This freewheeling black comedy features a bizarre cast of characters, including a Japanese man with a ball floating six inches in front of his head, an American CEO with three arms, and a Brazilian peasant who discovers the art of healing by tickling one's earlobe with a feather. By the end of this hilarious tale, they each have risen to the heights of wealth and fame, before arriving at disasters - both personal and ecological - that destroy the rain forest and all the birds of Brazil.
Born January 8, 1951 in Oakland, California, Karen Tei Yamashita is a Japanese American writer and Associate Professor of Literature at University of California, Santa Cruz, where she teaches creative writing and Asian American literature. Her works, several of which contain elements of magic realism, include novels I Hotel (2010), Circle K Cycles (2001), Tropic of Orange (1997), Brazil-Maru (1992), and Through the Arc of the Rain Forest (1990). Tei Yamashita's novels emphasize the absolute necessity of polyglot, multicultural communities in an increasingly globalized age, even as they destabilize orthodox notions of borders and national/ethnic identity.
She has also written a number of plays, including Hannah Kusoh, Noh Bozos and O-Men which was produced by the Asian American theatre group, East West Players.
Yamashita is a finalist for the 2010 National Book Award for I Hotel.
wow i wish all literature were like this. through the arc of the rain forest manages to fuse the comic and absurd with the horrifically real. funny that a book about pigeons, magical feathers, radio evangelism, a Japanese expat with a ball spinning six inches from his forehead, and other oddities should contain such sobering insights about the nature of capital(ism).
When I started this novel, I probably would have given it four stars. The first fifty pages or so got me hooked pretty solid with the whole 'magic realism' bit. Not very often do I find characters with metaphysical traits having their twisting lives narrated by a ball which is a Japanese man's personal satellite. The magic, as it were, intrigued me, and the almost newspaper-ish style of narration allowed me to objectively follow the events as they unfolded with a ruthless realistic tint.
But nothing lasts. By the last seventy pages I was skimming the larger paragraphs (I never skim), constantly checking the page number, and sighing as I looked at my stack of shiny new must-reads sitting in the corner. Sometimes I have trouble figuring out the exact reason why a book loses me, but in this case I think I've got it pretty much nailed down. Karen Tei Yamashita confused characterization with character. Just because your character has three arms doesn't make him unique or more than curiously interesting. The events which happen to the characters aren't nearly as informative in shaping my understanding of them as how they react and the choices they make. Unfortunately this novel persisted with the cold-as-witches-tit first person throughout, and I never felt like I understood a) what the characters wanted, b) how they were going to get it, or c) what was obstructing them. I could write out a list of points of conflict easily enough, but ask me why the hell any of the characters cared and I'd be shrugging.
All that aside, however, I'm trying to think positive, and on that note I can admit that the prose was sharp and flowing. Once I got started reading, I didn't have a hard time keeping up the effort. The problem was when I put the book down, little beckoned me back. But Yamashita has an ear for exposition and a keen imagination which weaves the mysteries of the rain forest into beautiful patterns that are pleasant to imagine. Too bad there wasn't much of a story to go with it.
"I have heard Brazilian children say that whatever passes through the arc of a rainbow becomes its opposite. But what is the opposite of a bird? Or for that matter, a human being? And what then, in the great rain forest, where, in its season, the rain never ceases and the rainbows are myriad?" -Karen Tei Yamashita
Funny, strange, and prescient. So much literary joy in its hysterical magical realism. The environment is alive and corporations are run by a polymelic "CEO" who's just in it for the game of it all rather than anything ideologically coherent and microplastics may be becoming macroplastics and radio evangelists are converting modernity into a site of pilgrimage and the whole thing is narrated by a ball floating six inches from a man's face. A vibe to say the least.
I’m kinda disappointed cuz the first half of the book was really good. It had a really promising first half but then just sorta fell off. Each chapter was somehow both connected and did it’s own thing at the same time. While I appreciated its messages about climate change, capitalism, greed, and etc the book lowkey didn’t have a story. Also everything about the ending felt really rushed. Like everything happens in the last like five chapters and it feels like it just happens out of nowhere and for what reason. Meh
While I don’t think I’ll ever love a book I read for school, simply due to the analytical lens you have to read through, this is one of the more enjoyable ones I’ve read. It’s pretty readable, with cute characters and funky narration. There’s a pigeon corps, weird bird sex, vampire rats, ginger clones with Texas accents, a guy who wears matching hats with the ball on his head, and only one reference to the atomic bomb. What more can you ask for?
I really enjoyed the magical realism aspect; it’s my favourite kind of stuff to write, but I rarely read it, and I’m glad I have a bit of it under my belt, now.
There’s also a lot of interesting stuff in here, obviously, about consumerism and the intoxication of capitalism, the environment and human destruction, good people with good intentions letting things get out of hand, science and religion, privilege, life, and a whole bunch of other things that I’m sure went over my head.
This was a good one, I think. It was gloriously weird, and manages to talk about serious stuff while being creative and delightful. It was pretty funny too, at times. I only wish I had Molly’s rainbow cover. :)
10/24/20 A year later and this book STILL HOLDS UP. It is still highly enjoyable, great to give presentations on, and the ball is still my favorite character. I cannot recommend this book enough - it made me actually talk in class for more than 2 seconds for once.
10/2/19 Through the Arc of the Rain Forest is probably the weirdest book I have ever read. And I adored every minute of it.
I had to read it for a class presentation, and it took me a while to read while having to do all of my other schoolwork too. For once in my life, I am genuinely excited to do a presentation. This book, these characters, this story lived in my head for weeks. I love them all so much.
Through the Arc of the Rain Forest is a wacky, amazing tale that shows the error of human ways, business, and continuous expansion. The book shows what can happen if we, as the human race, are not careful of our actions.
It shows what can happen if we do not protect the environment. It shows where we’re headed right now if we don’t do something.
While this book may have been written in 1990, it is still relevant today. With the Amazon Rainforest burning so much so recently, this book feels particularly applicable to our world today.
Now, when I say that this book is wacky, I mean it. The magical-realism and sci-fi aspects are strong all throughout the novel. And it WORKS. While a three-armed man, a man with a ball floating in front of his face, and a man who discovered that rubbing a feather against your ear can be healing seem absurd by themselves, put them all together and you’ve got yourself the magic that is this book.
Read this for an independent reading project for English, with my final being a book review, so I might as well use that here (though I'm not sure how appropriate that is, but I'll share it anyway)
Karen Yamashita’s Through the Arc of the Rain Forest: A Soap Opera Celebrating Hybridity and Warning Destruction
As fecund and rich as the Amazonian fauna and flora described between its pages, Karen Yamashita’s novel Through the Arc of the Rain Forest and its odd tale beautifully weaves together hybrid spaces, idosyncratic characters, the pressing issue of environmental destruction, and surreal magic. Yamashita’s 1990 debut is a memorable ouevre, of both timeless themes and contemporary discussions.
We follow various plotlines, but are mainly guided by the narration of Japanese Kazumasa’s ball, which orbits around him just a few inches away from his head. Pragmatic, efficient J.B. Tweep pulled GGG Enterprises into international financial success with his three arms as he took them abroad into the Brazilian heartland, to the geographical and cultural wonder of the Matacão to take advantage of its mystical power and scientific potential. Initially uncovered by Mané Pena—the man who also discovered the remedying effects of feathers by tickling one’s earlobe—it is later found out that this “plastic mantle,” Matacão, was a consolidation of nonbiodegradable material (Yamashita 89). It soon became the object of economic exploits as GGG harnessed the lucrative feather market and the capabilities of Matacão plastic. We also met Batista and Tania Aparecida Djapan, based in São Paulo, who gave birth to a booming international business of carrier pigeons. The economy’s increased focus on birds and their feathery products push the plastic, feather, and pigeon markets together, all centered around Matacão. Through it all, we see piety and steadfast faith spring up amongst the people as pilgrimages are forged under the symbol of Chico Paco, whose altruism and piety also bring him to Matacão. These complicated ties set the scene for our journey through the Amazon.
Most notably, Yamashita’s novel truly is beautiful in its density and richness. In the Author’s Note, Yamashita calls Through the Arc a kind of “Brazilian soap opera,” one that “occupies the imagination and national psyche of the Brazilian people on prime-time TV nightly and for periods of two or four months, depending on its popularity and success” (Yamashita). The satire and dramatics of the novel make it ridiculous at times, but that is what lends this story a vitality and legend-like quality that allows it to create a legacy. When readers can remember the theatrical way that a capitalist corporation—with the greed and ambition of individualistic actors, like J.B. Tweep, acting as catalysts—almost wiped out all of the Amazon’s biodiversity, how can that image not stick in the popular imagination? How can that warning not echo through generations? Through the Arc, in its theatricality and dramatic flair, forges a loud and bold voice with which to deliver Yamashita’s burning warning.
Perhaps revolutionarily, Yamashita also complicates narratives about the Asian diaspora, introducing conversations about Asian diaspora in Latin America through characters like Kazumasa and his cousin Hiroshi. A new perspective is brought in as we witness this hybrid Japanese-Latin American space, and the potential for international gaps to be bridged through the existence of Kazumasa's narrative. We learn about cultural dissonances and miscommunication, which are presented awkwardly, as in, “Lourdes imitated Kazumasa, tiptoeing around in bobby sock because she had once worked for a Japanese family who never wore shoes in the house. She thought Kazumasa must appreciate this detail about her work, but Kazumasa thought that maids in bobby socks came with apartments in Brazil” (Yamashita 32). But also universal symbols, as “Lourdes rubbed her thumb and forefinger together in front of Kazumasa’s face, assuming this mime to be an international sign for money. ‘Rich!’ she repeated. / ‘Rich,’ Kazumasa both nodded and shook his head” (Yamashita 32). These moments of compassion and common understanding flooded me with hope in our hybrid spaces and ability to connect and empathize despite cultural barrier.
Hybridity and the exploration of mutation also happens in the settings Yamashita conjures up, pushing us to reexamine the coexisting spaces of humans and nature. Consider the rainforest parking lot, where Yamashita presents us with the image of a magical harmony between artificiality and nature, “There was also discovered a new species of mouse, with prehensile tails, that burrowed in the exhaust pipes of all the vehicles [...] It was an ecological experiment unparalleled in the known world of nature” (Yamashita 88-89). Of course, mice in the real world have not developed special tails to adjust to parking lot living, but the mutation of nature is very much a possibility. Through clever hypotheticals in the book’s world, the author asks us to engage with the active ways nature changes and evolves in the presence of human activity.
Nevertheless, I must acquiesce to the skeptics and see things from their side. But I’ll say that I less so see weaknesses, and more so see ways that Through the Arc may lose its appeal to the broader audience. Because of its dramatic and maximalist nature, Through the Arc can understandably be a bit dense to digest. Often times, too many details regarding, for instance, the specific percentages of people’s initial reactions to the Matacão are not entirely necessary—“3 percent believed [it] was the work of the CIA [...] 13 percent believed [it] was a miracle from God,” and so on and so forth (84). For me, this detail is rather hilarious. Not only that, I would push back and say this sort of painstaking detail actually contributes to a hyperrealism that only helps reveal the very real possibility for the story’s environmental and interpersonal disasters to come true.
So it appears that in an attempt to point out weaknesses, I have failed and can only say I really have no criticisms to deliver. Despite its somewhat dated publication, Through the Arc of the Rain Forest deals with hybridity on all fronts, revealing both the beauty of fortuitous human connection and dangers on the frontier between man and nature, dishing out timeless messages about both love and climate change. We are transported “through the arc of the rain forest,” from a world dominated by the human, but imperialist, footprint on nature, and to its inevitable return back to its “lost perfection” (Yamashita 185). In many ways, following along Yamashita’s story arc, my faith has been restored in the natural way of things, and maybe…just maybe, the beauty of fate.
Because this review was for classroom purposes, it was a bit more structured than I would have liked; in reflection, I also felt like it was good practice to exercise my ability to more concisely share my opinion and condense in a fashion perhaps appropriate for publication or professional review-writing (I do not, at all, lay claim to the ability to professional write book reviews, just that this is a bit of a step closer than word-vomiting as I usually do). Anyway, I thought it a change of pace to warm me up for this summer's reading.
March was a hard month😭lemme think about it and write a review later
A tried and true magical realist novel that had great comments about ecological collapse and environmental plunder, but also humanly desires and unrealistic asks that in some ways come to life. I loved the telenovela structure embedded in the way the story was told. The Brazilian cultural immersion was really fun to read. The fantastical turns of events really reminded me of Julio Torre’s show Fantasmas. I felt that connection at the jump because of the humorous responses to dark and sometimes tragic events.
Very funny and very traumatising. It made me separate the plastic cups from the paper straws more carefully at the cafe. It also made me hate capitalism more :).
I had so much fun with the first half of the book and then it became sad and kinda terrifying. It is really well-constructed and made me a bit too conscious of the world we’re living in—even though this was magical realism. So so good!!
I was very confused throughout this book, but it kept my attention. It is an odd story which doesn’t make much sense and throws you off. Therefore, I do recommend this book, even though it is a silly and unbelievable story…
This novel is a unique piece of writing, different from what I usually read, but very enjoyable. It's not easy to pull off this kind of novel--it has little character development, it has a strong message about environmentalism and capitalism, and it's a satire. But in Karen Tei Yamashita's hands, it all comes together seamlessly. The characters are vivid and at home in her surreal rendition of our world. The message is clear, but not heavy-handed. And the satire is consistently clever.
Yamashita's writing style isn't my favorite, but this is one of those cases where I couldn't care less. This is a story best told in a clear, straightforward style, because its wackiness speaks for itself. She begins slowly with separate portraits of all the main characters, and gradually, they collide. Before long it's remarkable how layered the initially simple narrative has become. The complicated narrative represents our complicated world, where no one, not even a humble Brazilian peasant, can stumble across a natural resource without being dragged into the capitalist system and exploited by a corporation from hundreds of miles away.
The author employs a lot of fun symbolism. For example, J.B. Tweep, the businessman behind the success of American corporation GGG, was born with three arms. (Mind you, J.B. deliberately avoids becoming CEO, because as a figurehead, he knows he'd likely be forced to step down when controversy hits.) With his excess arm, he can work much more efficiently than the average employee. It's a clear, but fun, metaphor for privilege, written before the concept was mainstream.
Eventually, the intrusion of capitalism into the lives of everyday people, and into nature, has dire consequences. They are threefold, for the ecosystem, economy, and the characters' personal lives. The consequences of greed are many for both the poor and the greedy, and even J.B. Tweep's life is in ruin by the end. It may be 31 years old, but the novel doesn't feel remotely dated. In fact, these problems are increasingly more urgent, so maybe it is more relevant than ever.
Bizarre, lucid writing. Reminds me of a mix between Murakami, Pynchon (specifically, "Gravity's Rainbow"), and a pit of Heller ("Catch 22"). Very interesting author as well. Born in Oakland of Japanese parents, she traveled to Brazil to study Japanese immigration, lived in Sao Paolo for 9 years, and now teaches at UC Santa Cruz. Yamashita describes the complication of human society, the replacement of natural joys and resources with artificial ones, and (most importantly) EVERYONE'S complicity in the environment's destruction. However, the overpowering force of nature wins in the end, crumbling buildings that bear no trace whatsoever of humans. Read it.
Many readers compare this book to a Haruki Murakami or Tom Robbins novel due to the surreal plot, eccentric characters and socio-cultural commentary. Although the story was quite imaginative, the actual writing and language did not contain lyrical depth, and was rather very simple and straight forward, in contrast to the wild plot. We did not go too deep into the character's psyche or emotions, as they were just pawns to explain the greater commentary the author was trying to make. It was a unique and interesting plot, very entertaining and memorable, however lacked the true literary magic that is the voice of language.
Wonderfully weird and depressing in exactly my kind of way. It's interesting to study this with Americans because they'll say "Flexible accumulation has a lot of downsides" and my heart will start racing, I'll start to grin, a mild erection will occur and then they say "but there's a lot of good too" and I'll die inside a little instead.
Too stupid to fully understand all the deep sh*t going on in this book, but that’s life ig. Rip. It’s probably the funniest book I’ve ever read, though. I aspire to be this funny in writing and in conversation. I laughed so much I’ll never have to laugh again in my life. Yamashita really toes the balance between reality and comedy so well. But I think if I had to write an essay on it I would actually just pass away and not come back until 2027 (after I graduate).
Two quotes about J.B. Tweep, my favorite corporate three-armed capitalist cult leader:
“J.B. Tweep was in love. It was true he had known other women but never a French ornithologist with three breasts. Here, then, was that indescribable meeting of hearts and minds where two overqualified human beings find their romantic match. It was a dream come true. All those years, excelling from one job to the next, the satisfaction of a job overdone, which invariably soured into boredom, and the extraordinary chance to work for a company like GGG where the chances to extend the possibilities of overqualification were infinite—all of this no longer seemed to matter. Michelle. Michelle. Michelle. J.B. proclaimed his love in triplicate.”
“But Michelle was gone, and there was nothing J.B. could do about it. They had had a last irreparable argument about nature VS. technology. He had said unforgivable things about French breasts and culture and she about uncouth American arms. J.B. could not convince Michelle that birds reproduced on a production line were ultimately more valuable to mankind. “Just think of the jobs we would create!” he had exclaimed. J.B. remembered the horror in Michelle’s face. She would not even let him touch his own three babies. She threatened to get plastic surgery and donate her third breast to an organ bank.”
I found myself a little unsure about the last third of the book (though I love the ending). This book is so weird, and I'll admit I think part of what I was unsure about maybe was simply due to the context of my reading it during a pandemic.
Either way, this book is great, and I was unsure because I just read "I Hotel," which is an ambitious and fairly recent novel, while this is her first. But it held up, and I look forward to reading the rest.
This was playful. Talks about the environment and globalization. Everything seemed to escalate globally. Zoom out so far so that narrative could move fast.
The narrator is a ball "attached" to a Japanese Brazilian man Kazumasa. Omniscience has a presence here.
completely missed the blatantly obvious theme for like the first half of the book somehow but once i got it, i got it. really really good. i think my first magical realism read too which was super fun.