Here’s to all the memories of the very few Japanese fiction books I have had my nose stuck in so far and my upcoming autoethnographic journey into Japanese short stories.
Kitchen book cover (n.d.)
I first picked up a copy of Kitchenby Banana Yoshimoto eight years ago, when I was bored out of my wits at a sleepover at my cousins’. I barely remember the details of that story now—other than that it is a short window into the life of a make-shift family of a young orphan, her friend and his transgender mother—but the afterward melancholic feeling and indescribable afterthought, so alien to a thirteen-year-old back then, still surfaces so vividly at any sight of the book cover.
Such emotional discomfort stimulated by that first encounter with Japanese literature had me steering clear from the genre during my entire early teenage years…
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