When I began reading Plum Rains on Happy House, I didn’t know what to expect. I quickly realised it was refreshingly different, as original as your first time in Asia and the author had a wide ranging vocabulary, but by three quarters of the way through I still couldn’t predict the conclusion. It was mysterious – the subject, the plot and then the polite little supernatural intrusion that hinted at something darker which it didn’t deliver until you were asleep.
Happy House is a building from another age, a warping and twisting, ageing, self-renewing wooden ecosystem that has an immortal and sentient aspect to it, like a living vessel which needs the symbiotic relationship it develops with those who dwell within. It doesn’t just house people, it chooses them, changes them, influences scenes in their lives with mischief and ultimately bewitches them. A cat toying with a mouse could do no better than this old building.
The spirit of ancient Japan manifests again in the domain of Happy House, or more accurately the old personality had never left despite the long centuries passing. The Tower of London is no longer ingrained with the fear of death but that might be because it doesn’t have a supernatural familiar nesting beneath it.
The innuendo used in the daily conversations of the transient and jaded English language tutors that reside there also seems out of place in modern politically correct societies, but the Japanese people in this are doing it too (perhaps without understanding everything), then we see the sudden switch between formal manners and crude entertainments that puts what we thought of as rude into historical context. Some of these scenes are an awkward fit for non-Japanese revellers though – seeing what too-disciplined, formal people are allowed to get away with when marking their graduation or in a celebration to welcome the season of rains. There’s a worry pervading this, a sensation that something is wrong with this picture.
The literal translations of the SLOP language school or the English Golden Showers classes are a running joke but after a while don’t seem completely accidental as the joke happens every time. I think what’s happened is that the author has seen hundreds of Japanese signs translated into English and a dozen of them were hilariously inappropriate, so the best of those were worked into the book. The reader can see that the occurrence rate is the thing that’s changed from rare and accidental to 100 percent of the time and that feels intended. It would be funnier if a character prided themselves on getting translations right and then found themselves in such a hurry that they wrote a shocking one.
Lawrence Thornberry is the Ichiban, the number one, the innocent abroad who is out of his comfort zone and wading deeper. Culturally, he’s lost but amused by the strangeness he encounters and is learning to navigate. Morally, he shows tremendous fear when dropping a piece of litter but incrementally becomes de-sensitized to the pull of unnatural perversion that gets a foothold on him and slowly taints his reputation. Will he come out of this as a triumphant figure, a dragon-slayer or a sacrifice in whatever passes in Japan for a wicker man? Like a frog in a pan on the stove, can the Ichiban change his way of thinking quick enough to understand what is happening to him and get out of trouble?
This story is different, creepingly, unnaturally different. It’s a funny and tragic travelogue too, an insight into the life of travelling language teachers – and I recommend it; both the book and the job, but only if you are not foolhardy enough to take a room at the Happy House. It will have you.