Yōko Tawada

Welcome to the not-too-distant future: Japan, having vanished from the face of the earth, is now remembered as “the land of sushi.” Hiruko, its former citizen and a climate refugee herself, has a job teaching immigrant children in Denmark with her invented language Panska (Pan-Scandinavian): “homemade language. no country to stay in. three countries I experienced. insufficient space in brain. so made new language. homemade language.” As she searches for anyone who can still speak her mother tongue, Hiruko soon makes new friends. Her troupe travels to France, encountering an umami cooking competition; a dead whale; an ultra-nationalist named Breivik; unrequited love; Kakuzo robots; red herrings; uranium; an Andalusian matador. Episodic and mesmerizing scenes flash vividly along, and soon they’re all next off to Stockholm.

Japan, after suffering from a massive irreparable disaster, cuts itself off from the world. Children are so weak they can barely stand or walk: the only people with any get-go are the elderly. Mumei lives with his grandfather Yoshiro, who worries about him constantly. They carry on a day-to-day routine in what could be viewed as a post-Fukushima time, with all the children born ancient—frail and gray-haired, yet incredibly compassionate and wise. Mumei may be enfeebled and feverish, but he is a beacon of hope, full of wit and free of self-pity and pessimism. Yoshiro concentrates on nourishing Mumei, a strangely wonderful boy who offers “the beauty of the time that is yet to come.” A delightful, irrepressibly funny book, The Emissary is filled with light. Yoko Tawada, deftly turning inside-out “the curse,” defies gravity and creates a playful joyous novel out of a dystopian one, with a legerdemain uniquely her own.

A collection of writings by the award-winning author includes fairy tales, family histories, letters, dreams, and everyday observations on such topics as the ghost of a burned woman, a woman traveling on the Trans-Siberian railroad, a mechanical doll, and a monk who leaps into his own reflection.

Yoshiro thinks he might never die. A hundred years old and counting, he is one of Japan's many 'old-elderly'; men and women who remember a time before the air and the sea were poisoned, before terrible catastrophe prompted Japan to shut itself off from the rest of the world. He may live for decades yet, but he knows his beloved great-grandson - born frail and prone to sickness - might not survive to adulthood. Day after day, it takes all of Yoshiro's sagacity to keep Mumei alive.As hopes for Japan's youngest generation fade, a secretive organisation embarks on an audacious plan to find a cure - might Yoshiro's great-grandson be the key to saving the last children of Tokyo?

A tale of passion and romance between a Japanese schoolteacher and a doglike man, from the prize-winning author of The Last Children of Tokyo. Mitsuko, a schoolteacher at the Kitamura school, inspires both rumour and curiosity in the parents of her students because of her unconventional manner - not least when she tells the children the fable of a princess whose hand in marriage is promised to a dog she is intimate with. And when a young man with sharp canine teeth turns up at the schoolteacher's home and declares he's 'here to stay', the romantic - and sexual- relationship that develops intrigues the community, some of whom have suspicions about the man's identity and motives. Masterfully turning the rules of folklore and fable on their head, The Bridegroom Was a Dog is a disarming and unforgettable modern classic.

Hiruko, from the now vanished archipelago 'somewhere between China and Polynesia', and her companions have searched in vain for someone who speaks her native language. They finally track down a sushi chef from the same nation, but he has apparently lost the power of speech. If Hiruko is ever to hear her mother tongue again, a sceptical aphasia specialist is her last hope.

Una deliciosa y bellísima fábula moderna protagonizada por tres osos que nos hablan de temas muy humanos. Esta es la historia de tres generaciones, las de la abuela, la madre y el hijo. Es una historia que recorre buena parte del siglo XX y los acontecimientos históricos que lo marcaron y que se desarrolla en varios países. Pero tiene una peculiaridad: sus tres protagonistas son osos polares, osos con raciocinio y sentimientos propios de los humanos, que actúan en circos o viven en zoos, pero que también escriben sus memorias. Y es que lo que Yoko Tawada ha hecho en este libro delicioso, bellísimo y fascinante es poner al día las fábulas de Esopo o Lafontaine. La novela arranca con la abuela, nacida en la Unión Soviética, que trabaja en un circo, escribe unas memorias que se convierten en best seller y se exilia en Canadá. Su hija Tosca, bailarina, se instala en la Alemania del Este en la época del muro de Berlín, se dedica también al circo y mantiene una estrecha relación con su entrenadora Barbara, emocionalmente frágil. El hijo de Tosca, Knut, nace en el zoo de Berlín, está muy unido a su cuidador, Matthias, y se convierte en una estrella, aunque no todo es tan maravilloso como parece... Y un dato interesante: tanto el personaje de Knut como el de su madre están basados en osos reales; el cachorro Knut se convirtió en la sensación del zoo de Berlín e incluso fue fotografiado por Annie Leibovitz para una portada de Vanity Fair. El lector tiene en sus manos un libro singular, sorprendente y rebosante de gran literatura. Un libro protagonizado por osos que nos habla de cómo somos los seres humanos y de los avatares de nuestra historia reciente, de cómo nos comunicamos, cómo sentimos, cómo nos relacionamos con nuestro entorno, y también de nuestros anhelos y pesares.

自分を包んでいる母語の響きからちょっと外に出てみると，どんな文学世界が展けるのか．ドイツ語の作家として，また日本語の作家として旺盛な創作活動を展開する著者が，言語の越境という自らの文学の本質的テーマに真正面から切り込んだ革新的エッセイ集．（エクソフォニーとはドイツ語で，母語の外に出た状態一般を指す．）

A moving story about friendship, illness, and the poetry of Paul Celan, described as “bewitching” (Judith von Sternberg, Frankfurter Rundschau) and “incredibly dreamlike... a brilliant literary event” (Torsten Flüh, Night Out @ Berlin). Patrik, who sometimes calls himself “the patient,” is a literary researcher living in Berlin. The city is just coming back to life, and his beloved opera houses are open again, but Patrik cannot leave the house and hardly manages to get out of bed. When he shaves his head, his girlfriend says to him, “What have you done to your head? I don’t want to be with a prisoner from a concentration camp!” He is supposed to give a paper at a conference in Paris, on the poetry collection Threadsuns by Paul Celan, but he can’t manage to get past the first question on the registration “What is your nationality?” Then at a café (or in the memory of being at a café?), he meets a mysterious stranger. The man’s name is Leo-Eric Fu, and somehow he already knows Patrik… In the spirit of imaginative homage like Roberto Bolano’s Monsieur Pain, Antonio Tabucchi’s Requiem, and Thomas Bernhard’s Wittgenstein’s Nephew, Yoko Tawada’s mesmerizing new novel unfolds like a lucid dream in which friendship, conversation, reading, poetry, and music are the connecting threads that bind us together.

Memoirs of a Polar Bear stars three generations of talented writers and performers―who happen to be polar bears. Three generations (grandmother, mother, son) of polar bears are famous as both circus performers and writers in East Germany: they are polar bears who move in human society, stars of the ring and of the literary world. In chapter one, the grandmother matriarch in the Soviet Union accidentally writes a bestselling autobiography. In chapter two, Tosca, her daughter (born in Canada, where her mother had emigrated) moves to the DDR and takes a job in the circus. Her son―the last of their line―is Knut, born in chapter three in a Leipzig zoo but raised by a human keeper in relatively happy circumstances in the Berlin zoo, until his keeper, Matthias, is taken away... Happy or sad, each bear writes a story, enjoying both celebrity and “the intimacy of being alone with my pen.”

Yoshiro is een van de vele bejaarden in Japan die alsmaar ouder worden. Mannen en vrouwen die zich de tijd nog kunnen herinneren van voor de verschrikkelijke ramp. De ramp die de lucht en de zee vergiftigde, en die de jongere generaties steeds zwakker maakt. Zoals zijn geliefde, fragiele achterkleinkind Mumei. Hij zal mogelijk nooit volwassen worden. Elke dag vraagt het in leven houden van Mumei al Yoshiro’s scherpzinnigheid en vindingrijkheid. Ondertussen werkt een geheime organisatie aan een vermetel plan om een oplossing te vinden. Speelt Mumei een sleutelrol bij de redding van de laatste kinderen van Tokyo? Deze satirische en hoopvolle roman over de toekomst van de mensheid is even briljant als vervreemdend en laat ons nadenken over waar we met deze wereld naartoe gaan.

The highly anticipated new novel from award-winning, critically acclaimed novelist Yoko Tawada.Patrik is a literary researcher living in Berlin, a city just coming back to life after lockdown. Though his beloved opera houses are open again, Patrik cannot leave the house and hardly manages to get out of bed.He is supposed to give a paper at a conference in Paris, on the poetry collection Threadsuns by Paul Celan, but he can't get past the first question on the registration 'What is your nationality?'As Patrik attempts to find a connection in a world that constantly overwhelms him, he meets a mysterious stranger. The man's name is Leo-Eric Fu, and somehow he already knows Patrik . . .Yoko Tawada's mesmerizing new novel unfolds like a lucid dream in which the solace of friendship, reading, conversation, music - of seeing and being seen - is examined and celebrated.Spontaneous Acts reaches out to all of us who find meaning and even obsession in the words of those before us.Previous praise for 'Every Yoko Tawada novel pulls the ground out from under us, but gives us new senses in return.' Madeleine Thien, author of Do Not Say We Have Nothing'Something about the way Tawada writes . . . allows the reader to take the most surreal and fantastical elements of the work completely seriously.' Lucy Scholes'Tawada writes beautifully about unbearable things.' Sara Baume, author of Spill Simmer Falter Wither

A precocious Vietnamese high school student — known as the pupil with “the iron blouse”—in Ho Chi Minh City is invited to an International Youth Conference in East Berlin. But, in East Berlin, as she is preparing to present her paper in Russian on “Vietnam as a Victim of American Imperialism,” she is abruptly kidnapped and taken to a small town in West Germany. After a strange spell of domestic-sexual boredom with her lover-abductor—and though “the Berlin Wall was said to be more difficult to break through than the Great Wall of China” — she escapes on a train to Moscow . . . but mistakenly arrives in Paris. Alone, broke, and in a completely foreign land, Anh (her false name) loses herself in the films of Catherine Deneuve as her real adventures begin. Dreamy, meditative, and filled with the gritty everyday perils of a person living somewhere without papers (at one point Anh is subjected to some vampire-like skin experiments), The Naked Eye is a novel that is as surprising as it is delightful—each of the thirteen chapters titled after and framed by one of Deneuve’s films. “As far as I was concerned,” the narrator says while watching Deneuve on the screen, “the only woman in the world was you, and so I did not exist.” By the time 1989 comes along and the Iron Curtain falls, story and viewer have morphed into the dislocating beauty of both dancer and dance.

Mamoru wakes up at 9am in Berlin, eats breakfast, and then sets off to teach a Japanese language class, carrying a sashimi knife in his bag. At this moment in New York, Manfred lurches from a dream where a fisherman was about to gut him he wakes just in time to make his morning work-out. Meanwhile, Michael is preparing to go to the late-night gym in Tokyo, thinking of a man he met in Berlin only weeks before. Tawada's story follows the three men Mamoru, Manfred and Michael as they move through their lives on different sides of the globe. Though thousands of miles apart, odd moments of synchronicity form between these characters, the narrative shifting from one perspective to another as the three men's lives momentarily align and diverge. Here, modernity is rendered textual as Tawada explores the strange nature of human connection in a globalized, technologized world, and discovers what this means for contemporary storytelling. Translated by Jeffrey Angles. Design by Glen Robinson.

An electrifying new side of the National Book Award Winner Yoko Tawada: her first book of essays in English. I am trying to learn, with my tongue, sounds that are unfamiliar to me. A foreign-sounding word learned out of curiosity is not “imitation” per se. All of these things I learn leave traces that slowly grow to coexist with my accent. And that balancing act goes on changing indefinitely. How perfect that Yoko Tawada’s first essay in English dives deep into her lifelong fascination with the possibilities opened up by cross-hybridizing languages. Tawada famously writes in both Japanese and German, but her interest in language reaches beyond any mere dichotomy. The term “exophonic,” which she first heard in Senegal, has a special allure for the author: “I was already familiar with similar terms, 'immigrant literature,’ or ‘creole literature,’ but ‘exophonic’ had a much broader meaning, referring to the general experience of existing outside of one’s mother tongue.” Tawada revels in explorations of cross-cultural and intra-language possibilities (and along the way deals several nice sharp raps to the primacy of English). The accent here, as in her fiction, is the art of drawing closer to the world through defamiliarization. Never entertaining a received thought, Tawada seeks the still-to-be-discovered truths, as well as what might possibly be invented entirely whole cloth. Exophony opens a new vista into Yoko Tawada’s world, and delivers more of her signature erudite wit―at once cross-grained and generous, laser-focused and multidimensional, slyly ironic and warmly companionable.

«Uten aksent» er Yoko Tawadas essays om språkets muligheter og begrensninger gjennom ordlek og språklige misforståelser. Tawada er bosatt i Berlin, og som tospråklig utforsker hun både japansk og tysk virkelighet med en utenforståendes syn. Hun skriver om europeisk kultur med kritisk blikk, samtidig som hun reflekterer over sine egne japanske røtter med fornyet perspektiv. "Uten aksent" er en underfundig og humoristisk samling essays, og Tawada får leseren til å se med undring på det vi trodde var kjent.

The always astonishing Yoko Tawada here takes a walk on the supernatural side of the street. In “Kollwitzstrasse,” as the narrator muses on former East Berlin’s new bourgeois health food stores, so popular with the wealthy young people, a ghost boy begs her to buy him the old-fashioned sweets he craves. She worries that sugar’s still sugar—but why lecture him, since he’s already dead? Then white feathers fall from her head and she seems to be turning into a crane . . . Pure white kittens and a great Russian poet haunt “Majakowskiring”: the narrator who reveres Mayakovsky’s work is delighted to meet his ghost. And finally, in “Pushkin Allee,” a huge Soviet-era memorial of soldiers comes to life—and, “for a scene of carnage everything was awfully well-ordered.” Each of these stories glows, and opens up into new dimensions the work of this magisterial writer.