amalgama's Book Journey

“The world that exists behind a story is never fully known, not even to the author. That is what I had in mind as I created this. I hope you have enjoyed reading this memento of a story that has ended.”

It’s unusual to start a review with a quote from the book’s acknowledgements, but I feel like this quote really captures the spirit of the novel. Strange Weather in Tokyo is a memory, a brief glimpse: we open a window into the characters’ lives, get an unfiltered look at their world and inner feelings, and then close that window again, gently. There is no big plot, no emotional catharsis or epiphanies: there is just life, as complex, subtle and unexplained as it actually is.

Our protagonist, Tsukiko, is lonely in every possible way. She is literally alone: she lives alone and spends her free time mostly alone. She is also emotionally alone: she does not have friends nor family whom she feels emotionally connected to. And, as a single Japanese woman in her thirties with no intention of marrying nor of developing her “wifey skills” (e.g. cooking), she is also alone in a social sense: she exists outside of social expectations and traditional narratives of what her life should look like.

Tsukiko is also very detached from her own emotions: she often knows how she’s feeling, but not why or what it means. Because we are inside her head, we feel all of her contained, confusing yet sincere emotions, and also follow her in rare moments of emotional clarity. I think this is what makes her such a compelling protagonist: she doesn’t try to hide her thoughts or feelings, not from the reader nor from herself, but she simply doesn’t know how to interpret them or act on them. This tension is what gives the story momentum.

This tension is also what opens up a space in Tsukiko's life for Sensei's presence. Her old school teacher, Sensei is now in his seventies and just as lonely as Tsukiko (literally, emotionally and socially), but much more experienced due to his age. Tsukiko and Sensei connect because they understand the kind of loneliness the other one is experiencing, and the fact that they are in such different life stages makes it so that they have nothing to hide from each other. What could they possibly have in common, other than their past teacher-student relationship? Why would Tsukiko care about a seventy-year-old man who isn’t related to her in any way?

In my opinion, it is this apparent lack of connection that makes it possible for Tsukiko and Sensei to connect: they don’t want anything from each other, they can hardly influence each other’s lives in ways that matter to the rest of society, and that gives them a special kind of freedom that is hard to find in Japanese society. Whether their connection is romantic, familial, platonic, or something else entirely, doesn’t really matter: this is simply a story about two people who, at a specific point in their lives, are able to give each other a kind of comfort and understanding they can’t get from anyone else.

I really loved this. The writing is seemingly simple yet packed with meaning, just like the story: nothing much really happens, yet the emotions and inner worlds of the characters are rich, layered and compelling. The novel is structured as a series of vignettes, and each chapter reads almost like a short story. The structure works perfectly with the story and mirrors Tsukiko’s flowing, uneven emotional world. I’m looking forward to picking this one out of my shelf here and there to briefly glimpse back into Tsukiko's life and reread my favourite chapters.

So, all of that being said, would I recommend this novel? Well, yes and no. Like I said at the start of this review, you won’t find much plot or big cathartic moments here: this is a very slow story focused on Tsukiko’s inner life and her relationship with Sensei, where often what is left unsaid is just as important (if not more) than what is explicitly stated on the page. In my opinion, this is Japanese literary fiction at its best, full of sincere emotions and subtle writing, but it definitely won’t be for everyone.

“The world that exists behind a story is never fully known, not even to the author. That is what I had in mind as I created this. I hope you have enjoyed reading this memento of a story that has ended.”

It’s unusual to start a review with a quote from the book’s acknowledgements, but I feel like this quote really captures the spirit of the novel. Strange Weather in Tokyo is a memory, a brief glimpse: we open a window into the characters’ lives, get an unfiltered look at their world and inner feelings, and then close that window again, gently. There is no big plot, no emotional catharsis or epiphanies: there is just life, as complex, subtle and unexplained as it actually is.

Our protagonist, Tsukiko, is lonely in every possible way. She is literally alone: she lives alone and spends her free time mostly alone. She is also emotionally alone: she does not have friends nor family whom she feels emotionally connected to. And, as a single Japanese woman in her thirties with no intention of marrying nor of developing her “wifey skills” (e.g. cooking), she is also alone in a social sense: she exists outside of social expectations and traditional narratives of what her life should look like.

Tsukiko is also very detached from her own emotions: she often knows how she’s feeling, but not why or what it means. Because we are inside her head, we feel all of her contained, confusing yet sincere emotions, and also follow her in rare moments of emotional clarity. I think this is what makes her such a compelling protagonist: she doesn’t try to hide her thoughts or feelings, not from the reader nor from herself, but she simply doesn’t know how to interpret them or act on them. This tension is what gives the story momentum.

This tension is also what opens up a space in Tsukiko's life for Sensei's presence. Her old school teacher, Sensei is now in his seventies and just as lonely as Tsukiko (literally, emotionally and socially), but much more experienced due to his age. Tsukiko and Sensei connect because they understand the kind of loneliness the other one is experiencing, and the fact that they are in such different life stages makes it so that they have nothing to hide from each other. What could they possibly have in common, other than their past teacher-student relationship? Why would Tsukiko care about a seventy-year-old man who isn’t related to her in any way?

In my opinion, it is this apparent lack of connection that makes it possible for Tsukiko and Sensei to connect: they don’t want anything from each other, they can hardly influence each other’s lives in ways that matter to the rest of society, and that gives them a special kind of freedom that is hard to find in Japanese society. Whether their connection is romantic, familial, platonic, or something else entirely, doesn’t really matter: this is simply a story about two people who, at a specific point in their lives, are able to give each other a kind of comfort and understanding they can’t get from anyone else.

I really loved this. The writing is seemingly simple yet packed with meaning, just like the story: nothing much really happens, yet the emotions and inner worlds of the characters are rich, layered and compelling. The novel is structured as a series of vignettes, and each chapter reads almost like a short story. The structure works perfectly with the story and mirrors Tsukiko’s flowing, uneven emotional world. I’m looking forward to picking this one out of my shelf here and there to briefly glimpse back into Tsukiko's life and reread my favourite chapters.

So, all of that being said, would I recommend this novel? Well, yes and no. Like I said at the start of this review, you won’t find much plot or big cathartic moments here: this is a very slow story focused on Tsukiko’s inner life and her relationship with Sensei, where often what is left unsaid is just as important (if not more) than what is explicitly stated on the page. In my opinion, this is Japanese literary fiction at its best, full of sincere emotions and subtle writing, but it definitely won’t be for everyone.