A few weeks ago a young woman, who seemed 18 at the most, gave me about 40 books. Many are based in Japanese culture. I look forward to seeing her again so that I can ask her about it. Among them was
Seventeen Syllables and Other Stories by Hisaye Yamamoto, who passed away in 2011 at the age of 89. A mom of five, her output, at least that which has been published, is modest in quantity. The collection contains 19 stories that are keen observations on the bittersweet mystery of life, written from the 1940's through 1995. She was born in the U.S. to immigrant parents. Her family was placed in internment camps during WWII. A younger brother was killed in combat in Italy. All this is touched upon in her work, as are the relationship between spouses and children, and racism. She does so in an even-handed manner, as someone trying to understand the complexities of the world in which she dwells, not one assigning blame.
Yoneko's Earthquake was selected for inclusion in
The Best American Shorts Stories of 1952. In 1986 Yamamoto was the recipient of the American Book Award for Lifetime Achievement from the Before Columbus Foundation. In a long introduction to the collection, King-Kok Cheung, professor of English and Asian American Studies at UCLA, cites the subtlety of the work. I'm embarrassed to say much of it eluded me. I didn't feel any better when Cheung said: "...some may actually have to be read twice to be fully appreciated...." The story I enjoyed most is
Eucalyptus, which is told from the point of view of a woman convalescing from depression, and which intimately describes fellow patients. Toward the end she reveals having read the Eysenck Study, which states: "...patients undergoing psychoanalysis, there is a 44 % improvement rate, in those undergoing psychotherapy, there is a 64% improvement rate. But there is a 72% improvement rate in those who receive no treatment whatsoever...." Understandably, this merely adds to her confusion. Since I'm not sure I gave the stories the attention they deserve, I won't rate the book. Anyone, not merely those of Asian descent, interested in the human condition will appreciate it.
I hung out at the corner of East 13th & Avenue Z, hoping the mist would cease or that one on my regular customers would happen along. My thanks to Herbie, who bought Eileen Goudge's Stranger in Paradise, which my sister recently read,
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