bless the taste of the place I found it.
It's a refreshing, somewhat life changing take on first person narration.
I was surprised that the author chose to write a series of short stories with female narrators, but was immediately drawn to the idea.
His portrayal of the women is just that- a portrayal. Each character and story is distinct enough that you don't feel as if you're reading the same thing, but without names, it's hard to pin down exactly what makes them different.
The sublety of Dazai's prose needs to be studied. If words were food, then this would be a fine cuisine restaurant I would want to frequent over and over. But even better than any restaurant. I can't even express it in mundane words. Like I said, it needs to be studied.
It's well-aligned, yet sophisticated enough so as to not be blunt. Some lines and revelations bring tears to your eyes. It's as if he says the deepest things in the lightest way, without any need for buildup, just as part of the character's story.
It's the kind of book you want to carry around, but deceptively heavy, so that you need to concentrate if you want to make a deep dive.
Definitely the best thing I've read this year and my favorite Japanese author (and translator) so far.
It's a refreshing, somewhat life changing take on first person narration.
I was surprised that the author chose to write a series of short stories with female narrators, but was immediately drawn to the idea.
His portrayal of the women is just that- a portrayal. Each character and story is distinct enough that you don't feel as if you're reading the same thing, but without names, it's hard to pin down exactly what makes them different.
The sublety of Dazai's prose needs to be studied. If words were food, then this would be a fine cuisine restaurant I would want to frequent over and over. But even better than any restaurant. I can't even express it in mundane words. Like I said, it needs to be studied.
It's well-aligned, yet sophisticated enough so as to not be blunt. Some lines and revelations bring tears to your eyes. It's as if he says the deepest things in the lightest way, without any need for buildup, just as part of the character's story.
It's the kind of book you want to carry around, but deceptively heavy, so that you need to concentrate if you want to make a deep dive.
Definitely the best thing I've read this year and my favorite Japanese author (and translator) so far.
December 13, 2025
genuinely really liked this collection. they're not all great, but they are all very solid stories, with interesting and compelling characters that seem to both be dazai and speak of him.
schoolgirl, chiyojo, december 8, one snowy night and osan were my favorites. an entertaining lady and waiting are honorable mentions, since the aforementioned short stories—particularly schoolgirl and chiyojo—really stuck with me. i'm hoping to own this & no longer human soon, i really like how dazai writes and explores despair and misery.
there are moments where you get glimpses of misogyny, of course, but overall i would say he writes extremely complex and intriguing female characters, and all of the narrators had something different going on in their lives even if they shared traits with each other (being a mother, a wife, a schoolgirl, etc.)
schoolgirl, chiyojo, december 8, one snowy night and osan were my favorites. an entertaining lady and waiting are honorable mentions, since the aforementioned short stories—particularly schoolgirl and chiyojo—really stuck with me. i'm hoping to own this & no longer human soon, i really like how dazai writes and explores despair and misery.
there are moments where you get glimpses of misogyny, of course, but overall i would say he writes extremely complex and intriguing female characters, and all of the narrators had something different going on in their lives even if they shared traits with each other (being a mother, a wife, a schoolgirl, etc.)
March 5, 2025
It's strange to read a bunch of short stories from the perspective of female protagonists, but all written by a male author (and then translated from Japanese to English). Didn't love the book, but not awful by any means.
June 17, 2025
why do people keep calling him a misogynist? where is the misogyny? he writes complex and compelling female characters who feel real and intelligent and are so unashamedly ~feeling~.
stand out stories for me were katydid, chiyojo, shame and osan.
stand out stories for me were katydid, chiyojo, shame and osan.
April 28, 2025
4 stars
Osamu Dazai just hits for me for some reason, almost in a similar way to John Steinbeck
Osamu Dazai just hits for me for some reason, almost in a similar way to John Steinbeck
June 16, 2025
Четиринайсет истории, разказани от женска гледна точка, в които Дадзай - с типичния си цинизъм и унищожителна ирония - отново се захваща с натиска на обществото върху индивида. Самият Дадзай не е особено горд с тях или поне с деветте, които публикува заради положителния отклик на читателите в сборник със заглавие Women. Към това издание са включени още пет.
Отначало нещата тръгнаха наистина зле и бях напълно склонна да се съглася със собствените му думи, че опитите му да наподоби женски глас са "нескопосани". Ако не бях чела No Longer Human и му нямах пълно доверие, сигурно щях да се откажа. За щастие, продължих и стигнах до доста силна поредица, а като теглим чертата - повече от половината разкази се оказаха много добри. Само погледнете началото на La Femme de Villon:
"Будя се посред нощ от тропота при отварянето на външната врата. Знам обаче, че е само мъжът ми, който се прибира пиян, и просто си лежа тихо в леглото." (прев. мой)
...
В тях говорят жени, напълно интериоризирали обществената догма, че съществуват, за да служат на другите и особено на мъже, за които прототип явно е самият Дадзай - беден писател, негоден за военна служба, безполезен вкъщи и отдаден на пороци.
Най-любимият ми е може би Shame, където благочестива гражданка хуква да спасява някакъв пропаднал според нея писател, само за да установи, че нищо му няма, и това я хвърля в имиджова криза. А ние остава да се чудим кой е по-големият лицемер - той, симулирайки окаяност, или тя, симулирайки добродетел, все за едно и също - одобрението на публиката.
Следват:
December 8 - за майка с малко дете и безполезен съпруг в началото на войната за Япония, чието чувство на несигурност я кара да изпадне в дива омраза към врага;
La Femme de Villon, най-бруталният, където една жена изтърпява такива невероятни унижения, че й остава само биологичното съществуване;
Osan - за жена, която е толкова зависима от съпруга си, че предпочита да го предостави на друга, стига настроението му да не страда;
An Еntertaining Lady, където някаква уж "привилигирована" особа, всъщност самотна вдовица, буквално се саморазрушава заради неспособността си да казва "не" на всякакви екстремни състезатели в жертвеническата олимпиада - супер актуално.
Естествено, историите носят белезите на местната култура и историческия момент, но са абсолютно разпознаваеми и днес. Някои биха ги нарекли феминистични, но за щастие, вместо обичайната напоследък идеологическа чистота, тук се открива сериозна доза амбивалентност. Така имаме възможност да разберем и да съчувстваме на причините, довели до изключително лично страдание, но и да видим как, като се премине прага на търпимост, то прерства в противоречия, морален разпад и дори разрушителност. Това, естествено, не отменя критиката към опресията на жените, напротив, показва логичния резултат от това да притиснеш някого в ъгъла.
Или както обичам да казвам - извинявай, че не съм образцовата жертва. Ама не.
Отначало нещата тръгнаха наистина зле и бях напълно склонна да се съглася със собствените му думи, че опитите му да наподоби женски глас са "нескопосани". Ако не бях чела No Longer Human и му нямах пълно доверие, сигурно щях да се откажа. За щастие, продължих и стигнах до доста силна поредица, а като теглим чертата - повече от половината разкази се оказаха много добри. Само погледнете началото на La Femme de Villon:
"Будя се посред нощ от тропота при отварянето на външната врата. Знам обаче, че е само мъжът ми, който се прибира пиян, и просто си лежа тихо в леглото." (прев. мой)
...
В тях говорят жени, напълно интериоризирали обществената догма, че съществуват, за да служат на другите и особено на мъже, за които прототип явно е самият Дадзай - беден писател, негоден за военна служба, безполезен вкъщи и отдаден на пороци.
Най-любимият ми е може би Shame, където благочестива гражданка хуква да спасява някакъв пропаднал според нея писател, само за да установи, че нищо му няма, и това я хвърля в имиджова криза. А ние остава да се чудим кой е по-големият лицемер - той, симулирайки окаяност, или тя, симулирайки добродетел, все за едно и също - одобрението на публиката.
Следват:
December 8 - за майка с малко дете и безполезен съпруг в началото на войната за Япония, чието чувство на несигурност я кара да изпадне в дива омраза към врага;
La Femme de Villon, най-бруталният, където една жена изтърпява такива невероятни унижения, че й остава само биологичното съществуване;
Osan - за жена, която е толкова зависима от съпруга си, че предпочита да го предостави на друга, стига настроението му да не страда;
An Еntertaining Lady, където някаква уж "привилигирована" особа, всъщност самотна вдовица, буквално се саморазрушава заради неспособността си да казва "не" на всякакви екстремни състезатели в жертвеническата олимпиада - супер актуално.
Естествено, историите носят белезите на местната култура и историческия момент, но са абсолютно разпознаваеми и днес. Някои биха ги нарекли феминистични, но за щастие, вместо обичайната напоследък идеологическа чистота, тук се открива сериозна доза амбивалентност. Така имаме възможност да разберем и да съчувстваме на причините, довели до изключително лично страдание, но и да видим как, като се премине прага на търпимост, то прерства в противоречия, морален разпад и дори разрушителност. Това, естествено, не отменя критиката към опресията на жените, напротив, показва логичния резултат от това да притиснеш някого в ъгъла.
Или както обичам да казвам - извинявай, че не съм образцовата жертва. Ама не.
May 19, 2025
For someone who is well known for his misogyny, Dazai Osamu is weirdly good at writing compelling female characters. No One Knows is a 14 short-story collection that involves female-centric narrators, each written in a quietly devastating but strangely beautiful manner. These short stories prove Dazai's rich writing style, in a way he is able to capture the quiet chaos of being human whether it involves shameful, unfiltered thoughts or being miserable, including things that they wish to keep hidden. From a young girl who had to bear the burden of the weight of shame after get caught stealing, an adventurous day in the life of a schoolgirl trying to navigate the complexities of being a girl and her grieving, an older sister's love toward her sick younger sister, a wife who breaks out in skin rashes and starts having uneasy thoughts on her marriage and beauty, a talented young writer who faces pressure from her uncle and her mother to pursue a literary career, a devoted wife who discovers her husband's infidelity, a wife who lives happily and comfortably in their poor life and starts to resent her husband's sudden success and more.
I feel like most of the stories, especially one that includes most of the self-hatred and loathing sentiment, are a disguise of Dazai’s own thoughts and outlook on life, making the character seem like a different version of the same man. Maybe that's why these short stories feel intimate, as they're not crafted to impress but instead to show the harshness of being human, of a life that either feels fortunate, challenging or painfully unfair. I appreciate how each of the women carries their guilt, shame and pain differently, but you can see the quiet strength and resilience in them. It is strange how he is able to write them with so much empathy and tenderness. My favorites (mostly memorable for me) are Schoolgirl, Cherry Leaves and the Whistler, Skin and Soul, Shame, Waiting, One Snowy Night and Osan. 4.5 ⭐️ Thank you @definitelybooks for the review copy.
I feel like most of the stories, especially one that includes most of the self-hatred and loathing sentiment, are a disguise of Dazai’s own thoughts and outlook on life, making the character seem like a different version of the same man. Maybe that's why these short stories feel intimate, as they're not crafted to impress but instead to show the harshness of being human, of a life that either feels fortunate, challenging or painfully unfair. I appreciate how each of the women carries their guilt, shame and pain differently, but you can see the quiet strength and resilience in them. It is strange how he is able to write them with so much empathy and tenderness. My favorites (mostly memorable for me) are Schoolgirl, Cherry Leaves and the Whistler, Skin and Soul, Shame, Waiting, One Snowy Night and Osan. 4.5 ⭐️ Thank you @definitelybooks for the review copy.
May 13, 2025
Un livre qui me fait hésiter à le critiquer de par son sujet et le sentiment de non légitimité qu'il me provoque : No One Knows est un recueil d'histoires courtes de Dazai, écrites entre 1937 et 1948 (c'est important) et ayant pour particularité de ne proposer que des récits de femmes.
Je trouve que Dazai, à travers ces différentes histoires courtes, aborde de façon aussi intéressante que terrifiante la place des femmes dans la société japonaise de la moitié du siècle dernier (qui n'a pas tant vieillit que ça...). On y retrouve des personnages complexes, menant des vies différentes (mais qui se répondent parfois) avec leurs réflexions propres, parfois poussées à l'extrême. Ce n'est pas toujours très fin, on sent une certaine misogynie de fond propre à son époque, mais en même temps des pistes de réflexions étonnantes pour des récits écrit par un homme dans les années 40.
J'ai aussi trouvé très intéressant de sentir la différence de ton entre les récits datant d'avant et d'après la guerre. On sent que l'ambiance générale est bien plus morose, les thèmes abordés plus marqués par cette défaite et ce qui en a découlé pour le Japon.
En bref une lecture intéressante, pas toujours très juste, qui a parfois mal vieillit mais qui impressionne tout de même par la faculté de Dazai à capter le lecteur très rapidement et l'entraîner dans les tréfonds de l'âme de ses personnages, ceux-ci reflétants un monde qui semble terrifier autant qu'il fascine leur auteur.
Je trouve que Dazai, à travers ces différentes histoires courtes, aborde de façon aussi intéressante que terrifiante la place des femmes dans la société japonaise de la moitié du siècle dernier (qui n'a pas tant vieillit que ça...). On y retrouve des personnages complexes, menant des vies différentes (mais qui se répondent parfois) avec leurs réflexions propres, parfois poussées à l'extrême. Ce n'est pas toujours très fin, on sent une certaine misogynie de fond propre à son époque, mais en même temps des pistes de réflexions étonnantes pour des récits écrit par un homme dans les années 40.
J'ai aussi trouvé très intéressant de sentir la différence de ton entre les récits datant d'avant et d'après la guerre. On sent que l'ambiance générale est bien plus morose, les thèmes abordés plus marqués par cette défaite et ce qui en a découlé pour le Japon.
En bref une lecture intéressante, pas toujours très juste, qui a parfois mal vieillit mais qui impressionne tout de même par la faculté de Dazai à capter le lecteur très rapidement et l'entraîner dans les tréfonds de l'âme de ses personnages, ceux-ci reflétants un monde qui semble terrifier autant qu'il fascine leur auteur.
May 29, 2025
14 short stories, all ostensibly with female narrators, but Dazai is very clearly either the person who is narrating most of these stories, or the stories center around how women view him. Some great stories here, the true highlight is "Schoolgirl", but a few others were also very good, with most being rather strong. The longest stories were definitely way too long, though.
If you want a lighter hearted Dazai short story collection, this is preferable to Self Portraits. If you're looking for more of his 1940s stories that center around WW2 and life in war-torn Japan, while that is here, you'll get more of it and more deeply in Self Portraits.
If you want a lighter hearted Dazai short story collection, this is preferable to Self Portraits. If you're looking for more of his 1940s stories that center around WW2 and life in war-torn Japan, while that is here, you'll get more of it and more deeply in Self Portraits.
June 15, 2025
I loved the narrative switch from his other books which gave a breath of fresh air. It felt nice taking my time in this book compared to others where I try to finish it quickly. I felt myself scouring/savoring each story and enjoying each unique experience that they gave me.
December 2, 2025
“Tomorrow, no doubt, will be another day just like today. Happiness will never come. I know that. But when you’re going to sleep, it’s probably better to believe that it will, that it’ll be here tomorrow.”
January 22, 2026
enjoyed this far more then the other short story collection. The setting of most being post ww2 is such an interesting lens to put myself in especially in japan anf a rural setting. Many of the stories end abruptly or in tragedy, yet i found so many of them beautiful simply for the way they observe the world around them.
“my eyes are full of the most beautiful scenery… the things you’ve been looking at remain inside your eyes”
“my eyes are full of the most beautiful scenery… the things you’ve been looking at remain inside your eyes”
June 25, 2025
Read this to get a better understanding of the Dazai character in Bungo Stray Dogs (lol), but was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked these short stories and how relatable I found some of the feelings Dazai describes. Definitely will be reading No Longer Human by him at some point.
September 6, 2025
Unhinged male author creates unhinged female characters… yields a surprisingly good collection of stories.
November 8, 2025
Wow
4.5 ⭐️
4.5 ⭐️
![Profile Image for [melanie].](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.gr-assets.com%2Fimages%2FS%2Fcompressed.photo.goodreads.com%2Fusers%2F1767138569i%2F187715364._UX200_CR0%2C0%2C200%2C200_.jpg&w=128&q=75)
January 10, 2026
most I liked, some I didn’t find all too interesting
December 22, 2025
leave it to Dazai to get me out of my reading block
December 30, 2025
love the raw, immersive writing style. favorites were: Chiyojo, Shame, Katydid, Waiting, and December 8.
“I’m digressing. At this rate, I’ll never be able to write something good enough to last till the year 2700. I’d better start over.”
“No matter what I say, no one believes me. Everyone I meet regards me with suspicion. I visit old friends, just to see their faces again, and they welcome me with wary eyes that say, “What brings you here?””
“I’m the only child of a poor clog-maker. Yesterday evening, as I was sitting in the kitchen slicing onions, I could hear, from somewhere in the field out back, the sobbing, pitiful cry of a young boy calling to his older sister: Onee-chan! I stopped midslice, lost in thought. If I had a little sister or brother who adored me and would tearfully call out to me for comfort, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in the spot I’m in”
“Peek in on us if you will; we three are a beautiful family,” is what I’d like to tell even the insects crying in the garden, as a quiet kind of rapture fills my heart.”
“I’ve never seen the leaves and grass looking so translucent and beautiful. I reach out and softly touch the blades of grass.
I want to live a noble, beautiful life.”
“I’m having this weird illusion that at some time in the past I was in the same situation, talking about the same thing and looking at the same corner of the table, and that at some point in the future I’ll repeat the same experience again. Or I can be walking on some footpath far out in the country and be convinced that I’ve been there before. I’ll pass by a bean plant and pluck off one of its leaves, and, sure enough, I’ll feel that I’ve plucked this same leaf at this same spot sometime in the past and will pluck it again, time and again.”
“I want to call for Mother, for Father. Maybe the truth actually lies in the very things I’m repelled by.”
“I can say something like, “I’m a lying, deceitful monster who adopts poses and then lets those poses dictate her behavior,” but that’s just another pose, and where does that leave me?”
“Always agonizing over not having a goal in life, or how to be more positive about things, or the inconsistencies in your personality; but that “agony” is really only sentimentality in disguise. You’re just indulging yourself, consoling yourself. And”
“I’m so accustomed to walking this dirt road on the way home each day that I’ve ceased to appreciate the silence of the countryside. There’s nothing but the trees, the road, and the fields. Maybe today I’ll pretend I’m someone who’s coming here for the first time. I’m, let’s see, the daughter of a clog-maker in Kanda, and this is the first time in my life to walk in the country. How would this scenery look to me then? What a great idea! And what a pathetic idea. I put on a solemn face and gaze around me wide-eyed, purposely overdoing it. Walking down this narrow, tree-lined path, I gasp as I look up at the canopy of fresh green leaves. When I cross the earthen bridge I stop to peer down at the brook awhile, gazing at my reflection in the water and barking at myself like a puppy, and when I look at the fields in the distance, I narrow my eyes as if enraptured and sigh and murmur, “How lovely!” ”
“Trying my best to make everything seem new and fresh, going through these elaborate charades, I somehow begin to feel insufferably lonely”
“The evening haze is tinged with pink. It’s as if the light of the setting sun melts in the haze and the color runs, turning soft pink as it spreads. And that pink mist wafts and flows, slipping between the trees, creeping along the road, caressing the grass in the meadow, softly enveloping me. Every hair on my head shines with its gentle touch. How beautiful this sky is. I feel I should bow down to it, prostrate myself before something for once in my life. Right now I believe in God. I wonder what you call this color, the color the sky is now. Roses. Fire. Rainbows. Angel wings. Cathedrals. No, none of them come close.”
“This face is a stranger to me. It has absolutely nothing to do with these feelings of mine, this sadness and pain. It’s living a life of its own.”
“But as I gradually got bigger and found out all these disgusting things about myself, the privileges began to vanish, leaving me here naked and unprotected and ugly. ”
“he’s so concerned with Japanese morality that he ends up defying it, rebelling in a forced, unnatural way. Pretending to be evil, as they say that people who love too deeply often do. ”
“I, little by little, have turned into a naughty girl, a bad girl with lots and lots of secrets she can’t tell anyone about.”
“at this point, nothing remains in me of the purity of childhood. Only unclean, shameful things. I’m suffering, I’m worried, I’m lonely, I’m sad. What is it all about? State it clearly, and you die. You know, but you can’t say a word — not a single noun or adjective. ”
“Lately I’ve got into this strange habit of doing the laundry when it’s nearly midnight. It seems a pity to waste time washing clothes during the day”
“I have this odd sensation — I’m convinced that at this very same moment, somewhere, some poor, lonely girl is doing her laundry, exactly as I am, and just gave the moon a little smile. I’m certain she exists — some unfortunate, suffering soul, washing clothes at the back door of a house atop a mountain out in the country. And another girl, the same age as I, is alone on the balcony of a run-down apartment on a back street in Paris, doing her laundry, and she, too, just smiled at the moon. There’s no doubt in my mind about this. It’s as if I’m actually seeing her through a telescope, and even the colors are vivid and clear.”
“Good night. I’m a Cinderella without a prince. You don’t know where in Tokyo I am, do you? We won’t meet again.”
“the road to her fall is the most natural, the most womanly path for her to take. There’s a languid sort of docility about her, like water passively flowing to lower levels. That’s what a woman is. She has secrets she can never reveal, a trait innate to all women, though each has her own dark quagmire to deal with”
“Never put your faith in the human heart.”
“It would seem to be a question of divine will; or should I say divine ill will?”
“a woman’s skin is her very life.”
“You’re mean,” she said. “Always ready to unsheathe your hidden dagger."
“It’s a story that seems like a lie, I know. ”
“I’m twenty-four now. Even if someone were to tell me what I’m doing wrong, I wouldn’t be able to change. To change now, I’d have to die and be resurrected, like Christ. But to die at one’s own hand seems to me the greatest of sins, so I’ve decided to leave you instead and to begin living the sort of life I feel is correct”
“The poorer we became, oddly enough, the happier I was. Even carrying things to the pawn shop and the used-book store gave me a warm kind of feeling. It was as if I’d finally found a home in this world. And whenever we ran entirely out of money, I looked upon it as an opportunity to test my own resources. It gave me a tremendous sense of purpose in life. After all, food is never as tasty, or as much fun to eat, as when you’re just scraping by, right?”
“There’s no need to use my imagination when I can just purchase whatever I want”
“I asked God for forgiveness. “We have more than enough happiness now,” I’d pray.”
“There’s nothing I want to buy, nothing I want to eat, nothing I want to see. I can make do with old, worn-out furniture and cooking utensils, and I don’t need any new kimonos because I can always mend or re-dye the ones I have. I’ve always known I’d get by somehow. I don’t even like buying a new dish towel. It feels extravagant. You’ve taken me into the city to eat at expensive restaurants from time to time, but the meals in those places have never struck me as being the least bit delicious. I never feel comfortable; I just sit there with my heart in my mouth, and it all seems such a waste”
“Rather than bringing home three hundred yen, or taking me to a fancy restaurant, how much happier I’d be if you’d make a cucumber trellis in the garden”
“I was able to see you clearly, to put you in perspective, at that moment: you’re just an ordinary man”
“When I turned off the lights and lay down on my back, I heard a cricket singing its heart out. I guess it had made its way under the veranda, and now it was directly beneath me. It felt to me as if an invisible katydid were singing from deep in the core of my spine. And I resolved to remember that faint little voice for the rest of my life, to keep it there, locked up inside, as I made my way in the world. ”
“Kazuko really has no choice but to become an author!” he shouted at Mother one day when Father was out. “Girls with this weird sort of intelligence aren’t cut out for a normal marriage. ”
“Kikuko, I’ve shamed myself. I’ve shamed myself terribly. To say it feels like my face is on fire is not enough. To say I want to roll in a meadow screaming my lungs out doesn’t do this feeling justice. Listen to this verse from 2 Samuel in the Bible: “And Tamar put ashes on her head, and rent her garment of divers colours that was on her, and laid her hand on her head, and went on crying.” Poor Tamar. When a young woman is shamed beyond all redemption, dumping ashes on her head and crying her eyes out is a proper response. I know just how she felt.”
"My husband is forever telling lies, and you can't trust anything he says. I decided tha thtese particular words of his were ones I would take to heart, however."
"What the hell. You people don't have any faith— that's why you find it hard to walk along a dark road like this. Me, I've got faith. For a man with faith, walking in the dark is the same as walking in broad daylight. Follow me," he said and plodded on.
My husband. There's no telling to what extent he's actually in his right mind."
"Every day I come to this little National Railways station to meet someone. Someone — I don't even know who."
"Here I am, still waiting for someone. Who in the world is this person I sit here waiting for every day? What sort of person is it? Or is it even a person at all?"
"I wait and watch with every fiber of my being. Please don't forget me. Please don't laugh at me, but remember this poor twenty-year-old girl who visits the station each day to meet someone, only to return home alone, with nothing. I won't reveal the name of this little station. I don't need to; one day you'll see me here."
“My husband is forever telling lies, and you can’t trust anything he says. I decided that these particular words of his were ones I would take to heart, however.”
“The thought of saying anything real and specific is too horrifying.”
“I’m digressing. At this rate, I’ll never be able to write something good enough to last till the year 2700. I’d better start over.”
“No matter what I say, no one believes me. Everyone I meet regards me with suspicion. I visit old friends, just to see their faces again, and they welcome me with wary eyes that say, “What brings you here?””
“I’m the only child of a poor clog-maker. Yesterday evening, as I was sitting in the kitchen slicing onions, I could hear, from somewhere in the field out back, the sobbing, pitiful cry of a young boy calling to his older sister: Onee-chan! I stopped midslice, lost in thought. If I had a little sister or brother who adored me and would tearfully call out to me for comfort, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up in the spot I’m in”
“Peek in on us if you will; we three are a beautiful family,” is what I’d like to tell even the insects crying in the garden, as a quiet kind of rapture fills my heart.”
“I’ve never seen the leaves and grass looking so translucent and beautiful. I reach out and softly touch the blades of grass.
I want to live a noble, beautiful life.”
“I’m having this weird illusion that at some time in the past I was in the same situation, talking about the same thing and looking at the same corner of the table, and that at some point in the future I’ll repeat the same experience again. Or I can be walking on some footpath far out in the country and be convinced that I’ve been there before. I’ll pass by a bean plant and pluck off one of its leaves, and, sure enough, I’ll feel that I’ve plucked this same leaf at this same spot sometime in the past and will pluck it again, time and again.”
“I want to call for Mother, for Father. Maybe the truth actually lies in the very things I’m repelled by.”
“I can say something like, “I’m a lying, deceitful monster who adopts poses and then lets those poses dictate her behavior,” but that’s just another pose, and where does that leave me?”
“Always agonizing over not having a goal in life, or how to be more positive about things, or the inconsistencies in your personality; but that “agony” is really only sentimentality in disguise. You’re just indulging yourself, consoling yourself. And”
“I’m so accustomed to walking this dirt road on the way home each day that I’ve ceased to appreciate the silence of the countryside. There’s nothing but the trees, the road, and the fields. Maybe today I’ll pretend I’m someone who’s coming here for the first time. I’m, let’s see, the daughter of a clog-maker in Kanda, and this is the first time in my life to walk in the country. How would this scenery look to me then? What a great idea! And what a pathetic idea. I put on a solemn face and gaze around me wide-eyed, purposely overdoing it. Walking down this narrow, tree-lined path, I gasp as I look up at the canopy of fresh green leaves. When I cross the earthen bridge I stop to peer down at the brook awhile, gazing at my reflection in the water and barking at myself like a puppy, and when I look at the fields in the distance, I narrow my eyes as if enraptured and sigh and murmur, “How lovely!” ”
“Trying my best to make everything seem new and fresh, going through these elaborate charades, I somehow begin to feel insufferably lonely”
“The evening haze is tinged with pink. It’s as if the light of the setting sun melts in the haze and the color runs, turning soft pink as it spreads. And that pink mist wafts and flows, slipping between the trees, creeping along the road, caressing the grass in the meadow, softly enveloping me. Every hair on my head shines with its gentle touch. How beautiful this sky is. I feel I should bow down to it, prostrate myself before something for once in my life. Right now I believe in God. I wonder what you call this color, the color the sky is now. Roses. Fire. Rainbows. Angel wings. Cathedrals. No, none of them come close.”
“This face is a stranger to me. It has absolutely nothing to do with these feelings of mine, this sadness and pain. It’s living a life of its own.”
“But as I gradually got bigger and found out all these disgusting things about myself, the privileges began to vanish, leaving me here naked and unprotected and ugly. ”
“he’s so concerned with Japanese morality that he ends up defying it, rebelling in a forced, unnatural way. Pretending to be evil, as they say that people who love too deeply often do. ”
“I, little by little, have turned into a naughty girl, a bad girl with lots and lots of secrets she can’t tell anyone about.”
“at this point, nothing remains in me of the purity of childhood. Only unclean, shameful things. I’m suffering, I’m worried, I’m lonely, I’m sad. What is it all about? State it clearly, and you die. You know, but you can’t say a word — not a single noun or adjective. ”
“Lately I’ve got into this strange habit of doing the laundry when it’s nearly midnight. It seems a pity to waste time washing clothes during the day”
“I have this odd sensation — I’m convinced that at this very same moment, somewhere, some poor, lonely girl is doing her laundry, exactly as I am, and just gave the moon a little smile. I’m certain she exists — some unfortunate, suffering soul, washing clothes at the back door of a house atop a mountain out in the country. And another girl, the same age as I, is alone on the balcony of a run-down apartment on a back street in Paris, doing her laundry, and she, too, just smiled at the moon. There’s no doubt in my mind about this. It’s as if I’m actually seeing her through a telescope, and even the colors are vivid and clear.”
“Good night. I’m a Cinderella without a prince. You don’t know where in Tokyo I am, do you? We won’t meet again.”
“the road to her fall is the most natural, the most womanly path for her to take. There’s a languid sort of docility about her, like water passively flowing to lower levels. That’s what a woman is. She has secrets she can never reveal, a trait innate to all women, though each has her own dark quagmire to deal with”
“Never put your faith in the human heart.”
“It would seem to be a question of divine will; or should I say divine ill will?”
“a woman’s skin is her very life.”
“You’re mean,” she said. “Always ready to unsheathe your hidden dagger."
“It’s a story that seems like a lie, I know. ”
“I’m twenty-four now. Even if someone were to tell me what I’m doing wrong, I wouldn’t be able to change. To change now, I’d have to die and be resurrected, like Christ. But to die at one’s own hand seems to me the greatest of sins, so I’ve decided to leave you instead and to begin living the sort of life I feel is correct”
“The poorer we became, oddly enough, the happier I was. Even carrying things to the pawn shop and the used-book store gave me a warm kind of feeling. It was as if I’d finally found a home in this world. And whenever we ran entirely out of money, I looked upon it as an opportunity to test my own resources. It gave me a tremendous sense of purpose in life. After all, food is never as tasty, or as much fun to eat, as when you’re just scraping by, right?”
“There’s no need to use my imagination when I can just purchase whatever I want”
“I asked God for forgiveness. “We have more than enough happiness now,” I’d pray.”
“There’s nothing I want to buy, nothing I want to eat, nothing I want to see. I can make do with old, worn-out furniture and cooking utensils, and I don’t need any new kimonos because I can always mend or re-dye the ones I have. I’ve always known I’d get by somehow. I don’t even like buying a new dish towel. It feels extravagant. You’ve taken me into the city to eat at expensive restaurants from time to time, but the meals in those places have never struck me as being the least bit delicious. I never feel comfortable; I just sit there with my heart in my mouth, and it all seems such a waste”
“Rather than bringing home three hundred yen, or taking me to a fancy restaurant, how much happier I’d be if you’d make a cucumber trellis in the garden”
“I was able to see you clearly, to put you in perspective, at that moment: you’re just an ordinary man”
“When I turned off the lights and lay down on my back, I heard a cricket singing its heart out. I guess it had made its way under the veranda, and now it was directly beneath me. It felt to me as if an invisible katydid were singing from deep in the core of my spine. And I resolved to remember that faint little voice for the rest of my life, to keep it there, locked up inside, as I made my way in the world. ”
“Kazuko really has no choice but to become an author!” he shouted at Mother one day when Father was out. “Girls with this weird sort of intelligence aren’t cut out for a normal marriage. ”
“Kikuko, I’ve shamed myself. I’ve shamed myself terribly. To say it feels like my face is on fire is not enough. To say I want to roll in a meadow screaming my lungs out doesn’t do this feeling justice. Listen to this verse from 2 Samuel in the Bible: “And Tamar put ashes on her head, and rent her garment of divers colours that was on her, and laid her hand on her head, and went on crying.” Poor Tamar. When a young woman is shamed beyond all redemption, dumping ashes on her head and crying her eyes out is a proper response. I know just how she felt.”
"My husband is forever telling lies, and you can't trust anything he says. I decided tha thtese particular words of his were ones I would take to heart, however."
"What the hell. You people don't have any faith— that's why you find it hard to walk along a dark road like this. Me, I've got faith. For a man with faith, walking in the dark is the same as walking in broad daylight. Follow me," he said and plodded on.
My husband. There's no telling to what extent he's actually in his right mind."
"Every day I come to this little National Railways station to meet someone. Someone — I don't even know who."
"Here I am, still waiting for someone. Who in the world is this person I sit here waiting for every day? What sort of person is it? Or is it even a person at all?"
"I wait and watch with every fiber of my being. Please don't forget me. Please don't laugh at me, but remember this poor twenty-year-old girl who visits the station each day to meet someone, only to return home alone, with nothing. I won't reveal the name of this little station. I don't need to; one day you'll see me here."
“My husband is forever telling lies, and you can’t trust anything he says. I decided that these particular words of his were ones I would take to heart, however.”
“The thought of saying anything real and specific is too horrifying.”
November 25, 2025
A scattered collection of stories narrated by women who simply aren’t happy. Every story feels like the inner-turmoil of Dazai through the eyes of women. Very melancholy with just enough heart to make it a breezy read. All of the narrators feel fully fleshed out no matter how little time we spend with them.
March 2, 2025
A really cool volume of short stories by Dazai. The editors selected stories that featured a female, first-person narrator. This was a common thread in Dazai’s shorter fiction. Favorites: “Schoolgirl,” “No One Knows,” “La Femme De Villon,” “Osan,” and “An Entertaining Lady.”
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