I had to read this stream-of-consciousness novel twice for the full flavor of this gloomy yet poetic narrative that reminds me of MRS DALLOWAY more than any other novel I ever read (and I had to read that one several times–though I was only 15 then). Perhaps the best means of entry into the fullness of the protagonist Kazu’s narrative is the telling line: “The calendar separates today from yesterday and tomorrow, but in life there is no distinguishing past, present, and future.”
The reader quickly learns that Kazu’s life has been remarkably unremarkable until he ends up, or sets out, as a homeless senior in Ueno Park. On his peregrinations through the park, he repeats the conversations of strangers as if their chatter has the same value to his life as his reflections on the ways he failed his family, the drawbacks of his jobs, his ancestors’ Buddhist sect, and his relationships with other homeless people.
The narrative somersaults through Kazu’s memory and sensory perceptions along with Japanese historical events from imperial births to battles to tsunamis. I fathomed no discernible cause-and-effect with regard to the piecing together of this fractured (perhaps fractal) narrative, though there may well be one that loiters beyond the understanding of readers from a different culture.
My first read of this book was to value it as a representation of modern Japanese culture from a unique perspective. Some elements struck me as consistent with contemporary western ways and some were radically eye-opening–funeral rites for example. Only the second read threw up the complexity of the narrative and its linguistic artistry. While Kazu searches for meaning in his life, jeopardy flows over him and through him in the symbols of the ticking clock, rain, roses, and cicada song.

Yu Miri’s vision is to be envied as she renders Kazu’s deepest thoughts in poetry.

His enlightenment when it arrives is a perfect image of the yellow of gingko leaves pouring into his eyes like paint dissolving in water.