Yesterday, I received a book in the post from Japan. This morning, I received a book in the post from America, via North Devon. There's a certain amount of coincidence here, as these are gifts, not books I ordered myself. There's also a certain amount of interesting juxtaposition, for me, at least.
The first of these books is 永井荷風 ひとり暮らしの贅沢, or Nagai Kafu: The Luxury of Single Living. It's a beautifully produced volume based on a slightly eccentric, distinctly Japanese (in a vaguely 'otaku' sense) and rather wonderful concept: The idea is that the author has obtained permission to photograph some of Kafu's surviving possessions (bag, glasses, hat, shoes, etc.) and has paired these with extracts from the diary Kafu kept for upwards of forty years, and from other of his writings, and added general commentary. The first chapter begins breathlessly (I translate in a hurry):
An enormous safe set up in the Kafu residence after his death. The things he left behind, sleeping deep behind that heavy door. Each carefully preserved item seems still to be keeping the secret of the warmth left in it from Kafu's life. Examining the daily items that surrounded Kafu, lovingly used by their master in his solitary life, I attempted to retrace the daily pattern of that life.
Beneath this text is a beautiful photograph of a rather worn-looking bag of the kind that burglar might carry house-breaking tools in. The legend at the side reads simply, "Bag". Apparently Kafu took this bag everywhere. An extract from the diary gives an account of how he left the bag on a tram by mistake. An American G.I. handed it in to the police, and Kafu gave him 5,000 yen in reward money.
I now quote from an e-mail I wrote yesterday about the book. I have taken some dire liberties with the embedded translation, no doubt:
I've already discovered one or two biographical details that are new to me. For instance… when Kafu received his decoration for cultural merit, or whatever, he was chuffed to get a pension with it. He intended to go to the theatre he frequented in Asakusa and take the dancing girls out with his new money. (I need to look up some of the words used, but he either talks about buying them soup (?) or buying them make up. Come to think of it, it's more likely to be soup. Unless it's something else altogether.) Anyway, it turns out that someone sends word to the girls that Kafu has received some kind of medal from the government and he's therefore fucking ERAI, so they have to be more careful around him. The girls have known him for some time and can't work it out. How could this person have received a decoration? And apparently they became more distant towards him. The book quotes him complaining. I translate from memory: "Now that I think about it, it was a fucking grave miscalculation on my part not to have foreseen the curse that this decoration would bring, robbing an old man of one of the few pleasures left to him in life. I should have just went through the act of taking my money out of a bank before taking them out. Once the girls were told that 'the soup [?] you're eating is courtesy of the government', it stuck in their fucking throats."
A book like this reminds me that all you need is Nagai Kafu. No, really. I don't know if I can explain quite how it has happened, but I'm sure I could read a shopping list left behind by Kafu and rapturously declare it to be a masterpiece. Because it's true. He knew how to transform everything into poetry. And so my frugal and similarly single life can be luxurious, too, with the same poetry. Nagai Kafu saved my life. Why do I bother to read anything but Kafu?
Perhaps the next volume will go some way towards explaining such a necessity. The volume that I received this morning was Edith and Little Bear Lend a Hand by Dare Wright. Ever since retrieving a couple of Dare's books, remembered from childhood, from the family home, I have been collecting her work. I now have, including those first two, The Lonely Doll, The Little One, A Gift From the Lonely Doll, Edith and Mr. Bear and Edith and Little Bear Lend a Hand. The latter, which appears to be a first edition from the year of my birth, is perhaps the most ambitious of all these works. The photography is wonderful. Edith the doll sports a number of new hairstyles and fashions. The story deals with pollution in New York City. The text is a model of intelligent simplicity. The humour is warm and touching. And Edith looks more alive than ever. I do believe she is alive.
In this volume, Mr. Bear notices how dirty and smelly the city has become, and decides to move to the country for the sake of Edith's and Little Bear's health. However, the little ones do not wish to move, since New York is their home. They decided, therefore, that they must clean up the city, in order to change Mr. Bear's mind. They attempt to do this first with placards outside the Town Hall, dressing up for the occasion with items from Mr. Bear's 'Indian collection' that make them look like they've just come from Woodstock. Their placards read:
Dirty air hurts Mr. Bear and me – and you.
And:
Dear Mr. Mayor, clean up the city for Mr. Bear – please.
Here's an example of the text's pithiness:
"What makes the city dirty and bad?" asked Edith.
"Too many people, all living too close together, who use too many things, throw too much away, and don't care enough about their city," said Mr. Bear.
However, Edith and Little Bear are so determined to stay, cleaning the pavement/sidewalk outside their house and eventually their whole street, that Mr. Bear is prevailed upon to let them stay, at least for now:
So Mr. Bear, Edith, and Little Bear stayed in their own place and tried to make it better.
I am increasingly convinced that Dare Wright is a very special artist. I know, looking at these photographs, that their world is now part of my heart in the way that the world of Nagai Kafu is, too.
