When I first read this book, in 1998, I had never been to Japan and knew next to nothing about the language, the culture, or the people. I had only recently discovered that one could move to Japan and teach English without needing to have studied Japanese or, really, much of anything. In what was a nice coincidence, I picked this book up off the bargain shelf at a bookstore and started reading.
The words were so clear, so evocative, so exotic and yet so familiar. I knew these people. I could see their lives unfolding not so different from my own and simultaneously vastly, incomprehensibly different. The fascination with Audrey Hepburn, the small, quiet life, the grand allure of life in the big city, the desire to know who you are and where you come from, these things I knew. The place names, the otherness, the cascade of imagery tied to a Japanese sensibility, these things I did not and could not know.
Re-reading the book fourteen years later, after a decade of living in Japan, after a decade of studying and learning the language and the culture, it seems as though what I knew and did not know have been reversed: The images of cherry blossoms falling across a park crowded with people laughing and drinking is as familiar as my own skin. The idea of a quiet, reverential, and reserved Japanese sensibility put hard against a brash, boisterous, larger than life American personality, less so.
And yet the story reads as beautifully as it did that first time, when I was so taken with Toshi's profound inability to understand that which fascinated him. When I was so moved by the quiet, mournful, love story that anchors Toshi to his parents and that he is so late in learning. When I was entranced by the clear, simple language of the author, moving words through bright, descriptive sentences like a painter leaving wisps of paint across a canvas.
Maybe I'll read the book again in another fourteen years. Maybe I'll read it again and learn what I do know and what I can not comprehend and about how we can't really understand ourselves until we understand from whence we've come.