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Das Loch
Ein junges Paar zieht von der Großstadt aufs Land. Asa folgt ihrem Mann, der von seiner Firma versetzt wird, ihren eigenen Job gibt sie auf. Warum tut sie das? Sie ist nicht schwanger, Kinder sind nicht geplant, sie könnte pendeln. Und ausgerechnet das Heimatdorf ihres Mannes, das Haus neben den Schwiegereltern, bietet sich als neue Bleibe an. Während ihr Mann fast rund um die Uhr arbeitet, versucht Asa, sich an ihr neues Leben als Hausfrau zu gewöhnen.
Es ist heiß in diesem Sommer, Unmengen lärmender Zikaden rücken ihr regelrecht auf den Leib, und der einzige Fluss in der Gegend wirkt vor lauter Müll «wie aus Gelatine gemacht». Als Asa sich eines Tages bei unerträglichen Temperaturen auf den Weg in den Nachbarort macht, fällt sie in ein Loch, das scheinbar nur für sie gegraben wurde. Von da an wird Asa immer tiefer in eine unheimliche, eigenmächtige Landschaft gezogen - bis sie ihrer Wahrnehmung nicht mehr traut.
Es ist heiß in diesem Sommer, Unmengen lärmender Zikaden rücken ihr regelrecht auf den Leib, und der einzige Fluss in der Gegend wirkt vor lauter Müll «wie aus Gelatine gemacht». Als Asa sich eines Tages bei unerträglichen Temperaturen auf den Weg in den Nachbarort macht, fällt sie in ein Loch, das scheinbar nur für sie gegraben wurde. Von da an wird Asa immer tiefer in eine unheimliche, eigenmächtige Landschaft gezogen - bis sie ihrer Wahrnehmung nicht mehr traut.
128 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 2014
460 people are currently reading
28463 people want to read
About the author
Hiroko Oyamada
13 books678 followersHiroko Oyamada (小山田浩子) is a Japanese author. She won the Shincho Prize for New Writers for The Factory, which was drawn from her experiences working as a temp for an automaker’s subsidiary. Her following novel, The Hole, won the Akutagawa Prize.
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August 26, 2025
‘This current never stops. Everything I wanted to escape from.’
How quickly our lives can become unmoored and our identities drift. Hiroko Oyamada’s beautiful and succinct novella The Hole begins when Asa’s husband takes a job far from the city and they uproot their lives, gratefully accepting free housing from his parent’s in the house they own next door. Asa quickly begins to feel her sense of identity dispersing as the events surrounding her days begin to seem more and more removed from reality. Oyamada has a double-barrel delivery both anchored in expressions of the sights, sounds and smells of the world while simultaneously departing into magical realism with a deadpan approach to blur the lines between the two. With lush sensory prose, Oyamada probes at the social expectations that impose on our identities--especially for women--in this blissfully weird and metaphorical novel.
At the opening of the novel, Asa is very much entrenched in a city working life and worklife identity with coworker friends, overtime exhaustion and the typical banter of non-permanent employees resentful of the career employees getting massive bonuses. This is all quickly ripped away into a rural life where the long descriptions of payroll and paperwork become overridden by a sensory overload from the natural world. Like an oversaturated tv, her senses are overwhelmed by oppressive heat, the almost alarming loudness of cicadas, the smells of grass and each description of nature has a plethora of bugs crawling all over everything. In a way, Oyamada reminds us that the city life and work is all an impermanent human construct while the natural world is an unstoppable eternal force. Without the social networks and city society, Asa starts to feel much like a clean slate.
Asa has given up her job to move and, as there is no financial stress from it, tells herself she should be happy. ‘You’ll be free,’ her friend asserts, with a touch of jealousy, ‘that’s the life.’ However, Asa soon finds her life feels blank, bland and that she’s ‘lost all sense of time. I didn’t have any appointments or deadlines. The days were slipping through my fingers.’ The move also destabilizes her sense of identity from being Asa the employee, friend, etc. to simply being ‘the bride’ as one neighbor refers to her. She begins to notice how much our sense of self is reflected in our proximity to others and our relationships with them.
Oyamada delivers a cutting feminist critique of social norms throughout this book, such as the gendered roles in matrimony. Many of these norms can be observed as having been enforced through capitalism. As a ‘housewife,’ her mind becomes obsessed over providing him with reasonable meals, such as in a particularly well-crafted scene in which a brief conversation spreads across several pages due to her internal ramblings considering all the nuances of cooking meals to best suit his needs. She begins to feel guilt for not working and not earning money. There is a sense that, without working, the money is not really a ‘shared’ thing but something he provides and she uses and human life and actions are valued by their profitability and bank account.
This is also reflected in the bizarre events that occur to Asa in what might or might not be a reality only she experiences after falling into the titular hole. On an errand for her mother-in-law Tomiko, Asa follows a strange animal into the long grass and falls into a hole that seems to perfectly fit her. ‘The hole felt as though it was exactly my size,’ she thinks, ‘a trap made just for me.’ She later discovers the field full of children, all going in and out of holes exclaiming the holes are everywhere. The hole functions on a metaphorical level for multiple purposes, is it simply an Alice's Adventures in Wonderland portal, a grave, an image of a slot in society we must all fit within, or all of them at once. During her unemployed days in the summer heat, she mostly encounters others who are deemed unproductive members of society. There is the elderly grandfather who stands in the garden holding a hose all day, the school children running aimless, and a mysterious man who claims to be her brother-in-law though she has never heard mention of him.
The brother-in-law claims to have been unable to proceed with life the way his family does--the way ‘normal’ people do and accepted his outsider status. He has no discernable job, though apparently some money, lives in a shed behind his parent’s house and hangs out with the local children who all call him Sensei. ‘Bride--please don’t think badly of them for hiding me away,’ he pleads to Asa, ‘It’s me. I’m the bad one.’. There is this sense that, if you aren’t pigeonholed into the ‘normal’ life of marriage and endless long work, you must feel shame and acknowledge oneself as the ‘bad one’.
It seems that this hole has taken Asa into the realm of the bad ones, the ones with no place in society beyond a hole in a field such as herself now. Unfortunately, the book becomes a bit heavy handed when examining the Alice in Wonderland connections, blatantly spelling them out instead of letting readers piece it together themselves. The imagery has already been there, particularly the grandpa who is ‘almost looked like a shadow’ with his ever-widening Chesire cat grin, and the animal leading her down into a hole. The conversation between Asa and the Brother-in-law in which he steps through each metaphor to ensure you get it is good and makes some wonderful points, but honestly it felt too on-the-nose and extraneous in an otherwise dreamy surreal novel. This does have a ‘I am reading serious literature’ feel to it overall, which I personally enjoy, with metaphors blossoming in the sun, it was a shame they are so overly announced though.
The book comes to a lovely conclusion with a nice little twist to bookend the surrealist events and overall it was a delightful little read. The prose in particular with its sensory overload is heavenly to immerse yourself in, and the social critiques are done in a soft hand that works even if they aren’t particularly fresh. American readers will pause at one small throw-away line, however, when Asa mentions her mother-in-law loved her job so much she ‘only’ took six months maternity leave. Only. In a novel about the capitalist restrictions that oppress women, it is only heightened here where there is no requirement to give maternity leave. Oyamada is a joy to read and I’ll be eager to read more of her.
3.5/5
How quickly our lives can become unmoored and our identities drift. Hiroko Oyamada’s beautiful and succinct novella The Hole begins when Asa’s husband takes a job far from the city and they uproot their lives, gratefully accepting free housing from his parent’s in the house they own next door. Asa quickly begins to feel her sense of identity dispersing as the events surrounding her days begin to seem more and more removed from reality. Oyamada has a double-barrel delivery both anchored in expressions of the sights, sounds and smells of the world while simultaneously departing into magical realism with a deadpan approach to blur the lines between the two. With lush sensory prose, Oyamada probes at the social expectations that impose on our identities--especially for women--in this blissfully weird and metaphorical novel.
At the opening of the novel, Asa is very much entrenched in a city working life and worklife identity with coworker friends, overtime exhaustion and the typical banter of non-permanent employees resentful of the career employees getting massive bonuses. This is all quickly ripped away into a rural life where the long descriptions of payroll and paperwork become overridden by a sensory overload from the natural world. Like an oversaturated tv, her senses are overwhelmed by oppressive heat, the almost alarming loudness of cicadas, the smells of grass and each description of nature has a plethora of bugs crawling all over everything. In a way, Oyamada reminds us that the city life and work is all an impermanent human construct while the natural world is an unstoppable eternal force. Without the social networks and city society, Asa starts to feel much like a clean slate.
Asa has given up her job to move and, as there is no financial stress from it, tells herself she should be happy. ‘You’ll be free,’ her friend asserts, with a touch of jealousy, ‘that’s the life.’ However, Asa soon finds her life feels blank, bland and that she’s ‘lost all sense of time. I didn’t have any appointments or deadlines. The days were slipping through my fingers.’ The move also destabilizes her sense of identity from being Asa the employee, friend, etc. to simply being ‘the bride’ as one neighbor refers to her. She begins to notice how much our sense of self is reflected in our proximity to others and our relationships with them.
Why did she keep calling me “the bride”? No one had ever called me that before. When I was working, people always called me Matsuura. Then again, we’d just met. She could hardly call me “Asa” the way Tomiko does. She definitely couldn’t call me “Matsuura.” For her, that had to mean Tomiko. Even my husband couldn’t be “Matsuura” in her eyes. I guess that would make me “the bride.”
Oyamada delivers a cutting feminist critique of social norms throughout this book, such as the gendered roles in matrimony. Many of these norms can be observed as having been enforced through capitalism. As a ‘housewife,’ her mind becomes obsessed over providing him with reasonable meals, such as in a particularly well-crafted scene in which a brief conversation spreads across several pages due to her internal ramblings considering all the nuances of cooking meals to best suit his needs. She begins to feel guilt for not working and not earning money. There is a sense that, without working, the money is not really a ‘shared’ thing but something he provides and she uses and human life and actions are valued by their profitability and bank account.
This is also reflected in the bizarre events that occur to Asa in what might or might not be a reality only she experiences after falling into the titular hole. On an errand for her mother-in-law Tomiko, Asa follows a strange animal into the long grass and falls into a hole that seems to perfectly fit her. ‘The hole felt as though it was exactly my size,’ she thinks, ‘a trap made just for me.’ She later discovers the field full of children, all going in and out of holes exclaiming the holes are everywhere. The hole functions on a metaphorical level for multiple purposes, is it simply an Alice's Adventures in Wonderland portal, a grave, an image of a slot in society we must all fit within, or all of them at once. During her unemployed days in the summer heat, she mostly encounters others who are deemed unproductive members of society. There is the elderly grandfather who stands in the garden holding a hose all day, the school children running aimless, and a mysterious man who claims to be her brother-in-law though she has never heard mention of him.
The brother-in-law claims to have been unable to proceed with life the way his family does--the way ‘normal’ people do and accepted his outsider status. He has no discernable job, though apparently some money, lives in a shed behind his parent’s house and hangs out with the local children who all call him Sensei. ‘Bride--please don’t think badly of them for hiding me away,’ he pleads to Asa, ‘It’s me. I’m the bad one.’. There is this sense that, if you aren’t pigeonholed into the ‘normal’ life of marriage and endless long work, you must feel shame and acknowledge oneself as the ‘bad one’.
It seems that this hole has taken Asa into the realm of the bad ones, the ones with no place in society beyond a hole in a field such as herself now. Unfortunately, the book becomes a bit heavy handed when examining the Alice in Wonderland connections, blatantly spelling them out instead of letting readers piece it together themselves. The imagery has already been there, particularly the grandpa who is ‘almost looked like a shadow’ with his ever-widening Chesire cat grin, and the animal leading her down into a hole. The conversation between Asa and the Brother-in-law in which he steps through each metaphor to ensure you get it is good and makes some wonderful points, but honestly it felt too on-the-nose and extraneous in an otherwise dreamy surreal novel. This does have a ‘I am reading serious literature’ feel to it overall, which I personally enjoy, with metaphors blossoming in the sun, it was a shame they are so overly announced though.
The book comes to a lovely conclusion with a nice little twist to bookend the surrealist events and overall it was a delightful little read. The prose in particular with its sensory overload is heavenly to immerse yourself in, and the social critiques are done in a soft hand that works even if they aren’t particularly fresh. American readers will pause at one small throw-away line, however, when Asa mentions her mother-in-law loved her job so much she ‘only’ took six months maternity leave. Only. In a novel about the capitalist restrictions that oppress women, it is only heightened here where there is no requirement to give maternity leave. Oyamada is a joy to read and I’ll be eager to read more of her.
3.5/5
June 7, 2022
if i had a dollar for every time i added a short horror-adjacent asian translated work titled "the hole" on goodreads, i'd have two dollars.
which isn't a lot of dollars but it's still weird it happened twice.
i liked this one better than the other one, because it made me think more and those thoughts weren't solely "this is confusing and scary!"
but a lot of them were, still.
bottom line: for all the small creepy book stans out there, this one is for you!
------------
pre-review
weird.
review to come / 3 stars
------------
reading books by asian authors for aapi month!
book 1: kim jiyoung, born 1982
book 2: siren queen
book 3: the heart principle
book 4: n.p.
book 5: the hole
which isn't a lot of dollars but it's still weird it happened twice.
i liked this one better than the other one, because it made me think more and those thoughts weren't solely "this is confusing and scary!"
but a lot of them were, still.
bottom line: for all the small creepy book stans out there, this one is for you!
------------
pre-review
weird.
review to come / 3 stars
------------
reading books by asian authors for aapi month!
book 1: kim jiyoung, born 1982
book 2: siren queen
book 3: the heart principle
book 4: n.p.
book 5: the hole
July 16, 2025
Short and nice story for casual reading.
Telling about non-permanent jobs, summer, rain, cicadas, rivers, kids, neighbours, newly discovered relatives, and surreal grandpa?
Mother-in-law's 50,000 yen?
Black animal, the holes, and the 7-Eleven store.
Murakami? Weird?
Telling about non-permanent jobs, summer, rain, cicadas, rivers, kids, neighbours, newly discovered relatives, and surreal grandpa?
Mother-in-law's 50,000 yen?
Black animal, the holes, and the 7-Eleven store.
Murakami? Weird?
October 15, 2023
[Edited for spoilers 10/15/23]
A fantasy from Japan. A novella of less than 100 pages.
A young woman’s husband gets a job transfer and he chooses to move into a vacant rental house next to his parents’ home. It’s a long commute but it will be rent-free because his parents own it. The woman quits her boring part-time clerical job in the city and becomes a housewife. They have no kids and she can do the cooking and the housework in a couple of hours.
But it’s as if she’s in solitary confinement. Her husband is gone from dawn till midnight. And even those rare times when he’s home, even when he eats and talks with her, he’s on his phone swiping, swiping, swiping. There are no other nearby neighbors. Both of her in-laws next door work full-time. There is an elderly grandfather who lives with her in-laws. He’s 90-ish, doesn’t talk, and spends his days watering the lawn and garden – even in torrential rain. She has no car. The only thing she can walk to is a couple of shops and a 7-11.
So the stage is set…for her to go nuts.
One day out walking she follows a strange animal into the hillside by the river. She doesn’t know what kind of animal it is – it seems to be a composite of pieces of different animals. She falls into one of the numerous holes that it digs. It’s as if ‘the hole fit her.’ A woman she never met before helps her out of the hole. She sees children playing in and around other holes – children she has seen at the 7-11.
Then a previously unknown neighbor appears out in the woods.
That’s pretty much the story. So what does this all mean? But let me ask first – what is this fascination of Japanese authors with people in holes? We have Kobo Abe’s Woman in the Dunes living in a sand hole. A couple of Murakami’s novels have men climbing down into holes and wells. In Kenzaburo Oe’s The Silent Cry, a man climbs into and sits in a septic hole being dug in his yard. And those are just novels I happen to have read – I’m sure there are others.
I think this is a novel that the author intended to have multiple interpretations. And recall that it is fantasy. So your guess is as good as mine. I’ll say that the hole represents her social isolation. And climbing out of it is her struggle to get back to a meaningful life. Someone says to her in the story that the strange animal is like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland – perhaps symbolizing knowledge and curiosity that can get her going again.
In the end things improve for her.
Kind of 3.5 but I’ll round up to 4. I have read one other book by this author – The Factory, another modern fantasy. She has written three novels, all translated into English. The third one is titled Garden.
Top photo of a rural Japanese thatched house from tokyoguideiwish.files.wordpress.com
The author (b. 1983) from xwhos.com
A fantasy from Japan. A novella of less than 100 pages.
A young woman’s husband gets a job transfer and he chooses to move into a vacant rental house next to his parents’ home. It’s a long commute but it will be rent-free because his parents own it. The woman quits her boring part-time clerical job in the city and becomes a housewife. They have no kids and she can do the cooking and the housework in a couple of hours.
But it’s as if she’s in solitary confinement. Her husband is gone from dawn till midnight. And even those rare times when he’s home, even when he eats and talks with her, he’s on his phone swiping, swiping, swiping. There are no other nearby neighbors. Both of her in-laws next door work full-time. There is an elderly grandfather who lives with her in-laws. He’s 90-ish, doesn’t talk, and spends his days watering the lawn and garden – even in torrential rain. She has no car. The only thing she can walk to is a couple of shops and a 7-11.
So the stage is set…for her to go nuts.
One day out walking she follows a strange animal into the hillside by the river. She doesn’t know what kind of animal it is – it seems to be a composite of pieces of different animals. She falls into one of the numerous holes that it digs. It’s as if ‘the hole fit her.’ A woman she never met before helps her out of the hole. She sees children playing in and around other holes – children she has seen at the 7-11.
Then a previously unknown neighbor appears out in the woods.
That’s pretty much the story. So what does this all mean? But let me ask first – what is this fascination of Japanese authors with people in holes? We have Kobo Abe’s Woman in the Dunes living in a sand hole. A couple of Murakami’s novels have men climbing down into holes and wells. In Kenzaburo Oe’s The Silent Cry, a man climbs into and sits in a septic hole being dug in his yard. And those are just novels I happen to have read – I’m sure there are others.
I think this is a novel that the author intended to have multiple interpretations. And recall that it is fantasy. So your guess is as good as mine. I’ll say that the hole represents her social isolation. And climbing out of it is her struggle to get back to a meaningful life. Someone says to her in the story that the strange animal is like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland – perhaps symbolizing knowledge and curiosity that can get her going again.
In the end things improve for her.
Kind of 3.5 but I’ll round up to 4. I have read one other book by this author – The Factory, another modern fantasy. She has written three novels, all translated into English. The third one is titled Garden.
Top photo of a rural Japanese thatched house from tokyoguideiwish.files.wordpress.com
The author (b. 1983) from xwhos.com
September 16, 2021
Este libro se compone por tres relatos muy peculiares, el primero; "Agujero" es el más largo y los otros dos están conectados entre sí.
Son relatos extraños, metafóricos y oníricos pero con una fuerte intención crítica. Me han gustado muchísimo y al mismo tiempo me ha dejado esa sensación de que me he perdido cosas y que necesitaría revisitarlos.
Son muy del estilo Murakami, con una narración directa y bella, personajes misteriosos y cierto realismo mágico. Me gustó más "Agujero" por cómo transmite esa sensación de desapego, de dejar de ser una misma y lo bien que transmite el calor, los olores y sonidos...
En fin, un librito muy recomendable para leer con la mente abierta y quedarse con la reflexión de cómo vive la mujer japonesa la maternidad o las obligaciones familiares y sociales.
Son relatos extraños, metafóricos y oníricos pero con una fuerte intención crítica. Me han gustado muchísimo y al mismo tiempo me ha dejado esa sensación de que me he perdido cosas y que necesitaría revisitarlos.
Son muy del estilo Murakami, con una narración directa y bella, personajes misteriosos y cierto realismo mágico. Me gustó más "Agujero" por cómo transmite esa sensación de desapego, de dejar de ser una misma y lo bien que transmite el calor, los olores y sonidos...
En fin, un librito muy recomendable para leer con la mente abierta y quedarse con la reflexión de cómo vive la mujer japonesa la maternidad o las obligaciones familiares y sociales.
December 26, 2025
As expected, all the contender of Akutagawa Prize was not so easy to understand, and this book is no less the same.
This novel plunges readers into the disorienting world of Asa, a woman who relocates to the countryside after her husband’s transfer, trading her precarious job for the uneasy rhythms of domestic life. Living next to her in-laws, Asa drifts through her days with quiet dissatisfaction. Everything shifts when, on a routine errand, she encounters a strange beast and falls into a chest-deep hole. This surreal moment fractures her perception of reality: her husband’s family begins to seem alien, and a previously unknown brother-in-law, a hikikomori who has lived in a shed for 20 years, emerges from the shadows.
To all intents and purposes, it is a mundane story of Asa spending time with her mother-in-law's family in an unknown land, but the work seems to be developed by focusing on the extraordinary part hidden in the ordinary everyday part. The hole becomes a metaphor for Asa’s liminal existence—neither fully liberated nor entirely trapped. Oyamada leaves its meaning deliberately ambiguous, weaving an eerie, dreamlike atmosphere that lingers long after the final page.
Now, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed this book for its theme or message, but as a reader who prefers good writing style over plot, I found myself completely absorbed in the way this mysterious world was told. I enjoy stories that transport me to different realms, and although I didn’t fully understand the ending since it felt more like a liberation than a traditional resolution—I still found the journey engrossing.
Still, I don’t like being left in the dark, so I tried to figure out what the book was really trying to convey and despite all the discussion, I personally feel the problem of 'how far to write' affects the whole book. It starts off as a social novel, digging into issues like contract labor, but halfway through it suddenly shifts into magical realism/fantasy. That change itself, makes it hard to pin down what the author is really trying to say. It's like Oyamada lost track of where this was going and ended up with something that feels a bit uneven and unsure. Don't get me wrong, the poor weight of the writing does not erase the meaning behind the story, but it does make the novel difficult to fully grasp, so it didn’t quite win me over in that regard.
In general, I have the impression that everything is half-baked; flawed, yet unforgettable in its strangeness. It is a solid three-star read. Not entirely satisfying, but hard to shake off. As with many Akutagawa Prize-winning works, it leans into abstruseness, offering less of a traditional narrative and more of a protracted, immersive mood. This is only my second time reading Oyamada, and I still have not quite figured out how she tells a story, but that sense of enigma is part of what keeps me curious of her other works.
This novel plunges readers into the disorienting world of Asa, a woman who relocates to the countryside after her husband’s transfer, trading her precarious job for the uneasy rhythms of domestic life. Living next to her in-laws, Asa drifts through her days with quiet dissatisfaction. Everything shifts when, on a routine errand, she encounters a strange beast and falls into a chest-deep hole. This surreal moment fractures her perception of reality: her husband’s family begins to seem alien, and a previously unknown brother-in-law, a hikikomori who has lived in a shed for 20 years, emerges from the shadows.
To all intents and purposes, it is a mundane story of Asa spending time with her mother-in-law's family in an unknown land, but the work seems to be developed by focusing on the extraordinary part hidden in the ordinary everyday part. The hole becomes a metaphor for Asa’s liminal existence—neither fully liberated nor entirely trapped. Oyamada leaves its meaning deliberately ambiguous, weaving an eerie, dreamlike atmosphere that lingers long after the final page.
Now, I wouldn’t say I enjoyed this book for its theme or message, but as a reader who prefers good writing style over plot, I found myself completely absorbed in the way this mysterious world was told. I enjoy stories that transport me to different realms, and although I didn’t fully understand the ending since it felt more like a liberation than a traditional resolution—I still found the journey engrossing.
Still, I don’t like being left in the dark, so I tried to figure out what the book was really trying to convey and despite all the discussion, I personally feel the problem of 'how far to write' affects the whole book. It starts off as a social novel, digging into issues like contract labor, but halfway through it suddenly shifts into magical realism/fantasy. That change itself, makes it hard to pin down what the author is really trying to say. It's like Oyamada lost track of where this was going and ended up with something that feels a bit uneven and unsure. Don't get me wrong, the poor weight of the writing does not erase the meaning behind the story, but it does make the novel difficult to fully grasp, so it didn’t quite win me over in that regard.
In general, I have the impression that everything is half-baked; flawed, yet unforgettable in its strangeness. It is a solid three-star read. Not entirely satisfying, but hard to shake off. As with many Akutagawa Prize-winning works, it leans into abstruseness, offering less of a traditional narrative and more of a protracted, immersive mood. This is only my second time reading Oyamada, and I still have not quite figured out how she tells a story, but that sense of enigma is part of what keeps me curious of her other works.
June 15, 2022
There is a comfortable allegorical framework that gives this novel its shape--the idea of daily life as a kind of trap in which all of us inevitably fall, that immobilizes and suffocates us and condemns us to leading useless lives just like the last generation--but the way Oyamada leads us through that allegory is a deliciously eerie horror story.
The narrator of the story is isolated from her family, her work, her friends, her husband; and when she and her husband move back to her husband's rural community her isolation becomes a kind of living nightmare, where ordinary things become horrific and she loses every sense of how to measure her experiences against any kind of normalcy.
The flat observational tone and the accumulation of detail work so well here. I experienced the remarkable truth, as I read, that the act of observing one's everyday life experiences too closely leads to a kind of waking horror, where even a smile, when thought about too long, becomes grotesque and threatening.
There is a kind of stasis in this horror story that reminded me of the classic The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe. In both books the protagonist moves from an urban environment to a rural, traditional village in Japan, where the protagonist's urban experiences are useless and her assumptions about reality are continuously questioned.
The exquisite attention to detail, whether it be the descriptions of the strange animal in the woods, or an unfamiliar beetle, or the ear-piercing shrill cries of the cicadas, or the many other accumulating wonders of observation Oyamada makes, really made this a wonderfully unsettling read.
The narrator of the story is isolated from her family, her work, her friends, her husband; and when she and her husband move back to her husband's rural community her isolation becomes a kind of living nightmare, where ordinary things become horrific and she loses every sense of how to measure her experiences against any kind of normalcy.
The flat observational tone and the accumulation of detail work so well here. I experienced the remarkable truth, as I read, that the act of observing one's everyday life experiences too closely leads to a kind of waking horror, where even a smile, when thought about too long, becomes grotesque and threatening.
There is a kind of stasis in this horror story that reminded me of the classic The Woman in the Dunes by Kōbō Abe. In both books the protagonist moves from an urban environment to a rural, traditional village in Japan, where the protagonist's urban experiences are useless and her assumptions about reality are continuously questioned.
The exquisite attention to detail, whether it be the descriptions of the strange animal in the woods, or an unfamiliar beetle, or the ear-piercing shrill cries of the cicadas, or the many other accumulating wonders of observation Oyamada makes, really made this a wonderfully unsettling read.
July 12, 2020
I am soooooo in love with this little gem!!!
It hit the right spot with me .... like a perfectly delicious flavorful meal.... when hungry...eating exactly what you’re in the mood for.
Most readers can easily and effortlessly read this in one or two sittings. This was a ‘treat’ book for me.
It’s soooo tempting to write a descriptive review...
.....share my thoughts about the layers below the surface...
But....
I feel it’s best not to share too much.
I don’t want to influence other readers —it’s best to ‘discover’ what YOU THINK - WHAT YOU FEEL....( be prepared to contemplate several aspects of the story and it’s characters).
I talked my husband’s ear to death over this story.
I love him for it. He took a wild ride with me down the rabbit hole.
NOTE: this book seems simple on the surface. It’s not!
....If you’re willing to go in blind...
....if you love Japanese stories....
....If you are open to a little odd....have appreciation for simplicity, ( covering up complexity), an ‘Alice-In-Wonderland’ spirit, don’t mind getting a little muddy, your feet dirty, and have a desire for a cup of miso soup....then you’re in the right mood for “The Hole”.
One of my ‘Little GEM’ favorites, this year!!! I LOVE IT!!!
It’s the FEELING...... I’m SOOOO IN LOVE WITH.....
*Asa*.... is a character after my own heart!
I’ll leave a few teaser quotes....rather than a summary of the book.
The blurb does a great job with the summary.
“As I started to walk, it seemed like nothing around me was moving. The trees were as still as a photograph, and the windows in all the houses were shut tight. There were no people around. No cats, no dogs, no crows. There wasn’t a single sparrow in the sky. My eyes were tingling from the heat”.
The heat was too much to take.
“The Lack of breeze wasn’t helping, either. The cries of the cicadas made the air feel even stickier. To the right of the path was the river, and to the left was a row of houses, each with its own rich green garden and walls covered in goya and other vegetables.
Beyond the leaves and vines, no signs of life. No one was making a sound—No TVs, no vacuums, no children. The riverbank was full of grass, and so we’re parts of the river. There were a few birds on the water. They looked like herons, large and gray. The place was overgrown with susuki, kudzu, and other kinds of grass I’d seen before, but couldn’t name. Part of the river were murky blue, stagnant green, or totally black from the blinding sunlight. The dry grass almost smelled baked. There was a big, wet pile of brown excrement on the path in front of me, probably left by a dog. On top of it or a couple of silvery flies. For them it was the top of a mountain of food.
“I fell into a hole. It was probably four or five feet deep, but I’d managed to land on my feet. I looked around the grass— now at eye level— but the animal was nowhere to be found. I heard the grass rustling nearby, but before long the sound stopped”.
“I realized how narrow the hole really was. It almost felt as though the hole was exactly my size—a trap made just for me. The bottom of the hole was covered with something dry, maybe did grass or straw”.
“You okay? I heard a voice behind me. The sound of the cicadas receded into the distance. I turned around and saw the lace hem of a long white skirt. Under it unpainted toenails peeking out of a pair of brown sandals”.
“People always fail to notice things. Animals, cicadas, patches of melted ice cream on the ground, the neighborhood shutin.
But what would you expect? It seems like most folks don’t see what they don’t want to see”.
Thank you ....with my sincerest heart....for the advance enjoyment to
read Oyamada’s new book ( I’ve read others - have bought others still to read).
So, a big thank you Hiroko Oyamada....( I love her writing - her stories).
Pure enjoyment for my mind, heart, soul.
Thank you Netgalley!
Thank you ‘New Directions’ publishing. 📚😊
It hit the right spot with me .... like a perfectly delicious flavorful meal.... when hungry...eating exactly what you’re in the mood for.
Most readers can easily and effortlessly read this in one or two sittings. This was a ‘treat’ book for me.
It’s soooo tempting to write a descriptive review...
.....share my thoughts about the layers below the surface...
But....
I feel it’s best not to share too much.
I don’t want to influence other readers —it’s best to ‘discover’ what YOU THINK - WHAT YOU FEEL....( be prepared to contemplate several aspects of the story and it’s characters).
I talked my husband’s ear to death over this story.
I love him for it. He took a wild ride with me down the rabbit hole.
NOTE: this book seems simple on the surface. It’s not!
....If you’re willing to go in blind...
....if you love Japanese stories....
....If you are open to a little odd....have appreciation for simplicity, ( covering up complexity), an ‘Alice-In-Wonderland’ spirit, don’t mind getting a little muddy, your feet dirty, and have a desire for a cup of miso soup....then you’re in the right mood for “The Hole”.
One of my ‘Little GEM’ favorites, this year!!! I LOVE IT!!!
It’s the FEELING...... I’m SOOOO IN LOVE WITH.....
*Asa*.... is a character after my own heart!
I’ll leave a few teaser quotes....rather than a summary of the book.
The blurb does a great job with the summary.
“As I started to walk, it seemed like nothing around me was moving. The trees were as still as a photograph, and the windows in all the houses were shut tight. There were no people around. No cats, no dogs, no crows. There wasn’t a single sparrow in the sky. My eyes were tingling from the heat”.
The heat was too much to take.
“The Lack of breeze wasn’t helping, either. The cries of the cicadas made the air feel even stickier. To the right of the path was the river, and to the left was a row of houses, each with its own rich green garden and walls covered in goya and other vegetables.
Beyond the leaves and vines, no signs of life. No one was making a sound—No TVs, no vacuums, no children. The riverbank was full of grass, and so we’re parts of the river. There were a few birds on the water. They looked like herons, large and gray. The place was overgrown with susuki, kudzu, and other kinds of grass I’d seen before, but couldn’t name. Part of the river were murky blue, stagnant green, or totally black from the blinding sunlight. The dry grass almost smelled baked. There was a big, wet pile of brown excrement on the path in front of me, probably left by a dog. On top of it or a couple of silvery flies. For them it was the top of a mountain of food.
“I fell into a hole. It was probably four or five feet deep, but I’d managed to land on my feet. I looked around the grass— now at eye level— but the animal was nowhere to be found. I heard the grass rustling nearby, but before long the sound stopped”.
“I realized how narrow the hole really was. It almost felt as though the hole was exactly my size—a trap made just for me. The bottom of the hole was covered with something dry, maybe did grass or straw”.
“You okay? I heard a voice behind me. The sound of the cicadas receded into the distance. I turned around and saw the lace hem of a long white skirt. Under it unpainted toenails peeking out of a pair of brown sandals”.
“People always fail to notice things. Animals, cicadas, patches of melted ice cream on the ground, the neighborhood shutin.
But what would you expect? It seems like most folks don’t see what they don’t want to see”.
Thank you ....with my sincerest heart....for the advance enjoyment to
read Oyamada’s new book ( I’ve read others - have bought others still to read).
So, a big thank you Hiroko Oyamada....( I love her writing - her stories).
Pure enjoyment for my mind, heart, soul.
Thank you Netgalley!
Thank you ‘New Directions’ publishing. 📚😊
December 27, 2024
https://www.instagram.com/p/Clot3DIgH...
A hallucinatory, unsettling story that centers around the negative effects of isolation. We follow newly relocated Asa as she experiences gaps in time and memory, as she becomes increasingly uncertain if the events around her are real or fabricated. Using real issues such as neglect and mental healthcare, The Hole weaves an unnerving message on perception and transformation.
A hallucinatory, unsettling story that centers around the negative effects of isolation. We follow newly relocated Asa as she experiences gaps in time and memory, as she becomes increasingly uncertain if the events around her are real or fabricated. Using real issues such as neglect and mental healthcare, The Hole weaves an unnerving message on perception and transformation.
May 27, 2023
What kind of Hole is this? Is it for a round peg? Does each hole have a special shape fit only for one?
The pegs are people on the margins, where our protagonist finds herself after quitting her city job and moving into a free house in the country. Nothing is required of her, and she wanders spontaneously about and comes into contact with different creatures — some human, some not.
Is it magical realism, or is this high metaphor, a new genre that seems to be emerging from contemporary Japan’s female writers? I liked this book, just as I liked The Memory Police, I liked The Lonesome Body Builder, I liked Convenience Store Woman, and Before the Coffee Gets Cold. But none of these books wowed me, and I’m starting to feel like I know what I’m going to get, more or less, and may now be sated. These are all somewhat surreal depictions of the limited choices we’re faced with in society, and how when we’re squeezed into a too-tight space, we come out sideways. I enjoy this type of read, but it always lacks depth for me; the characters feel more like representations than real people, the circumstances broad-stroked metaphors. The details in each book are vastly different, yet I feel I keep reading the same book that never worked deeply on my psyche in the first place.
The pegs are people on the margins, where our protagonist finds herself after quitting her city job and moving into a free house in the country. Nothing is required of her, and she wanders spontaneously about and comes into contact with different creatures — some human, some not.
Is it magical realism, or is this high metaphor, a new genre that seems to be emerging from contemporary Japan’s female writers? I liked this book, just as I liked The Memory Police, I liked The Lonesome Body Builder, I liked Convenience Store Woman, and Before the Coffee Gets Cold. But none of these books wowed me, and I’m starting to feel like I know what I’m going to get, more or less, and may now be sated. These are all somewhat surreal depictions of the limited choices we’re faced with in society, and how when we’re squeezed into a too-tight space, we come out sideways. I enjoy this type of read, but it always lacks depth for me; the characters feel more like representations than real people, the circumstances broad-stroked metaphors. The details in each book are vastly different, yet I feel I keep reading the same book that never worked deeply on my psyche in the first place.
November 1, 2020
This book is a prime example of the commercial bent of recent Japanese translations. It is a case study in how to underestimate your readers. It was well-marketed to adults by a very reputable publisher. Of course it is selling well, garnering misleading blurbs and reviews, and impressing lots of important people. However, it is written at about a sixth-grade level, is only about 30,000 words long, and boasts no innovation in character, plot, or prose. Did we learn nothing from the author's last book? A year from now, are they going to rinse and repeat this same process with another example of this lite, disposable, un-literary silliness?
It is no surprise that it received the Akutagawa prize, and that is the most likely reason for its short length. In recent years, this prize has come to indicate the opposite of its original intention. When they gave it to Kenzaburo Oe and actual writers, I had some respect for the prize. The downhill track it has followed since is startling.
This short novella reads very like the examples I encountered in Creative Writing 101 in college. 75% of the short, repetitive sentences could be edited out. The attempts at building atmosphere are transparent and simply an accumulation of mundane interior monologues. The narrator will ask up to twenty rhetorical questions in a row sometimes. And the rest of the prose is simple reportage on the surroundings: grass, cicadas, trees, houses, hoses, fences, store items.
Very little happens during the course of the novella: Main character moves to new house. Weird, unexplained things happen to her. It concludes without resolving any of the questions raised. You are supposed to draw an allegory using these dreamlike hints throughout. The housewife is feeling directionless. When she literally falls into a hole, you are supposed to realize she has metaphorically fallen into a hole as well. Society pigeonholes women. Japanese traditions are getting old. Those are the background themes. But lacking all character development, relying so heavily on bland descriptions, is simply amateurish. This is not fit to be printed. The author has ideas, but lacks formal development.
Comparing this book to this year's translation of Earthlings by Sayaka Murata, I see a world of difference.
It is no surprise that it received the Akutagawa prize, and that is the most likely reason for its short length. In recent years, this prize has come to indicate the opposite of its original intention. When they gave it to Kenzaburo Oe and actual writers, I had some respect for the prize. The downhill track it has followed since is startling.
This short novella reads very like the examples I encountered in Creative Writing 101 in college. 75% of the short, repetitive sentences could be edited out. The attempts at building atmosphere are transparent and simply an accumulation of mundane interior monologues. The narrator will ask up to twenty rhetorical questions in a row sometimes. And the rest of the prose is simple reportage on the surroundings: grass, cicadas, trees, houses, hoses, fences, store items.
Very little happens during the course of the novella: Main character moves to new house. Weird, unexplained things happen to her. It concludes without resolving any of the questions raised. You are supposed to draw an allegory using these dreamlike hints throughout. The housewife is feeling directionless. When she literally falls into a hole, you are supposed to realize she has metaphorically fallen into a hole as well. Society pigeonholes women. Japanese traditions are getting old. Those are the background themes. But lacking all character development, relying so heavily on bland descriptions, is simply amateurish. This is not fit to be printed. The author has ideas, but lacks formal development.
Comparing this book to this year's translation of Earthlings by Sayaka Murata, I see a world of difference.
June 19, 2024
Wow, this was ... boring?! Obvious metaphors abound in this moody tale about an aimless woman, and what's horrifying here is not the mysterious animal that haunts the story or the holes the characters might or do tumble into, no, it's that we meet a main character that is fully empty, without passion and direction, leading a zombie-like existence. Said woman, Asa, is a 30-ish wife who quits her temp job to live in the countryside with her husband. The couple moves into a home next to the in-laws, and while the husband works crazy hours, the now-housewife, well, just exists, and is more or less content with it. But then again: Who knows, she doesn't care about her job, or her colleagues, or where she lives, or whether she wants to have kids, she doesn't seem to have friends, or hobbies, or interests. She is merely there.
One hot day, she strolls through a hyper-realistically alive landscape abuzz with insects, and she falls into a hole (hello, The Woman in the Dunes). Later, together with the seclusive, secret brother-in-law, she puzzles over a strange animal that haunts the premises. Then, nothing much happens, the end (no spoiler, because there is nothing to spoil).
Sure, you could now talk about the strange personnel here, and how people who are different are stigmatized, and ponder that, hey, we all live in a society, and maybe it's also because novels like Convenience Store Woman and Earthlings have tackled similar issues much more convincingly (to be fair: in their Japanese original, these books appeared after "The Hole"), but this felt lazy and uninspired: People who are different remain misunderstood, the woman is entrapped, the woman is isolated, the animal roaming her world in indescribable! *Yawn* Also: Scary this is not.
Lots of fog covering a whole lot of hype.
You can learn more about the novel in our latest podcast episode (in German): https://papierstaupodcast.de/podcast/...
One hot day, she strolls through a hyper-realistically alive landscape abuzz with insects, and she falls into a hole (hello, The Woman in the Dunes). Later, together with the seclusive, secret brother-in-law, she puzzles over a strange animal that haunts the premises. Then, nothing much happens, the end (no spoiler, because there is nothing to spoil).
Sure, you could now talk about the strange personnel here, and how people who are different are stigmatized, and ponder that, hey, we all live in a society, and maybe it's also because novels like Convenience Store Woman and Earthlings have tackled similar issues much more convincingly (to be fair: in their Japanese original, these books appeared after "The Hole"), but this felt lazy and uninspired: People who are different remain misunderstood, the woman is entrapped, the woman is isolated, the animal roaming her world in indescribable! *Yawn* Also: Scary this is not.
Lots of fog covering a whole lot of hype.
You can learn more about the novel in our latest podcast episode (in German): https://papierstaupodcast.de/podcast/...
November 18, 2022
Kısacık bir metin ama günlerdir Çukur'u okuyorum. Sürekli duraksama gereği duydum. Üstüne düşünüldükçe anlamı artan metinlerden bence. İnsana kendi çukurunu da hatırlatıyor. Ben okudukça çukuruma toprak atıp onu doldurdum mesela, derinleştirmedim. O nedenle kendi direncimi hatırlatan bir metindi Çukur. Bana epey iyi geldi.
Hiroko Oyamada gencecik bir Japon yazar. Benim takip edeceklerim listeme girdi bile. Bir sonra yazacağı eseri merakla bekliyorum. Siren'e de teşekkür etmeden geçmek istemiyorum çünkü bizi hep muhteşem kitaplarla, dünya edebiyatıyla buluşturuyor.
H. Can Erkin harika bir iş çıkarmış çeviride. Tekinsiz atmosferi muhteşem aktarmış.
Dilerim çok kişiye ulaşıp çok okunur!
Hiroko Oyamada gencecik bir Japon yazar. Benim takip edeceklerim listeme girdi bile. Bir sonra yazacağı eseri merakla bekliyorum. Siren'e de teşekkür etmeden geçmek istemiyorum çünkü bizi hep muhteşem kitaplarla, dünya edebiyatıyla buluşturuyor.
H. Can Erkin harika bir iş çıkarmış çeviride. Tekinsiz atmosferi muhteşem aktarmış.
Dilerim çok kişiye ulaşıp çok okunur!
March 29, 2025
“Agujero” es el libro que más me ha dado que pensar últimamente y el que tiene la edición más bonita. Este pequeño libro esconde en su interior tres relatos, el primero da nombre a la obra y los otros, que comparten personajes pueden verse como un conjunto. Es como si Impedimenta quisiera darnos la oportunidad de leer más de la autora, sabiendo que nos quedaremos con ganas de ello.
Lo que me ha dejado más alucinada es la clara doble lectura que podemos hacer de este libro. Por un lado, una lectura superficial, atendiendo simplemente a la historia que se nos cuenta, lo que está pasando. Por otro, una mirada más profunda (e interesante) donde se puede tratar de desvelar las múltiples capas de significados que se nos presentan bajo un sutil ambiente de realismo mágico. He tenido todo el tiempo la sensación de que hay enorme componente alegórico y metafórico, no sé si las conclusiones a las que he llegado serán las correctas o si acaso todas lo son. Una de esas obras donde hay tantas interpretaciones como lectores.
Tras mudarse con su marido a un pueblo, Asahi, que ha dejado su trabajo y toda obligación atrás, se dedica a explorar los alrededores de su nueva casa mientras sus sentidos y su perspectiva de la vida se va poco a poco aletargando. Allí, persiguiendo a un incierto animal, acaba cayendo en un agujero. ¿La lleva al mundo de las maravillas? ¿Es un agujero sin más? ¿Acaso el verdadero agujero es su nuevo estilo de vida? Pues así todo el rato 🤯.
“Agujero” habla de los cambios en la vida, del desarraigo y la perdida de identidad (Asahi pasará de ser una mujer trabajadora, con inquietudes y ocupaciones a “la nuera” un mero apéndice de otras personas), de las imposiciones sociales y familiares, una obra sobre mujeres, incluso cuando el narrador es un hombre (como en los últimos relatos). La protagonista, Asahi es de lo más cautivadora, la completa alienación que sufre ha sido sumamente adictiva para mi, que necesitaba saber más y más.
Una lectura completamente adecuada a los tiempos que vivimos, donde todo ha cambiado de forma radical y decidme, ¿quién no se ha sentido en algún momento en el último año dentro de un agujero? al salir de él, ¿acaso no es todo distinto?
Lo que me ha dejado más alucinada es la clara doble lectura que podemos hacer de este libro. Por un lado, una lectura superficial, atendiendo simplemente a la historia que se nos cuenta, lo que está pasando. Por otro, una mirada más profunda (e interesante) donde se puede tratar de desvelar las múltiples capas de significados que se nos presentan bajo un sutil ambiente de realismo mágico. He tenido todo el tiempo la sensación de que hay enorme componente alegórico y metafórico, no sé si las conclusiones a las que he llegado serán las correctas o si acaso todas lo son. Una de esas obras donde hay tantas interpretaciones como lectores.
Tras mudarse con su marido a un pueblo, Asahi, que ha dejado su trabajo y toda obligación atrás, se dedica a explorar los alrededores de su nueva casa mientras sus sentidos y su perspectiva de la vida se va poco a poco aletargando. Allí, persiguiendo a un incierto animal, acaba cayendo en un agujero. ¿La lleva al mundo de las maravillas? ¿Es un agujero sin más? ¿Acaso el verdadero agujero es su nuevo estilo de vida? Pues así todo el rato 🤯.
“Agujero” habla de los cambios en la vida, del desarraigo y la perdida de identidad (Asahi pasará de ser una mujer trabajadora, con inquietudes y ocupaciones a “la nuera” un mero apéndice de otras personas), de las imposiciones sociales y familiares, una obra sobre mujeres, incluso cuando el narrador es un hombre (como en los últimos relatos). La protagonista, Asahi es de lo más cautivadora, la completa alienación que sufre ha sido sumamente adictiva para mi, que necesitaba saber más y más.
Una lectura completamente adecuada a los tiempos que vivimos, donde todo ha cambiado de forma radical y decidme, ¿quién no se ha sentido en algún momento en el último año dentro de un agujero? al salir de él, ¿acaso no es todo distinto?
January 16, 2022
Entre 3 y 4 *
Literatura japonesa actual, es decir, minimalista, sutil pero llena de crítica y protesta contra una sociedad opresiva, especialmente desde el punto de vista de la mujer.
Consta de tres narraciones, la primera es la que da título al libro y es la más extensa. Seguimos a Asa en su viaje a un pueblo remoto, de donde su marido es originario y al que se traslada por razón de su trabajo. Allí viven los padres de él, que les ofrecen una casa vecina a la suya para vivir. Al mudarse, Asa tiene que dejar su empleo y aunque no lo añore - era un trabajo temporal mal pagado - sí que se encuentra con un montón de horas vacías que no sabe cómo llenar. Al explorar el pequeño pueblo y los alrededores - oprimida por un calor angustioso y el ruido atronador de las cigarras - va descubriendo extraños signos y fenómenos que la equiparan a la Alicia de Lewis Carroll, al ir viendo otra realidad que no es aparente a simple vista. Los insectos, los animales, el mundo natural la acompañan en este viaje de introspección, con la reflexión constante de quién es y qué quiere ser.
En aquel jardín sin viento flotaba una energía densa que nacía con fuerza de cada hoja y de cada planta. Un tallo alto de hierba se sacudió con intensidad y se balanceó hacia arriba y hacia abajo. Se había posado en él un saltamontes.
También los secretos familiares acaban manifestándose en sus vagabundeos y ponen en cuestión las convenciones en que se asienta su familia política. Llama la atención la soledad de Asa; sus suegros y su marido trabajan o están distraídos con otras actividades - parece que la maternidad sea la única opción que se le ofrece para escapar de la incomunicación.
Como muchas otras protagonistas de esta literatura asiática actual escrita por mujeres, Asa no encuentra su lugar en una sociedad rígidamente estructurada alrededor del trabajo y la familia convencional. No hace falta ser un lince para ver en la metáfora del agujero una trampa que implica la inmovilización del individuo encajado en el lugar que se le asigna. Me ha recordado un poco a La dependienta en la temática, si bien aquella me gustó más.
Es un sistema que sacrifica la voluntad individual. La nuera, la suegra... Mis padres han hecho todo esto solo para dejar descendencia en el mundo. Eso es lo que me repugna.
Las otras dos narraciones también son agradables y bien ambientadas y el tema es principalmente la familia y la descendencia.
Literatura japonesa actual, es decir, minimalista, sutil pero llena de crítica y protesta contra una sociedad opresiva, especialmente desde el punto de vista de la mujer.
Consta de tres narraciones, la primera es la que da título al libro y es la más extensa. Seguimos a Asa en su viaje a un pueblo remoto, de donde su marido es originario y al que se traslada por razón de su trabajo. Allí viven los padres de él, que les ofrecen una casa vecina a la suya para vivir. Al mudarse, Asa tiene que dejar su empleo y aunque no lo añore - era un trabajo temporal mal pagado - sí que se encuentra con un montón de horas vacías que no sabe cómo llenar. Al explorar el pequeño pueblo y los alrededores - oprimida por un calor angustioso y el ruido atronador de las cigarras - va descubriendo extraños signos y fenómenos que la equiparan a la Alicia de Lewis Carroll, al ir viendo otra realidad que no es aparente a simple vista. Los insectos, los animales, el mundo natural la acompañan en este viaje de introspección, con la reflexión constante de quién es y qué quiere ser.
En aquel jardín sin viento flotaba una energía densa que nacía con fuerza de cada hoja y de cada planta. Un tallo alto de hierba se sacudió con intensidad y se balanceó hacia arriba y hacia abajo. Se había posado en él un saltamontes.
También los secretos familiares acaban manifestándose en sus vagabundeos y ponen en cuestión las convenciones en que se asienta su familia política. Llama la atención la soledad de Asa; sus suegros y su marido trabajan o están distraídos con otras actividades - parece que la maternidad sea la única opción que se le ofrece para escapar de la incomunicación.
Como muchas otras protagonistas de esta literatura asiática actual escrita por mujeres, Asa no encuentra su lugar en una sociedad rígidamente estructurada alrededor del trabajo y la familia convencional. No hace falta ser un lince para ver en la metáfora del agujero una trampa que implica la inmovilización del individuo encajado en el lugar que se le asigna. Me ha recordado un poco a La dependienta en la temática, si bien aquella me gustó más.
Es un sistema que sacrifica la voluntad individual. La nuera, la suegra... Mis padres han hecho todo esto solo para dejar descendencia en el mundo. Eso es lo que me repugna.
Las otras dos narraciones también son agradables y bien ambientadas y el tema es principalmente la familia y la descendencia.
November 10, 2022
¿Cómo se habla de un libro del que no estás seguro de haber pillado casi nada? Mientras pienso como formar una opinión clara sobre que me ha parecido “Agujero” de Hiroko Oyamada, me doy cuenta de que es imposible conseguirlo, porque realmente no lo sé, sigo sin hacerme una idea precisa del libro, de su trama, de sus intenciones o de todo ese simbolismo que parece tener, pero que no termina de cruzar las páginas para que como lector le encuentre significado. Así que vamos a hacer lo que se pueda.
En “Agujero” nos vamos a encontrar con dos historias, una en forma de novela corta y la otra a través de dos relatos. En la primera, Asa deberá mudarse junto a su marido al pueblo donde nació este, a causa de un ascenso laboral. Nada más llegar, Asa empezará a experimentar extraños sucesos, y un día, persiguiendo a un extraño animal, caerá en un agujero. En el segundo relato nos encontramos ante un matrimonio que desea tener un hijo, pero aún no lo ha conseguido. Una pareja amiga tiene un problema en su casa: constantes comadrejas se cuelan en esta.
Ha sido una experiencia rarísima leer este libro, no solo por lo extraño que es y lo difícil que resulta pillarle algo, sino porque durante la lectura experimentaba una sensación completamente opuesta a la que sentí al finalizarla. Es un libro con una aura rara, que logra crear una tensión latente constante, dando la sensación de que algo va a pasar y eso consigue que leas el libro muy enganchado, con todos los sentidos alerta para no perderte detalle. Además, la ambientación tiene todo el tiempo ese toque a mundos oníricos, como si una fina niebla lo tocara todo por donde pasan los personajes. En ese aspecto me encantó.
El problema llega cuando acabas de leerlo, porque te deja la sensanción de no haber entendido nada, de no exisitir ningún remate en la historia. Por remate no quiero decir que tenga que tener un final cerrado y explicado, me refiero a que no terminas de entender el sentido de lo que te está contando. Y ocurre igual con ambas historias. Normalmente disfruto de sacar mis propias conclusiones sobre libros extraños que dejan mucho al simbolismo y poco a mostrarlo claramente, pero en este caso todo lo que piense y opine sobre las cosas que ocurren son meras impresiones basadas más en mí y en mis opiniones, que en la realidad. Siento que parte puede ser culpa de la brecha cultural, pero otra parte creo que es imposible de interpretar seas de donde seas. Por ello, no puedo dejar de sentir ese desconcierto ante lo que he leído.
Por lo tanto ¿me ha gustado? Pues a ratos creo que sí, a ratos no lo sé ¿He entendido algo de lo que cuenta Oyamada? Si he entendido algo, ha sido poco y de casualidad. ¿Lo recomendaría? No sabría que decir, depende de como gestione cada uno el quedarse a cuadros, sin entender nada. Es un libro ágil y que se disfruta mientras se lee, el incoveniente llega después de leerlo. Como no sé como valorarlo, le he puesto una nota intermedia, pero no tomarla en cuenta. Eso sí, sigo dándole vueltas a que nos quiere transmitir la autora.
En “Agujero” nos vamos a encontrar con dos historias, una en forma de novela corta y la otra a través de dos relatos. En la primera, Asa deberá mudarse junto a su marido al pueblo donde nació este, a causa de un ascenso laboral. Nada más llegar, Asa empezará a experimentar extraños sucesos, y un día, persiguiendo a un extraño animal, caerá en un agujero. En el segundo relato nos encontramos ante un matrimonio que desea tener un hijo, pero aún no lo ha conseguido. Una pareja amiga tiene un problema en su casa: constantes comadrejas se cuelan en esta.
Ha sido una experiencia rarísima leer este libro, no solo por lo extraño que es y lo difícil que resulta pillarle algo, sino porque durante la lectura experimentaba una sensación completamente opuesta a la que sentí al finalizarla. Es un libro con una aura rara, que logra crear una tensión latente constante, dando la sensación de que algo va a pasar y eso consigue que leas el libro muy enganchado, con todos los sentidos alerta para no perderte detalle. Además, la ambientación tiene todo el tiempo ese toque a mundos oníricos, como si una fina niebla lo tocara todo por donde pasan los personajes. En ese aspecto me encantó.
El problema llega cuando acabas de leerlo, porque te deja la sensanción de no haber entendido nada, de no exisitir ningún remate en la historia. Por remate no quiero decir que tenga que tener un final cerrado y explicado, me refiero a que no terminas de entender el sentido de lo que te está contando. Y ocurre igual con ambas historias. Normalmente disfruto de sacar mis propias conclusiones sobre libros extraños que dejan mucho al simbolismo y poco a mostrarlo claramente, pero en este caso todo lo que piense y opine sobre las cosas que ocurren son meras impresiones basadas más en mí y en mis opiniones, que en la realidad. Siento que parte puede ser culpa de la brecha cultural, pero otra parte creo que es imposible de interpretar seas de donde seas. Por ello, no puedo dejar de sentir ese desconcierto ante lo que he leído.
Por lo tanto ¿me ha gustado? Pues a ratos creo que sí, a ratos no lo sé ¿He entendido algo de lo que cuenta Oyamada? Si he entendido algo, ha sido poco y de casualidad. ¿Lo recomendaría? No sabría que decir, depende de como gestione cada uno el quedarse a cuadros, sin entender nada. Es un libro ágil y que se disfruta mientras se lee, el incoveniente llega después de leerlo. Como no sé como valorarlo, le he puesto una nota intermedia, pero no tomarla en cuenta. Eso sí, sigo dándole vueltas a que nos quiere transmitir la autora.
February 5, 2024
The dream :
"Look at you ... Living the dream. You won't have to work. You'll be free to look after the house, bake, do a little gardening ...That's the life."
The reality :
"People say housewives get free room and board and even time to nap, but the truth is napping was the most economical way to make it through the day. The hours moved slowly, but the days passed with stagerring speed. Soon I lost all sense of time. I didn't have any appointments or deadlines. The days were slipping though my fingers."
There is something so strong about these small, minimalist, feminist Japanese books. Nothing seems forced or academic. I just wish that the 'supernatural' elements of 'The Hole' were as poignant as the 'real' ones.
"Look at you ... Living the dream. You won't have to work. You'll be free to look after the house, bake, do a little gardening ...That's the life."
The reality :
"People say housewives get free room and board and even time to nap, but the truth is napping was the most economical way to make it through the day. The hours moved slowly, but the days passed with stagerring speed. Soon I lost all sense of time. I didn't have any appointments or deadlines. The days were slipping though my fingers."
There is something so strong about these small, minimalist, feminist Japanese books. Nothing seems forced or academic. I just wish that the 'supernatural' elements of 'The Hole' were as poignant as the 'real' ones.
February 20, 2021
I went to the library the other day and I saw this on their new selection shelf and because it had a Japanese last name as author and I am gravitating to new Japanese fiction, I chose to borrow it. I just finished reading it, and in going through my notes, I discovered that I had already read another book by this same author, “The Factory”. Turns out I was not enthralled by that book. Pretty much the same here. If you asked me what this book was about I could deal in some generalities but if you wanted to know what it really was about you’d be plum out of luck, cuz I am clueless.
Setting is modern day Japan. Young married couple, Asahi and Muneaki, live and work in the city and husband gets transferred to another region. Wife, Asahi, quits job because it is not permanent and she is underpaid. She stays at home in their new home… a home that the husband’s parents own. They can live there rent-free. Why? I don’t know. Oh, and the home is right next door to the parents’ home.
Husband when at home spends all his time on his smartphone, either texting or talking to somebody. One day his wife falls in a hole near their house….hole is by the river. Hole is 4 or 5 feet deep. A neighbor pulls her out. There is some weird animal that is in the hole with her. Some time after that she goes to a 7-11 and tries to get to the ATM machine but there are a bunch of little kids in the way along with an old man they call Sensei. She eventually gets her money. Are you following me as I tell you this story? No? That’s good because it is not going anywhere. Fast forward a couple of chapters and she discovers Sensei living in a shed on her in-law’s property and he reveals he is brother of Asahi’s husband (ergo Asahi’s brother-in-law). Husband has never mentioned he had a brother. Something is weird. Yep, something is weird.
It gets weirder but then thankfully the story ends.
There is a blurb on the back by Hiromi Kawakami and I like several of her novels (Strange Weather Over Tokyo, The Nakano Thrift Shop)…this is what she says:
• So much lurks behind what can be seen in “The Hole’. That Oyamada can express these unseen things beyond the ‘fantastical’ is what makes it great.
Well, I am glad she understood what was going on…it eluded me. All the reviewers below also liked the book quite a bit…I have a suspicion I am still not adept at understanding modern-day Japanese literature ☹. But I won’t give up.
This was winner of the Akutagawa Prize in 2013, a prize awarded semiannually for the best work of fiction by a promising new Japanese writer. It was originally published in 2014 as Ana by Shinchosha Publishing Co. (Tokyo).
92 pages, New Directions Books, translated by David Boyd.
Reviews:
• https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/06/bo...
• https://readingintranslation.com/2020... (This reviewer sees similarities to David Lynch and Haruki Murakami.)
• https://spectrumculture.com/2020/12/0...
Setting is modern day Japan. Young married couple, Asahi and Muneaki, live and work in the city and husband gets transferred to another region. Wife, Asahi, quits job because it is not permanent and she is underpaid. She stays at home in their new home… a home that the husband’s parents own. They can live there rent-free. Why? I don’t know. Oh, and the home is right next door to the parents’ home.
Husband when at home spends all his time on his smartphone, either texting or talking to somebody. One day his wife falls in a hole near their house….hole is by the river. Hole is 4 or 5 feet deep. A neighbor pulls her out. There is some weird animal that is in the hole with her. Some time after that she goes to a 7-11 and tries to get to the ATM machine but there are a bunch of little kids in the way along with an old man they call Sensei. She eventually gets her money. Are you following me as I tell you this story? No? That’s good because it is not going anywhere. Fast forward a couple of chapters and she discovers Sensei living in a shed on her in-law’s property and he reveals he is brother of Asahi’s husband (ergo Asahi’s brother-in-law). Husband has never mentioned he had a brother. Something is weird. Yep, something is weird.
It gets weirder but then thankfully the story ends.
There is a blurb on the back by Hiromi Kawakami and I like several of her novels (Strange Weather Over Tokyo, The Nakano Thrift Shop)…this is what she says:
• So much lurks behind what can be seen in “The Hole’. That Oyamada can express these unseen things beyond the ‘fantastical’ is what makes it great.
Well, I am glad she understood what was going on…it eluded me. All the reviewers below also liked the book quite a bit…I have a suspicion I am still not adept at understanding modern-day Japanese literature ☹. But I won’t give up.
This was winner of the Akutagawa Prize in 2013, a prize awarded semiannually for the best work of fiction by a promising new Japanese writer. It was originally published in 2014 as Ana by Shinchosha Publishing Co. (Tokyo).
92 pages, New Directions Books, translated by David Boyd.
Reviews:
• https://www.nytimes.com/2020/10/06/bo...
• https://readingintranslation.com/2020... (This reviewer sees similarities to David Lynch and Haruki Murakami.)
• https://spectrumculture.com/2020/12/0...
July 7, 2022
El libro consta de tres relatos, todo ellos al estilo minimalista con algunos elementos de ficción absurda. Agujero es el primero y el más extenso de ellos, también es el motivo por el que empecé este libro (no tenía planeado leer los otros) y el que más me ha gustado. En él, una pareja joven se muda a la casa junto a los padres del marido, cuando llegan allí, la esposa se ve obligada a renunciar a su trabajo y dedicarse al hogar, algo que no parece encajar con su idea de «mujer exitosa», por lo que empieza a cuestionarse quién es exactamente y qué rol juega en su propia vida y en la sociedad. Hay cierto realismo mágico durante este relato y por momentos puede llegar a sacarte de contexto, pero al final se entiende perfectamente por qué todos empezaron a actuar tan raro desde la aparición de aquella criatura que no es un perro ni un conejo ni un humano. Es un relato que habla sobre la presión social, las posibilidades y el miedo al fracaso; también habla sobre la forma en la que nuestro valor cambia, a ojos de los demás, según nuestro estado civil.
El segundo relato, Sin comadrejas, no he entendido qué intenta trasmitir, a mí no me ha llegado su mensaje, pero supongo que es más problema mío que del relato en sí. Va de un hombre que tiene un amigo el cuál recientemente ha contraído matrimonio y se ha mudado a una casa infestada por comadrejas. Podría ir del sacrificio que se hace por la familia, pero si es así, me ha dejado fría.
El tercero, Una noche en la nieve, habla sobre cómo cambia el sistema familiar en cuanto se pone en la mesa la cuestión de ser padres, la imposibilidad de serlo, la probabilidad de serlo; lo mucho que importa a quienes desean ser padres y lo poco que nos interesa a quienes no queremos serlo. Me ha gustado, aunque también me ha parecido un tanto frívolo.
La escritura ha estado bien, no es nada compleja aunque puede resultar tediosa por lo que ya había mencionado: es difícil marcar un Antes y un Después. No es como que la historia empiece de una forma y acabe de una totalmente diferente, los cambios son sutiles y el desarrollo es casi imperceptible; no hay sorpresas. Es un libro hecho para sentir y reflexionar más que para sorprenderte.
El segundo relato, Sin comadrejas, no he entendido qué intenta trasmitir, a mí no me ha llegado su mensaje, pero supongo que es más problema mío que del relato en sí. Va de un hombre que tiene un amigo el cuál recientemente ha contraído matrimonio y se ha mudado a una casa infestada por comadrejas. Podría ir del sacrificio que se hace por la familia, pero si es así, me ha dejado fría.
El tercero, Una noche en la nieve, habla sobre cómo cambia el sistema familiar en cuanto se pone en la mesa la cuestión de ser padres, la imposibilidad de serlo, la probabilidad de serlo; lo mucho que importa a quienes desean ser padres y lo poco que nos interesa a quienes no queremos serlo. Me ha gustado, aunque también me ha parecido un tanto frívolo.
La escritura ha estado bien, no es nada compleja aunque puede resultar tediosa por lo que ya había mencionado: es difícil marcar un Antes y un Después. No es como que la historia empiece de una forma y acabe de una totalmente diferente, los cambios son sutiles y el desarrollo es casi imperceptible; no hay sorpresas. Es un libro hecho para sentir y reflexionar más que para sorprenderte.
February 7, 2024
3¼ stars
Hiroko Oyamada has spun a beguiling tale and the comparison to David Lynch is certainly spot-on. In The Hole mundane exchanges and places acquire a surreal quality while the author's easy prose is brilliantly juxtaposed against her story's growingly eerie atmosphere.
After her husband's job transfer, Asa moves outside of the city with him. The two settle in the countryside, in a house owned by his family that happens to be just next to their (Asa's in-laws) home. After years spent working precarious or temporary positions, Asa suddenly finds herself with plenty of time to spare. She looks half-heartedly for jobs in the local area but to no avail. At times her feelings of boredom and frustration—at having nothing to do or no one to talk to—brought to mind Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Yellow Wall-Paper. Asa's few interactions with her mother-in-law and her husband's grandfather are unsettling. The creepy feeling is enhanced by the fact that there is nothing glaringly wrong with these exchanges but one is nevertheless left with a sense of unease. Things take an even more peculiar turn when Asa catches sight of a weird animal and ends up in a hole.
Oyamada provides no resolution for the odd things Asa sees, hears, or feels. To me, this made the story somewhat unsatisfying not as frustrating as henry james' Turn of the Screw (here my read was very much 'supernatural') but nevertheless rushed. I liked Oyamada's vivid imagery and setting (I could basically hear the cicadas and feel the sticky heat on my skin). I also appreciated that the story worked as a metaphor about the pressure Japanese society places on women. If you are a fan of stories that blend realism with the bizarre, plus a dash of the uncanny, you might want to give Oyamada's The Hole a shot.
January 24, 2022
Hiroko Oyamada, escritora japonesa, nos ofrece un tríptico literario, el primero de ellos es el más extenso y luego vienen dos que están conectados y comparten personajes (podría ser una novela corta dividida en dos), publicado en 2013 en su país. Dice la autora que la inspiración nació en ella después de pisar una cigarra y soñar con un mamífero cavando un agujero mientras estaba embarazada, y después creó esta maravilla tan singular y especial. Estamos ante una obra de ficción psicológica con tintes de terror, que se nos presenta con una premisa muy interesante que evoca al agujero de “Alicia en el país de las maravillas”.
De los tres relatos que conforman este libro, comenzamos con “Agujero”, en él, conocemos a Asa, una mujer que junto a su marido se muda al lado de casa de su suegra, porque a él le ofrecen un nuevo puesto nuevo de trabajo en esa zona. La vida de Asa, ahora desempleada, resulta aburrida y demasiado monótona, su vida transcurre lenta y no se agotan las horas muertas; hasta que un día se topa con un animal, una criatura imposible de identificar y decide seguirla. Así cae en un agujero de un tamaño poco natural y desde entonces nada vuelve a ser lo mismo.
Estamos ante de breves textos que nos ofrecen una narrativa extraordinaria, reflexiva metafórica y simbólica, con un toque de realismo mágico al más puro estilo de Murakami que podemos encontrar en “Kafka en la orilla” o “La muerte del comendador”. Esto hace que el escrito sea inquietante a la par que siniestro, con personajes enigmáticos, conversaciones extrañas y hechos paranormales. Desde el principio te embarga una sensación extraña, lo bizarro mezclado con lo cotidiano, una especie de alegoría donde nada es lo que parece y donde las mujeres son las auténticas protagonistas.
También debo destacar la calidad narrativa de la autora sobre todo al crear el ambiente de la historia donde nos describe un verano más cálido de lo normal, donde las cigarras resultan ensordecedoras (cosa curiosa: en mi viaje a Tokio, también pude vivir ese sensación, era tan fuerte que parecía un sonido ambiental transmitido por altavoces) y el calor resulta agotador. Las descripciones son vívidas y además nos ofrece una doble lectura mucho más interesante de la superficial, se trata de una narración sutil pero con muchos detalles ocultos.
Para finalizar, lo que encontraréis en estos relatos es: una buena profundización en los sentimientos ante los cambios, relaciones personales, obligaciones familiares, maternidad y el rol de la mujer en el matrimonio pero también ecos de niños fantasmas, casas atormentadas por comadrejas, bastante presencia de insectos y en definitiva muchísimo más que explorar y conocer. Una lectura muy ambiental, intimista, reveladora y mucho más profunda de lo que parece, en conclusión: una obra muy japonesa. Toda una gran y magnifica sorpresa que no puedo dejar de recomendar.
De los tres relatos que conforman este libro, comenzamos con “Agujero”, en él, conocemos a Asa, una mujer que junto a su marido se muda al lado de casa de su suegra, porque a él le ofrecen un nuevo puesto nuevo de trabajo en esa zona. La vida de Asa, ahora desempleada, resulta aburrida y demasiado monótona, su vida transcurre lenta y no se agotan las horas muertas; hasta que un día se topa con un animal, una criatura imposible de identificar y decide seguirla. Así cae en un agujero de un tamaño poco natural y desde entonces nada vuelve a ser lo mismo.
Estamos ante de breves textos que nos ofrecen una narrativa extraordinaria, reflexiva metafórica y simbólica, con un toque de realismo mágico al más puro estilo de Murakami que podemos encontrar en “Kafka en la orilla” o “La muerte del comendador”. Esto hace que el escrito sea inquietante a la par que siniestro, con personajes enigmáticos, conversaciones extrañas y hechos paranormales. Desde el principio te embarga una sensación extraña, lo bizarro mezclado con lo cotidiano, una especie de alegoría donde nada es lo que parece y donde las mujeres son las auténticas protagonistas.
También debo destacar la calidad narrativa de la autora sobre todo al crear el ambiente de la historia donde nos describe un verano más cálido de lo normal, donde las cigarras resultan ensordecedoras (cosa curiosa: en mi viaje a Tokio, también pude vivir ese sensación, era tan fuerte que parecía un sonido ambiental transmitido por altavoces) y el calor resulta agotador. Las descripciones son vívidas y además nos ofrece una doble lectura mucho más interesante de la superficial, se trata de una narración sutil pero con muchos detalles ocultos.
Para finalizar, lo que encontraréis en estos relatos es: una buena profundización en los sentimientos ante los cambios, relaciones personales, obligaciones familiares, maternidad y el rol de la mujer en el matrimonio pero también ecos de niños fantasmas, casas atormentadas por comadrejas, bastante presencia de insectos y en definitiva muchísimo más que explorar y conocer. Una lectura muy ambiental, intimista, reveladora y mucho más profunda de lo que parece, en conclusión: una obra muy japonesa. Toda una gran y magnifica sorpresa que no puedo dejar de recomendar.
June 3, 2024
short, creepy, unsettling. the hole follows asa as her husband uproots their life by moving to another city for a job. asa, isolated from her old life and friends, spends her days spiraling in this remote town that essentially immobilizes her. ava begins to doubt her surroundings and wonder if the events occuring around her are real or a figment of her imagination.
ironically, i felt a bit claustrophobic while reading this, but not in the way that the author intended. i wish the book was a bit longer because i feel like it could have given the book and character more room to grow (ironic again).
thank you granta for the advanced copy!
ironically, i felt a bit claustrophobic while reading this, but not in the way that the author intended. i wish the book was a bit longer because i feel like it could have given the book and character more room to grow (ironic again).
thank you granta for the advanced copy!
December 12, 2020
(2.5) Odd (often too wilfully and unconvincingly so) novella concerned with the danger of drifting and being too beguiled by zero expectation and the limited value of an easy life. The Hole is a readable, sad, fairly likeable little tale of middling value. For comparison: imagine a Miyazaki film with all the charm stripped away, replaced with added solemnity and dread.
August 6, 2024
Gespenstisch-lustgeladene Imaginationen im Abseits. Traumnovelle auf Japanisch.
Inhalt: 3/5 Sterne (eheliche Verdrängungsillusionen)
Form: 3/5 Sterne (gefällig, flüssig, adjektiv-umrankt)
Komposition: 3/5 Sterne (atmosphärisch-szenisch)
Leseerlebnis: 5/5 Sterne (schwebender, dechiffrierender Genuss)
Oyamadas Kurzroman steht klar in Kontext zu Haruki Murakami aus bspw. Die Stadt und ihre ungewisse Mauer und Sayaka Murata in Das Seidenraupenzimmer und Die Ladenhüterin. In Oyamadas Text spielt auch die Differenz Stadt/Land, Kinder und Kinderlosigkeit, Beruf und Arbeitslosigkeit eine Hauptrolle. Die Protagonistin heißt Asahi und irgendwie läuft ihr Leben nicht wirklich so, wie sie es sich vielleicht vorgestellt hat, insbesondere ihre Ehe zu Muneaki nicht, der im Grunde nur an seinem Handy hängt:
»Meinst du, deine Mutter denkt, ich sei fest angestellt?«
»Nein, das weiß sie, glaube ich …« Die Finger meines Mannes fuhren in Windeseile über die Tasten [seines Handys]. Es hat Zeiten gegeben, als ich wissen wollte, was er so treibt, aber mittlerweile interessiert es mich kaum mehr: Solange er nicht in kriminelle Machenschaften oder sexuelle Exzesse verwickelt ist, muss ich nicht im Einzelnen erfahren, worüber er sich mit seinen mir unbekannten Freunden austauscht.
Die Messlatte liegt also nicht sehr hoch. Asahi bleibt alles so ziemlich gleich, also kündigt sie auch ihren Job, als es hieß, dass Muneaki versetzt werden würde, zumal ein Pendeln für sie zu ihrer alten Wirkungsstätte, in der sie ohnehin nicht zu den Festangestellten gehört, nicht in Frage kommt. Sie fällt in ein Loch. Aufgeladen mit Spannung, Hitze und Feuchte, Gerank und Blumen, Erde, Matsch und Insekten, Tieren und Geräuschen, Zirpen, Schwüle und Sommerhitze verbringt sie ihre freie Zeit mehr schlecht als recht:
Plötzlich bog das Tier zum Deich hin ab. Genau an dieser Stelle war das dichte Gras niedergetreten, als wären schon öfter Tiere dort entlanggegangen. Es lief den Hang hinunter. Ich folgte ihm unwillkürlich. Es trappelte die Uferböschung hinab, als spüre es das Gefälle nicht, als hätte es Hufe. Das spitze Schilf zu beiden Seiten strich über meine Haut. Das Wasser leuchtete schwarz. Bei jedem Schritt, den ich machte, hatte ich das Gefühl, ich würde lauter Dinge unter mir zertreten. […] Ich fiel in ein Loch.
In nüchterner Prosa berichtet Asahi über ihren Sommer, ihre Ehe. Sie trifft gespenstische Gestalten, Lebewesen, bildet sich Dinge ein, imaginiert, langweilt sich. In flüssigem Stil, neblig-nebulös, feucht-fröhlich, unheimlich-doppelbödig fließen die Sätze, gemäß der Landschaft, gemäß den Licht-und-Schatten-Spielen. Abstrakte, konfuse Gespräche finden statt, Figuren tauchen auf, verschwinden, sterben. Es wird gekocht, gegessen. Nur nicht berührt. Berührt wird allegorisch, denn im Grunde erscheinen Asahis Erlebnisse als Phantasien, als sexuelle Eskapaden in einer lieblosen Ehe, in der Muneaki vielleicht sogar eine Affäre hat.
Das Loch zeichnet sich durch eine seltsame, libidinöse Stimmung aus. Es zieht ahnende semantische Kreise um das Begehren. Das Loch selbst, um das sich alles dreht, im Matsch, in das Asahi zeitweise verschwindet, symbolisiert das Begehren, die Selbstliebe, aber auch die Depression, Frustration, die Spannungen alleine nicht loswerden zu können. Sie trifft Figuren, die ihr helfen, eine Hand reichen, mit denen sie spazieren geht, hinab ins Schilf, sich versteckt. Expliziert wird nichts, nur angedeutet, aber auf diese Weise gelingt es Oyamada, eine Psyche der Verdrängung, der Repression lebendig werden zu lassen, die nachbebt. Es ist ein Schauerstück, und in seiner Präzision, Tiefendimensionalität durchaus vergleichbar mit Arthur Schnitzlers Traumnovelle .
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Details – ab hier Spoilergefahr (zur Erinnerung für mich):
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Inhalt: Asahi zieht mit ihren Mann aufs Land, als Nachbarn seiner Eltern. Sie kündigt ihren Job und hat nichts zu tun, als in den nächsten Supermarkt zu gehen. Sie trifft auf ein seltsames Tier, dem sie folgt. Durch das Tier lernt sie ihre Nachbarin kennen, lernt sie den verleugneten Bruder ihres Mannes kennen, der wie ein Gespenst wirkt und nicht erwachsen werden will. Kinderlosigkeit als Thema. Am Ende stirbt der Großvater von Muneaki, der Schwiegervater von der Schwiegermutter, und so nimmt die Natur ihren Lauf, und Asahi spürt, dass sie nun nach und nach die Rolle ihrer Schwiegermutter übernehmen wird. --> 3 Sterne
Form: Farbenfrohe, sehr leichtfüßige Diktion, unangestrengter, kurzer, knapper Stil. Einfallsreich die Naturbeschreibung, die Blumen, die Farben, die Landschaft, in der Asahi wohnt und lebt. Viel direkte Rede. Szenisches Schreiben, ein wenig wie Avantgardetheater. Teilweise absurde, surrealistische Ausflüge in Tief- und Mikrodimensionen. Eine Art Vivisektion und universelle Wortdurchdringung, jedoch sehr simpel, kurzatmig und teilweise auch plakativ, wäre die Allegorisierung nicht. --> 3 Sterne
Komposition: Ein sehr kurzer Text, daher auf seine Wirkung hin nicht anspruchsvoll, keine wirkliche Komposition notwendig. Novellencharakter, durchweg, ohne Novellität, aber mit sexuell geladener übererotisierter Verdrängung, eine Art psychoanalytisches Freudenfest. Gefällig, schnell zur Sache, musisch verständlich, nicht semantisch, assoziativ klar, aussagetechnisch bewusst nebulös. --> 3 Sterne
Inhalt: 3/5 Sterne (eheliche Verdrängungsillusionen)
Form: 3/5 Sterne (gefällig, flüssig, adjektiv-umrankt)
Komposition: 3/5 Sterne (atmosphärisch-szenisch)
Leseerlebnis: 5/5 Sterne (schwebender, dechiffrierender Genuss)
Oyamadas Kurzroman steht klar in Kontext zu Haruki Murakami aus bspw. Die Stadt und ihre ungewisse Mauer und Sayaka Murata in Das Seidenraupenzimmer und Die Ladenhüterin. In Oyamadas Text spielt auch die Differenz Stadt/Land, Kinder und Kinderlosigkeit, Beruf und Arbeitslosigkeit eine Hauptrolle. Die Protagonistin heißt Asahi und irgendwie läuft ihr Leben nicht wirklich so, wie sie es sich vielleicht vorgestellt hat, insbesondere ihre Ehe zu Muneaki nicht, der im Grunde nur an seinem Handy hängt:
»Meinst du, deine Mutter denkt, ich sei fest angestellt?«
»Nein, das weiß sie, glaube ich …« Die Finger meines Mannes fuhren in Windeseile über die Tasten [seines Handys]. Es hat Zeiten gegeben, als ich wissen wollte, was er so treibt, aber mittlerweile interessiert es mich kaum mehr: Solange er nicht in kriminelle Machenschaften oder sexuelle Exzesse verwickelt ist, muss ich nicht im Einzelnen erfahren, worüber er sich mit seinen mir unbekannten Freunden austauscht.
Die Messlatte liegt also nicht sehr hoch. Asahi bleibt alles so ziemlich gleich, also kündigt sie auch ihren Job, als es hieß, dass Muneaki versetzt werden würde, zumal ein Pendeln für sie zu ihrer alten Wirkungsstätte, in der sie ohnehin nicht zu den Festangestellten gehört, nicht in Frage kommt. Sie fällt in ein Loch. Aufgeladen mit Spannung, Hitze und Feuchte, Gerank und Blumen, Erde, Matsch und Insekten, Tieren und Geräuschen, Zirpen, Schwüle und Sommerhitze verbringt sie ihre freie Zeit mehr schlecht als recht:
Plötzlich bog das Tier zum Deich hin ab. Genau an dieser Stelle war das dichte Gras niedergetreten, als wären schon öfter Tiere dort entlanggegangen. Es lief den Hang hinunter. Ich folgte ihm unwillkürlich. Es trappelte die Uferböschung hinab, als spüre es das Gefälle nicht, als hätte es Hufe. Das spitze Schilf zu beiden Seiten strich über meine Haut. Das Wasser leuchtete schwarz. Bei jedem Schritt, den ich machte, hatte ich das Gefühl, ich würde lauter Dinge unter mir zertreten. […] Ich fiel in ein Loch.
In nüchterner Prosa berichtet Asahi über ihren Sommer, ihre Ehe. Sie trifft gespenstische Gestalten, Lebewesen, bildet sich Dinge ein, imaginiert, langweilt sich. In flüssigem Stil, neblig-nebulös, feucht-fröhlich, unheimlich-doppelbödig fließen die Sätze, gemäß der Landschaft, gemäß den Licht-und-Schatten-Spielen. Abstrakte, konfuse Gespräche finden statt, Figuren tauchen auf, verschwinden, sterben. Es wird gekocht, gegessen. Nur nicht berührt. Berührt wird allegorisch, denn im Grunde erscheinen Asahis Erlebnisse als Phantasien, als sexuelle Eskapaden in einer lieblosen Ehe, in der Muneaki vielleicht sogar eine Affäre hat.
Das Loch zeichnet sich durch eine seltsame, libidinöse Stimmung aus. Es zieht ahnende semantische Kreise um das Begehren. Das Loch selbst, um das sich alles dreht, im Matsch, in das Asahi zeitweise verschwindet, symbolisiert das Begehren, die Selbstliebe, aber auch die Depression, Frustration, die Spannungen alleine nicht loswerden zu können. Sie trifft Figuren, die ihr helfen, eine Hand reichen, mit denen sie spazieren geht, hinab ins Schilf, sich versteckt. Expliziert wird nichts, nur angedeutet, aber auf diese Weise gelingt es Oyamada, eine Psyche der Verdrängung, der Repression lebendig werden zu lassen, die nachbebt. Es ist ein Schauerstück, und in seiner Präzision, Tiefendimensionalität durchaus vergleichbar mit Arthur Schnitzlers Traumnovelle .
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Details – ab hier Spoilergefahr (zur Erinnerung für mich):
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Inhalt: Asahi zieht mit ihren Mann aufs Land, als Nachbarn seiner Eltern. Sie kündigt ihren Job und hat nichts zu tun, als in den nächsten Supermarkt zu gehen. Sie trifft auf ein seltsames Tier, dem sie folgt. Durch das Tier lernt sie ihre Nachbarin kennen, lernt sie den verleugneten Bruder ihres Mannes kennen, der wie ein Gespenst wirkt und nicht erwachsen werden will. Kinderlosigkeit als Thema. Am Ende stirbt der Großvater von Muneaki, der Schwiegervater von der Schwiegermutter, und so nimmt die Natur ihren Lauf, und Asahi spürt, dass sie nun nach und nach die Rolle ihrer Schwiegermutter übernehmen wird. --> 3 Sterne
Form: Farbenfrohe, sehr leichtfüßige Diktion, unangestrengter, kurzer, knapper Stil. Einfallsreich die Naturbeschreibung, die Blumen, die Farben, die Landschaft, in der Asahi wohnt und lebt. Viel direkte Rede. Szenisches Schreiben, ein wenig wie Avantgardetheater. Teilweise absurde, surrealistische Ausflüge in Tief- und Mikrodimensionen. Eine Art Vivisektion und universelle Wortdurchdringung, jedoch sehr simpel, kurzatmig und teilweise auch plakativ, wäre die Allegorisierung nicht. --> 3 Sterne
Komposition: Ein sehr kurzer Text, daher auf seine Wirkung hin nicht anspruchsvoll, keine wirkliche Komposition notwendig. Novellencharakter, durchweg, ohne Novellität, aber mit sexuell geladener übererotisierter Verdrängung, eine Art psychoanalytisches Freudenfest. Gefällig, schnell zur Sache, musisch verständlich, nicht semantisch, assoziativ klar, aussagetechnisch bewusst nebulös. --> 3 Sterne
October 4, 2021
4,5*
Savotiška samsaros alegorija.
[...] "It's just, families are strange things, aren't they? You have this couple: one man, one woman. A male and a female, if you will. They mate, and why? To leave children behind. And what are the children supposed to do? Turn around and do the whole thing over again?"[...]
Keista, 90-ties puslapių knygutė, laimėjusi Akutagavos prizą. Labai puikiai sukurta atmosfera. Anotacija neapgavo, tikrai jautėsi lyg David Lynch būtų prikišęs nagus. Na, dar ir tos mielos aliuzijos į Lewis Carroll Alisą, Kobo Abe Moteris smėlynuose, gal ir dar į ką nors, ko aš nežinau.
Asa su vyru persikelia gyventi į priemestį, šalia vyro tėvų. Vieną dieną, sekdama keistą gyvį, ji išsuka iš kelio upės link ir įsmunka į duobę kuri savo dydžiu yra lyg sukurta specialiai jai...
Savotiška samsaros alegorija.
[...] "It's just, families are strange things, aren't they? You have this couple: one man, one woman. A male and a female, if you will. They mate, and why? To leave children behind. And what are the children supposed to do? Turn around and do the whole thing over again?"[...]
Keista, 90-ties puslapių knygutė, laimėjusi Akutagavos prizą. Labai puikiai sukurta atmosfera. Anotacija neapgavo, tikrai jautėsi lyg David Lynch būtų prikišęs nagus. Na, dar ir tos mielos aliuzijos į Lewis Carroll Alisą, Kobo Abe Moteris smėlynuose, gal ir dar į ką nors, ko aš nežinau.
Asa su vyru persikelia gyventi į priemestį, šalia vyro tėvų. Vieną dieną, sekdama keistą gyvį, ji išsuka iš kelio upės link ir įsmunka į duobę kuri savo dydžiu yra lyg sukurta specialiai jai...
November 9, 2022
Asa, eşinin tayini ile birlikte işini bırakır. Birlikte taşraya-eşinin ailesinin boş olan evine taşınırlar. Her şey yolunda görünmektedir, kira ödemedikleri için maddi olarak da daha rahattırlar hatta.. Ama bir gün Asa’nın bir çukura düşmesiyle düzenlerinde gözle görülmese de hissedilen değişiklikler başlar..
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Tersine ve günümüz Alice hikayesi diyebiliriz Çukur için. Hiroko Oyamada kitabın başından itibaren diken üstünde tuttu beni, bir şey bekliyordum ama ne beklediğimi de bilmiyordum. Sonra beklediğim şeyin aslında tam da bu olduğunu anladım: ‘aynılaşmak’, ‘benzer olmanın bir olmaya dönüşü’.
Kitap sona erdiğinde bir yanım aslında ne okuduğundan emin değilken; diğer yanım Asa’yı çok iyi özümsedi. Çünkü dertleri ve çekinceleri ortaktı benimle.
1983 doğumlu Hiroko Oyamada’nın seçtiği dil de yakındı bana. Gerçekliğin gerçek olamayacak şeylerle anlatılması da.
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Kısa, farklı ve akılda kalıcı bir eser arayışında iseniz Çukur’a bir şans verin derim.
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Kapakta Ayşegül Karakaş’ın Sınır isimli resmi yer alırken; çeviride pek sevdiğim usta isim Hüseyin Can Erkin yer alıyor ~
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Tersine ve günümüz Alice hikayesi diyebiliriz Çukur için. Hiroko Oyamada kitabın başından itibaren diken üstünde tuttu beni, bir şey bekliyordum ama ne beklediğimi de bilmiyordum. Sonra beklediğim şeyin aslında tam da bu olduğunu anladım: ‘aynılaşmak’, ‘benzer olmanın bir olmaya dönüşü’.
Kitap sona erdiğinde bir yanım aslında ne okuduğundan emin değilken; diğer yanım Asa’yı çok iyi özümsedi. Çünkü dertleri ve çekinceleri ortaktı benimle.
1983 doğumlu Hiroko Oyamada’nın seçtiği dil de yakındı bana. Gerçekliğin gerçek olamayacak şeylerle anlatılması da.
.
Kısa, farklı ve akılda kalıcı bir eser arayışında iseniz Çukur’a bir şans verin derim.
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Kapakta Ayşegül Karakaş’ın Sınır isimli resmi yer alırken; çeviride pek sevdiğim usta isim Hüseyin Can Erkin yer alıyor ~
February 21, 2021
Ever since seeing this described as The Woman in the Dunes meets Earthlings, I can't find a better summary. It is a short work about a woman who moves to the country with her husband, next to the in-laws. To do this she gives up her job. Her husband pays her no attention (that's for his smartphone) and her in-laws are strange, to say the least. Then she finds a hole....
One of last year's books for the New Classics Club for New Directions Publishing, and on the long list for the Tournament of Books.
One of last year's books for the New Classics Club for New Directions Publishing, and on the long list for the Tournament of Books.
January 9, 2025
Ich bin ein großer Fan japanischer Literatur!
Zumal ich hiervon auch noch eine wirklich wunderschöne gebundene Ausgabe der Büchergilde Gutenberg habe, hat es mir noch mehr Freude bereitet dieses Buch zu lesen- aber leider fehlte mir trotz allem etwas.
Detaillierte Rezi folgt, wenn ich mir im Klaren bin, was es war.
Zumal ich hiervon auch noch eine wirklich wunderschöne gebundene Ausgabe der Büchergilde Gutenberg habe, hat es mir noch mehr Freude bereitet dieses Buch zu lesen- aber leider fehlte mir trotz allem etwas.
Detaillierte Rezi folgt, wenn ich mir im Klaren bin, was es war.
May 21, 2022
Ehhh?
What did I just read?
What did I just read?
July 14, 2020
I'm not sure if the translation is lacking, or if this is just flat over all. The Hole reminds me of my middle school days - assigned a "classic" that I couldn't comprehend why it was a classic. I knew there was probably some deeper meaning there, but I couldn't get to it - there was no meat for me to sink my teeth into.
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