This is a quote from the book Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori.
Quote by Sayaka Murata, “And I probably infect others with the way I speak too. Infecting each other like this is how we maintain ourselves as human is what I think.”
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
If you’re interested, you can read an excerpt from the book here.
Convenience Store Woman – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Keiko Furukura had always been considered a strange child, and her parents always worried how she would get on in the real world, so when she takes on a job in a convenience store while at university, they are delighted for her. For her part, in the convenience store she finds a predictable world mandated by the store manual, which dictates how the workers should act and what they should say, and she copies her coworkers’ style of dress and speech patterns so that she can play the part of a normal person.
However, eighteen years later, at age 36, she is still in the same job, has never had a boyfriend, and has only few friends. She feels comfortable in her life, but is aware that she is not living up to society’s expectations and causing her family to worry about her. When a similarly alienated but cynical and bitter young man comes to work in the store, he will upset Keiko’s contented stasis—but will it be for the better?
Sayaka Murata brilliantly captures the atmosphere of the familiar convenience store that is so much part of life in Japan. With some laugh-out-loud moments prompted by the disconnect between Keiko’s thoughts and those of the people around her, she provides a sharp look at Japanese society and the pressure to conform, as well as penetrating insights into the female mind. Convenience Store Woman is a fresh, charming portrait of an unforgettable heroine that recalls Banana Yoshimoto, Han Kang, and Amélie.
This is an excerpt from the book Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori.
“My present self is formed almost completely of the people around me. I am currently made up of 30 percent Mrs. Izumi, 30 percent Sugawara, 20 percent the manager, and the rest absorbed from past colleagues such as Sasaki, who left six months ago, and Okasaki, who was our supervisor until a year ago.
My speech is especially infected by everyone around me and is currently a mix of that of Mrs. Izumi and Sugawara. I think the same goes for most people. When some of Sugawara’s band members came into the store recently they all dressed and spoke just like her. After Mrs. Izumi came, Sasaki started sounding just like her when she said, “Good job, see you tomorrow!” Once a woman who had gotten on well with Mrs. Izumi at her previous store came to help out, and she dressed so much like Mrs. Izumi I almost mistook the two. And I probably infect others with the way I speak too. Infecting each other like this is how we maintain ourselves as human is what I think.
Outside work Mrs. Izumi is rather flashy, but she dresses the way normal women in their thirties do, so I take cues from the brand of shoes she wears and the label of the coats in her locker. Once she left her makeup bag lying around in the back room and I took a peek inside and made a note of the cosmetics she uses. People would notice if I copied her exactly, though, so what I do is read blogs by people who wear the same clothes she does and go for the other brands of clothes and kinds of shawls they talk about buying. Mrs. Izumi’s clothes, accessories, and hairstyles always strike me as the model of what a woman in her thirties should be wearing.
As we were chatting in the back room, her gaze suddenly fell on the ballet flats I was wearing. “Oh, those shoes are from that shop in Omotesando, aren’t they? I like that place too. I have some boots from there.” In the back room she speaks in a languid drawl, the end of her words slightly drawn out. I bought these flats after checking the brand name of the shoes she wears for work while she was in the toilet.
“Oh really? Wait do you mean those dark blue ones you wore to the shop before? Those were cute!” I answer, copying Sugawara’s speech pattern, but using a slightly more adult tone. Her speech is a rather excitable staccato, the exact opposite of Mrs. Izumi’s, but mixing the two styles works surprisingly well.
“We’ve got quite similar tastes, haven’t we? I like your bag too,” Mrs. Izumi said with a smile.
It’s only natural that my tastes would match hers since I’m copying her. I’m sure everyone must see me as someone with an age-appropriate bag and a manner of speech that has a perfect sense of distance without being reserved or rude.
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
Convenience Store Woman – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Keiko Furukura had always been considered a strange child, and her parents always worried how she would get on in the real world, so when she takes on a job in a convenience store while at university, they are delighted for her. For her part, in the convenience store she finds a predictable world mandated by the store manual, which dictates how the workers should act and what they should say, and she copies her coworkers’ style of dress and speech patterns so that she can play the part of a normal person.
However, eighteen years later, at age 36, she is still in the same job, has never had a boyfriend, and has only few friends. She feels comfortable in her life, but is aware that she is not living up to society’s expectations and causing her family to worry about her. When a similarly alienated but cynical and bitter young man comes to work in the store, he will upset Keiko’s contented stasis—but will it be for the better?
Sayaka Murata brilliantly captures the atmosphere of the familiar convenience store that is so much part of life in Japan. With some laugh-out-loud moments prompted by the disconnect between Keiko’s thoughts and those of the people around her, she provides a sharp look at Japanese society and the pressure to conform, as well as penetrating insights into the female mind. Convenience Store Woman is a fresh, charming portrait of an unforgettable heroine that recalls Banana Yoshimoto, Han Kang, and Amélie.
This month, August, is a chance to celebrate women in translation, specifically women authors who’s works have been translated. There’s so much good translated literature out there. For this month, I’ll be sharing some inspiration from women authors all around the world who have had their work translated into English.
I know a lot of people read works translated from English (or other languages) into their own language. There’s so much important translation work that needs to be done to make works more accessible to the world. But since I only read in English, I’m going to be highlighting works that have been translated into English.
For two weeks, this and last, I want to highlight classic works of literature from around the world that have been translated into English. I’m breaking it into two parts, the first (last week) was from European authors, and this week will be from all around the world.
When I was doing research for these posts, there were far more classics translated from European authors. I guess it’s not much of a surprise, especially with the English-speaking world’s connection with Europe, but it does show a discrepancy in the availability of classics from all areas of the world.
There are numerous reasons why there are far fewer translations from outside of Europe. From colonial impacts encouraged by the delusional belief of Western supremacy, to local cultures or traditions that might have leaned more towards oral storytelling instead of written.
Whenever I think about the stories and literature lost to time, I’m so saddened by the understanding that there’s so much we’re missing out on. There are so many individuals who had stories to tell or could’ve created incredible works of art that never got the chance due to lack of funds or opportunities. Maybe they were able to create for those around them, those they loved or just for themselves, and maybe that’s enough.
I guess what breaks my heart is that we’ll never have a clear understanding of all people at that time, only those with privilege or power have remained. There are so many perspectives, thoughts, and understandings throughout history that have been lost and now we can only imagine what they might be.
That’s why I think it’s important to seek out different perspectives. There may not be as many translated works from certain areas of the world, but those that exist are valuable and important.
I’ve selected books from all over the world covering Asia, Latin America, and Africa. But this is only a list of five books, so it’s just a tiny selection of all the books out there.
Think of this as a jumping off point, or a source of inspiration to look for more modern classic books in translation from around the world.
Five translated modern classic books by women around the world
Here’s a list of five translated classic books with women authors from around the world.
A Riot of Goldfish / 金魚撩乱 by Kanoko Okamoto / 岡本かの子 (1937) Japan
Selected Poems of Gabriela Mistral by Gabriela Mistral (1941) Chile
Love in a Fallen City / 傾城之戀 by Eileen Chang / 張愛玲 (1946) China
Pinjar: The Skeleton and Other Stories / ਪਿੰਜਰ by Amrita Pritam (1950) India
So Long a Letter / Une si longue lettre by Mariama Bâ (1979) Senegal
Keep reading to find out more about each one. I’ve listed them in order of when they were published.
A Riot of Goldfish / 金魚撩乱, Kingyo ryōran (1937) – Japan
by Kanoko Okamoto / 岡本かの子, Translated from the Japanese by J. Keith Vincent
Year Published: 1937
Storygraph Categories: fiction, short stories, lighthearted, reflective, slow-paced
Okamoto was an active member of the feminist group Bluestockings (青踏社, Seitōsha)
In early 20th-century Japan, the son of lower-class goldfish sellers falls in love with the beautiful daughter of his rich patron. After he is sent away to study the science of goldfish breeding, with strict orders to return and make his patron’s fortune, he vows to devote his life to producing one ideal, perfect goldfish specimen to reflect his loved-one’s beauty. This poignant and deft tale is presented along with the story of a pauper from Kyoto who teaches himself to be an accomplished chef.
Gabriela Mistral was the first Latin American ever to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature
Gabriela Mistral was the pseudonym of Lucila Godoy Alcayaga
Gabriela Mistral was the first Latin American ever to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature, and her works are among the finest in all contemporary poetry. She is loved and honored throughout the world as one of the great humanistic voices of our time.
This bilingual edition of selected poems was translated and edited by Doris Dana, a close personal friend with whom Gabriela lived and worked with prior to her death in 1957. These translations give a profound insight into the original poetry of this greatest of contemporary Latin American women. They were selected from her four major works ‘Desolación’, ‘Ternura’, ‘Tala’, and ‘Lagar’.
by Eileen Chang / 張愛玲, Translated from the Chinese by Karen S. Kingsbury
Year Published: 1946 English version in 2006
Storygraph Categories: fiction, classics, short stories, emotional, mysterious, reflective, slow-paced
Eileen Chang is one of the great writers of twentieth-century China, where she enjoys a passionate following both on the mainland and in Taiwan. At the heart of Chang’s achievement is her short fiction—tales of love, longing, and the shifting and endlessly treacherous shoals of family life. Written when Chang was still in her twenties, these extraordinary stories combine an unsettled, probing, utterly contemporary sensibility, keenly alert to sexual politics and psychological ambiguity, with an intense lyricism that echoes the classics of Chinese literature. Love in a Fallen City, the first collection in English of this dazzling body of work, introduces American readers to the stark and glamorous vision of a modern master.
Brought together in this volume are two of the most moving novels by one of India’s greatest women writers The Skeleton and The Man. The Skeleton, translated from Punjabi into English by Khushwant Singh, is memorable for its lyrical style and depth in her writing. Amrita Pritam portrays the most inmost being of the novel s complex characters. The Man is a compelling account of a young man born under strange circumstances and abandoned at the altar of God.
Focuses on the condition of women in Western African society (post-colonial times)
Won the first Noma Award for Publishing in Africa in 1980
So Long a Letter is a sequence of reminiscences, some wistful, some bitter, recounted by Senegalese school teacher Ramatoulaye, who has recently been widowed. The letter, addressed to her old friend Aissatou, is a record of her emotional struggle for survival after her husband’s abrupt decision to take a second wife. Although sanctioned by Islam, his action is a calculated betrayal of her trust and a brutal rejection of their life together. The novel is a perceptive testimony to the plight of those articulate women who live in social milieux dominated by attitudes and values that deny them their proper place.
I hope you found something of interest in this list of classic translated books written by women from around the world.
I’m always looking for more suggestions of books to read. If you have a favourite translated classic book written by a woman, please feel free to share it in a comment below!
Have you read any of these books? What did you think of the book?
I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below.
This is a quote from the book If Cats Disappeared From the World by Genki Kawamura, translated by Eric Selland.
Quote by Genki Kawamura, “Love has to end. That’s all. And even though everyone knows it they still fall in love. I guess it’s the same with life. We all know it has to end someday, but even so we act as if we’re going to live forever. Like love, life is beautiful because it has to end.”
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
If you’re interested, you can read an excerpt from the book here.
If Cats Disappeared From the World – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Our narrator’s days are numbered. Estranged from his family, living alone with only his cat Cabbage for company, he was unprepared for the doctor’s diagnosis that he has only months to live. But before he can set about tackling his bucket list, the Devil appears with a special offer: in exchange for making one thing in the world disappear, he can have one extra day of life. And so begins a very bizarre week . . .
Because how do you decide what makes life worth living? How do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? In dealing with the Devil our narrator will take himself – and his beloved cat – to the brink. Genki Kawamura’s If Cats Disappeared from the World is a story of loss and reconciliation, of one man’s journey to discover what really matters in modern life.
This is an excerpt from the book If Cats Disappeared From the World by Genki Kawamura, translated by Eric Selland.
In my dream the man says, “Life is a tragedy when seen in close-up, but a comedy in long-shot.” The little tramp wears a silk hat and an oversized suit, twirling his walking stick as he approaches. I’ve always been moved by these words. When I first heard them and even more so now. I want to tell him how important theyare to me but I can’t get the words out.
The little man continues: “There’s something just as inevitable as death. And that’s life.”
Yes, I get it! For the first time I understand the significance of these words, now that I’m so close to death. Life and death have the same weight. My problem is just that for me the scales are starting to tip more toward the latter.
Until now I’d been living as best I could, and I don’t think I was doing too badly. But now, all I seem to have left is regrets. It feels like my life is gradually being crushed by the overwhelming weight of death.
The man in the suit seems to know what I’m thinking and comes over, stroking his little toothbrush mustache. “What do you want meaning for? Life is desire, not meaning. Life is a beautiful, magnificent thing, even to a jellyfish.”
That must be it. It has to be. Life has meaning for everything, even a jellyfish or a pebble by the side of the road. Even your appendix must exist for a reason.
So what does it mean when I make something disappear from the world? Isn’t that an unforgivable crime? With the meaning of my own life so up in the air, I’m beginning to wonder whether I might actually be worth less than a jellyfish.
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
Cats Disappeared From the World – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Our narrator’s days are numbered. Estranged from his family, living alone with only his cat Cabbage for company, he was unprepared for the doctor’s diagnosis that he has only months to live. But before he can set about tackling his bucket list, the Devil appears with a special offer: in exchange for making one thing in the world disappear, he can have one extra day of life. And so begins a very bizarre week . . .
Because how do you decide what makes life worth living? How do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? In dealing with the Devil our narrator will take himself – and his beloved cat – to the brink. Genki Kawamura’s If Cats Disappeared from the World is a story of loss and reconciliation, of one man’s journey to discover what really matters in modern life.
This is a quote from the book The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa, translated by Stephen Snyder.
Quote by Yōko Ogawa, “Everything outside is completely different from when you came here. The snow has changed everything.”
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
If you’re interested, you can read an excerpt from the book here.
The Memory Police – Summary
Here is the book summary:
On an unnamed island off an unnamed coast, objects are disappearing: first hats, then ribbons, birds, roses—until things become much more serious. Most of the island’s inhabitants are oblivious to these changes, while those few imbued with the power to recall the lost objects live in fear of the draconian Memory Police, who are committed to ensuring that what has disappeared remains forgotten.
When a young woman who is struggling to maintain her career as a novelist discovers that her editor is in danger from the Memory Police, she concocts a plan to hide him beneath her floorboards. As fear and loss close in around them, they cling to her writing as the last way of preserving the past.
A surreal, provocative fable about the power of memory and the trauma of loss, The Memory Police is a stunning new work from one of the most exciting contemporary authors writing in any language.
This is an excerpt from the book The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa, translated by Stephen Snyder.
It snowed again that night. I found I wasn’t at all sleepy, wired from the stress of the afternoon and the strange drink. I took out my manuscript, thinking I would make some progress on my novel, but not a single word came to mind. In the end, I sat by the window and watched the snow through the gap in the curtains.
After some time, I moved aside the dictionary and thesaurus on my desk and pulled out the funnel hidden behind them that we had rigged as a speaker.
“Are you asleep yet?” I asked, my voice hesitant and quiet.
“No, not yet,” R answered, and I could hear the mattress springs squeaking. The funnel in the hidden room was mounted on the wall next to his bed. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing in particular,” I said. “I just can’t sleep.”
The funnel was made of aluminum, dented and quite old. Though I had washed it carefully, it retained a faint odor of spices from its days in the kitchen.
“It’s snowing again,” I told him.
“Is that so? It must be getting deep.”
“It is,” I said. “This is an unusual year.”
“It’s hard to believe it’s snowing just outside the wall here.”
I liked the sound of R’s voice through the makeshift speakers. Like a spring bubbling up far below me. As it traversed the long rubber tube between the two funnels, all unnecessary sounds faded away, leaving only the soft, transparent liquid of his voice. I pressed my ear against the funnel, unwilling to waste even a single drop.
“Sometimes I put my hand on the wall and try to imagine what’s going on outside. It almost seems as though I can sense it—the direction of the wind, the cold, the damp, where you are, the sound of the river, all the vague signs. But in the end, it never words. The wall is just a wall. There’s nothing on the other side, no connection to anything else. This room is completely closed off. All my effort only serves to convince me that I’m living in a cave, suspended in the middle of nothingness.”
“Everything outside is completely different from when you came here. The snow has changed everything.”
“Changed how?”
“Well, it’s difficult to describe. For one thing, the world is completely buried. The snow is so deep that the sun barely starts to melt it when it does come out. It rounds everything, makes it look lumpy, and it somehow makes everything seem much smaller—the sky and sea, the hills and the forest and the river. And we all go around with our shoulders hunched over.”
“Is that so?” he said, and I could hear the springs squeaking again. Perhaps he had stretched out on the bed as we talked. ”Right now, the flakes are quite large, as though all the stars are falling out of the sky. They dance in the shadows and glint in the streetlights and bump into one another. Can you picture it?”
“I’m not sure I can. It’s almost too beautiful to imagine.”
“It’s truly lovely,” I said. “But I suppose that even on a night like this, the Memory Police are out there hunting. Perhaps some memories never perish, even in this cold.”
“I suspect you’re right. And I doubt the cold has any effect. Memories are a lot tougher than you might think. Just like the hearts that hold them.”
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
The Memory Police – Summary
Here is the book summary:
On an unnamed island off an unnamed coast, objects are disappearing: first hats, then ribbons, birds, roses—until things become much more serious. Most of the island’s inhabitants are oblivious to these changes, while those few imbued with the power to recall the lost objects live in fear of the draconian Memory Police, who are committed to ensuring that what has disappeared remains forgotten.
When a young woman who is struggling to maintain her career as a novelist discovers that her editor is in danger from the Memory Police, she concocts a plan to hide him beneath her floorboards. As fear and loss close in around them, they cling to her writing as the last way of preserving the past.
A surreal, provocative fable about the power of memory and the trauma of loss, The Memory Police is a stunning new work from one of the most exciting contemporary authors writing in any language.
This is a quote from the book Earthlings by Sayaka Murata, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori.
Quote by Sayaka Murata, “The tensions of meeting after such a long time was beginning to dissipate, and I could feel the beloved uncle who had always spoiled me as a kid coming through.”
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
If you’re interested, you can read an excerpt from the book here.
Earthlings – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Natsuki isn’t like the other girls. She has a wand and a transformation mirror. She might be a witch, or an alien from another planet. Together with her cousin Yuu, Natsuki spends her summers in the wild mountains of Nagano, dreaming of other worlds. When a terrible sequence of events threatens to part the two children forever, they make a promise: survive, no matter what.
Now Natsuki is grown. She lives a quiet life with her asexual husband, surviving as best she can by pretending to be normal. But the demands of Natsuki’s family are increasing, her friends wonder why she’s still not pregnant, and dark shadows from Natsuki’s childhood are pursuing her. Fleeing the suburbs for the mountains of her childhood, Natsuki prepares herself with a reunion with Yuu. Will he still remember their promise? And will he help her keep it?
This is an excerpt from the book Earthlings by Sayaka Murata, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori.
Uncle Teruyoshi was waiting at the ticket gate when we arrived at Nagano Station.
“Thank you for going to the trouble of coming out to meet us,” I said.
His hair was now completely white, and for a moment I didn’t recognize him. The figure waving to me and calling out “Natsuki!” looked more like my grandfather than the uncle I’d known twenty-three years before.
“I’ve heard all about Akishina from Natsuki. Being able to actually go there is like a dream come true! Thank you so much.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine. These days it’s what you call a critically depopulated village, with lots of empty houses. It’s a bit bleak, really. Grandpa will be happy that you youngsters have come all this way to pay him a visit.”
Uncle Teruyoshi looked smaller than I remembered. I’d probably also grown a bit since elementary school, but I didn’t think that was the only reason.
“Shall we go and have lunch somewhere? Once we get to Akishina, there’s no stores or eateries or anything, so it’s best to do some shopping for food before we go.”
“Thank you, but we already brought pretty much everything we need with us,” I said, showing him the big bag I was carrying over my shoulder.
“You haven’t changed at all, Natsuki. You always were well prepared,” he said with a smile.
“Do you mind if I go to the bathroom before we set off?” my husband asked.
As he ran off to find the bathroom, Uncle Teruyoshi said, it’s quite a bit cooler here than in Tokyo, isn’t it? You can wait inside the car if you like.”
“No, I’m fine. I also anticipated that and brought a coat with me.”
“You did? I guess you know the Akishina weather well, too, Natsuki,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I told Yuu that you were coming. He himself said it would be better if he stayed somewhere else, but it’s not easy at such short notice.”
“I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss.”
“No, it’s fine. That house had been lying empty ever since Granny died and was a bit desolate. There had been talk of demolishing it since it’s so run-down, so I was happy when Yuu said he wanted to stay there. It somehow felt a bit like the old days. The two of you always did love that house, didn’t you?” Uncle murmured, narrowing his eyes as he reeled in the memories. Then he looked down. “I felt really bad about what happened back then, you know.”
I looked at him in surprise.
“You were both just children and didn’t know any better. And all of us adults totally overreacted. We tried to put a lid on it to cover it up. Adults are so violent and overbearing, they really are.”
“Not at all…well now that I’ve grown up I can understand the circumstances better. You didn’t do anything wrong, Uncle Teruyoshi.”
“Does your husband know about what happened? Sorry if I’m sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted.”
“You don’t need to worry about him,” I said flatly.
He looked a little relieved and smiled. “You married well, didn’t you?”
“Are you okay? You don’t look too good,” I said to my husband.
“I’ll be okay,” he groaned, holding a handkerchief over his mouth.
Uncle Teruyoshi drove skillfully around the hairpin bends. The mountain road was steeper and narrower than I remembered, with a cliff dropping off to one side, and there weren’t any guard rails. Every time we went around a curve, our bottoms slid over the back seat and squashed our bodies against each other.
“It’s tough for people who aren’t used to it. Shall I stop somewhere for a rest?”
“No, I’m okay.”
“Really? If you can cope, then it’s definitely better to get it over and done with. These bends are really hard to deal with when you don’t know them. Are you doing okay, Natsuki?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said bravely, although actually I was feeling quite uneasy about falling off the edge. I didn’t want Uncle to think I’d gone soft living in the metropolis and had forgotten how wild the Akishina mountains were.
“You haven’t changed at all, have you, Natsuki?” Uncle said, looking pleased.
The tensions of meeting after such a long time was beginning to dissipate, and I could feel the beloved uncle who had always spoiled me as a kid coming through.
“Just three more bends to go, and we’ll be there. Hold on just a bit longer!”
Leaves scratched against the window. I had the feeling that the greenery was pressing in on us with a greater intensity than it had long ago. I was up against the window gazing at the trees like I’d done as a child. We climbed up and up the unfamiliar winding tunnel of green until my ears started popping painfully, then suddenly the vista opened out before us.
“We’re here! Natsuki and Tomoya, welcome to Akishina!” he announced, bringing tears to my eyes.
And there, just beyond the familiar small red bridge, was the Akishina that I had replayed in my mind time and time again over the years.
Have you read this book? I’d love to hear your thoughts in a comment below!
Earthlings – Summary
Here is the book summary from Goodreads:
Natsuki isn’t like the other girls. She has a wand and a transformation mirror. She might be a witch, or an alien from another planet. Together with her cousin Yuu, Natsuki spends her summers in the wild mountains of Nagano, dreaming of other worlds. When a terrible sequence of events threatens to part the two children forever, they make a promise: survive, no matter what.
Now Natsuki is grown. She lives a quiet life with her asexual husband, surviving as best she can by pretending to be normal. But the demands of Natsuki’s family are increasing, her friends wonder why she’s still not pregnant, and dark shadows from Natsuki’s childhood are pursuing her. Fleeing the suburbs for the mountains of her childhood, Natsuki prepares herself with a reunion with Yuu. Will he still remember their promise? And will he help her keep it?
This is an excerpt from the book The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yōko Ogawa, translated by Stephen Snyder.
WE CALLED HIM the Professor. And he called my son Root, because, he said, the flat top of his head reminded him of the square root sign.
“There’s a fine brain in there,” the Professor said, mussing my son’s hair. Root, who wore a cap to avoid being teased by his friends, gave a wary shrug. “With this one little sign we can come to know an infinite range of numbers, even those we can’t see.” He traced the symbol in the thick layer of dust on his desk.
Of all the countless things my son and I learned from the Professor, the meaning of the square root was among the most important. No doubt he would have been bothered by my use of the word countless—too sloppy, for he believed that the very origins of the universe could be explained in the exact language of numbers—but I don’t know how else to put it. He taught us about enormous prime numbers with more than a hundred thousand places, and the largest number of all, which was used in mathematical proofs and was in the Guinness Book of Records, and about the idea of something beyond infinity. As interesting as all this was, it could never match the experience of simply spending time with the Professor. I remember when he taught us about the spell cast by placing numbers under this square root sign. It was a rainy evening in early April. My son’s schoolbag lay abandoned on the rug. The light in the Professor’s study was dim. Outside the window, the blossoms on the apricot tree were heavy with rain.
The Professor never really seemed to care whether we figured out the right answer to a problem. He preferred our wild, desperate guesses to silence, and he was even more delighted when those guesses led to new problems that took us beyond the original one. He had a special feeling for what he called the “correct miscalculation,” for he believed that mistakes were often as revealing as the right answers. This gave us confidence even when our best efforts came to nothing.
“Then what happens if you take the square root of negative one?” he asked.
“So you’d need to get – 1 by multiplying a number by itself?” Root asked. He had just learned fractions at school, and it had taken a half-hour lecture from the Professor to convince him that numbers less than zero even existed, so this was quite a leap. We tried picturing the square root of negative one in our heads: . The square root of 100 is 10; the square root of 16 is 4; the square root of 1 is 1. So the square root of – 1 is …
He didn’t press us. On the contrary, he fondly studied our expressions as we mulled over the problem.
“There is no such number,” I said at last, sounding rather tentative.
“Yes, there is,” he said, pointing at his chest. “It’s in here. It’s the most discreet sort of number, so it never comes out where it can be seen. But it’s here.” We fell silent for a moment, trying to picture the square root of minus one in some distant, unknown place. The only sound was the rain falling outside the window. My son ran his hand over his head, as if to confirm the shape of the square root symbol.
But the Professor didn’t always insist on being the teacher. He had enormous respect for matters about which he had no knowledge, and he was as humble in such cases as the square root of negative one itself. Whenever he needed my help, he would interrupt me in the most polite way. Even the simplest request—that I help him set the timer on the toaster, for example—always began with “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but …” Once I’d set the dial, he would sit peering in as the toast browned. He was as fascinated by the toast as he was by the mathematical proofs we did together, as if the truth of the toaster were no different from that of the Pythagorean theorem.
The Housekeeper and the Professor – Summary
Here is the book summary:
He is a brilliant math Professor with a peculiar problem–ever since a traumatic head injury, he has lived with only eighty minutes of short-term memory.
She is an astute young Housekeeper, with a ten-year-old son, who is hired to care for him.
And every morning, as the Professor and the Housekeeper are introduced to each other anew, a strange and beautiful relationship blossoms between them.
Though he cannot hold memories for long (his brain is like a tape that begins to erase itself every eighty minutes), the Professor’s mind is still alive with elegant equations from the past. And the numbers, in all of their articulate order, reveal a sheltering and poetic world to both the Housekeeper and her young son. The Professor is capable of discovering connections between the simplest of quantities–like the Housekeeper’s shoe size–and the universe at large, drawing their lives ever closer and more profoundly together, even as his memory slips away.
The Housekeeper and the Professor is an enchanting story about what it means to live in the present, and about the curious equations that can create a family.
