Saturday, March 26, 2011

I am a Japanese Writer, by Dany Laferriere

This is a wonderful novel, but it felt a bit odd to read.   I believe that's because I've grown accustomed to the mystery novels I tend toward during my business travel.   They are always linear, as readers of mysteries expect. Mr Laferriere's writing doesn't resolve conflict at the rate and pace of a mystery.

I fear I've confused the reader, so perhaps a small sample will help:

"I have a special way of cooking salmon.  It has nothing to do with the salmon itself. What's special is me. I put a very small amount of water in a pot with the juice of one lemon, thin slices of onion, fresh garlic, salt, pepper, hot chilis and a large ripe tomato that I crush, keeping only the juice. I boil everything together for no more than three minutes. I lower the heat to minimum and place the salmon in the sauce. Then I leave the kitchen and come back twenty minutes later to begin cooking the rice and the vegetables. But this time, I don't leave. I stand and watch the salmon simmering. For no good reason, I start worrying. About what? About everything. Why? I can't say. Don't worry about my worrying. I ask questions, then answer them myself to forget I'm alone. Otherwise, I'd be dead silent. It's incredible all the things you have to do just to maintain life. Right now, wave after wave of worry is washing in and threatening to drown me. I'm sweating anxiety. I start worrying about my mother, back home. I didn't like the way her voice sounded the last time we talked on the phone. Her small, frail voice. I know my mother's voice is never strong, but that time it was really alarming. That call dates back a month, but I'm only reacting now. I've been busy, it's true. Busy doing what? I don't remember. Right now, I don't have anything to do but watch my salmon simmering. She told me she wished I had a more secure job, and that makes me sad. Now, even after my fiftieth birthday, I still don't know what kind of writer I am. I hadn't thought of this before, but back home, what are they going to say about me having become a Japanese writer? I watch the salmon slowly firming up. I've ended up communicating my anxiety to the fish. Now I'll have to eat anxious salmon one more time. I don't even know if the anxiety comes from starting a new book or from becoming a Japanese writer. And there lies the fundamental question: what is a Japanese writer? Someone who lives and writes in Japan? Or someone who was born in Japan and writes in spite of it (there are nations that are happy without writing)? Or someone who was not born in Japan, who doesn't know the language, but who decided one fine day to become a Japanese writer? That's my situation. I have to get it through my head: I am a Japanese writer. As long as I'm not that naked writer who enters the forest of sentences with no weapon other than a kitchen knife."

3 comments:

Samantha said...

Maybe I should write my capstone paper in this style.

Carl Kessler said...

Um, Samantha, perhaps not though...

Ria said...

hahah funnily i rambled about this recently too on my blog. Here is a link if you are interested!http://riatarded.wordpress.com/books-that-tickle-my-fancy/
I must admit it was an odd read for starters but then i began to enjoy it. Thanks for sharing.