Showing posts with label Translation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Translation. Show all posts

Monday, 24 February 2025

Butter by Asako Yusuki

We picked over the shapely, luminous bones of this fable a la Japonaise. It wafts odours of warm yet strangely eastern ambience. It serves up a delectable blend of new foods, feminism, and a (rather small) dash of murder mystery. And yet, sometimes, the feast seemed more like an overlong mash up, where the ingredients became confused and even lost the interest of some readers.  

We can see how Yusuki has collected and finessed her ingredients, laid out her recipe and then let the dish evolve in its own way as it softly warms to its boiling point before resolving in a comforting meal of gentle happiness with life as it is. The novel immerses you in contemporary Japanese society, offering a deep dive into its cultural quirks, societal expectations, and culinary traditions. It's like stepping into a cozy, yet complex Japanese eatery where every detail has a story to tell. 

We liked the high degree of Yin in the composition of the dish where even the Yang is a resonating sensitivity. As well as the leading base of Rika, Manako and Reiko, we have the leavening effect of Shinoi, Yu and Kitamura and the piquancy of the on/off presence of Makoto. Their background stories are like a well-crafted amuse-bouche, intriguing and leaving you wanting more. 

We liked the description of a life lived in the pressure cooker of a magazine office and the expectations placed on women, leaving little time for culinary or romantic flourishes, contrasted with the unhappy pairing of Reiko and Ryo where marriage does not make you replete. And finding freedom in food is the metaphor for escaping the misogynistic Japanese lifestyle with its emphasis on being slim, clever and accomplished but not in any way in charge and where very young women going out with older men is a norm. 

And what do we make of the fizzing sweet and sour Manako Kajii? An appetising tempter, a caring comforter, a homicidal cook, female freedom fighter or a lonely soul from a provincial and loveless book of recipes? Certainly, someone who defies expectations from liberals and conservatives alike. We liked the draw of the delicious challenge set by Manako to both Rika and Reiko which both drives the steaming narrative and leads to both women finding their own special combinations of food and mood. 

The writing style is a complex dessert, with its dense and opaque narrative that some found challenging. The book's detailed descriptions of food and cooking were a highlight for many, though some found them overdone and repetitive. The translation may have added some complexity, but it also brings out the unique flavours of the original text. 

An intriguing munch through a recognisable yet foreign smorgasbord of modern life. It is a novel that invites you to savour each bite, reflecting on the intricate blend of flavours long after the meal is over. And yet, for some, it was disappointing in neither gripping the reader in suspense nor inviting a strong connection with the characters.

For the first time, it was the feast’s cover that got a plaudit for the clever way it so simply portrayed a complexity of themes and culture, an all-time favourite.


Average score 5.64 out of 10 with a range of 2 to 8!

Sunday, 13 November 2016

The Vegetarian by Han Kang

The Vegetarian was winner of the Man Booker International Prize 2016 and mercifully short after some of our longer reads recently. Most of us found it strange and interesting. It highlighted our lack of knowledge about Korean society and linguistic style, though apparently the translator, Deborah Smith had not been to Korea until after she did her first draft, though later became friends with the author: more about their relationship here: Guardian Books

For those who do not know the story, here is a synopsis:
Yeong-hye and her husband are ordinary people. He is an office worker with moderate ambitions and mild manners; she is an uninspired but dutiful wife. The acceptable flatline of their marriage is interrupted when Yeong-hye, seeking a more 'plant-like' existence, decides to become a vegetarian, prompted by grotesque recurring nightmares. In South Korea, where vegetarianism is almost unheard-of and societal mores are strictly obeyed, Yeong-hye's decision is a shocking act of subversion. Her passive rebellion manifests in ever more bizarre and frightening forms, leading her bland husband to self-justified acts of sexual sadism. His cruelties drive her towards attempted suicide and hospitalisation. She unknowingly captivates her sister's husband, a video artist. She becomes the focus of his increasingly erotic and unhinged artworks, while spiralling further and further into her fantasies of abandoning her fleshly prison and becoming - impossibly, ecstatically - a tree. Fraught, disturbing and beautiful, The Vegetarian is a novel about modern day South Korea, but also a novel about shame, desire and our faltering attempts to understand others, from one imprisoned body to another.

In response to the strange quality of the book, Chris B had read it twice and concluded it was about the oppression of women in Korean (and other) society. Yeong-hye escapes from her dull, oppressed, unrealised life by rejecting the meat eating society, driven by her terrible recurring dream of violence. In the end, appears to be trying to return to the earth. Her experience creates mental illness, depression, eating disorder, psychosis which may be seen to be partly triggered by the abuse she experiences as a child at the hands of her father. Her siblings want to intervene both then and when her father hits her for her stubborn refusal to eat meat. But are too afraid. Her older sister protects herself by being obedient and leaving her sister to be the one that suffers. But she too suffers depression in living her accepting and conventional life, even with an unconventional artist husband.
We see too the reactions of the conventional Mr Cheong, Yeong-hye's husband and the painter obsessed with painted bodies in sexual poses to the two sisters' behaviour. Both fail to see or respond to the needs of the women. But interestingly, Kang seems to have had an even wider conundrum to explore:
 As she said in her Booker Prize acceptance speech, she writes to pursue questions, in this case, the question of being human. Yeong-hye, she says desperately wants to reject being a human, part of the human race that commits such violence.

We discovered that the three parts of the book were originally published separately and definitely for a Korean audience in the first place. Steve preferred the first and third parts and agreed with Chris' understanding of the book. He felt the section focussed on the Mongolian mark was less convincing. He also found some of the writing stilted e.g. the words of Mr Cheong. Was this Korean style, the specific authors' style or a result of translation? Richard had similar thoughts. Steve also found reading about such a different society with such differentiation between men and women interesting and challenging. He found the description of someone who has given up, lost hope and accepts she will die together with the imagery of the forest some of the most powerful parts.

The parts Mark T found interesting was the comparison between the two sisters. Both had much to admire but as often in life, maybe a combination of the best bits of both would be preferable! He also found the video art sections intriguing.

Richard enjoyed the book and found it quick to read. Like several of us, he found it strange and difficult to understand: the value of a Book Club is to hear other's views. But shouldn't a book be clearer about what it is about? Neil thought the same. Richard wondered if vegetarians are strange people already or are seen as strange when they become so?!

Chris W too found it interesting and fascinating in its depiction of such a different country. Like other Murakami fans, he found many echoes with that author in this book. He was interested in the experience of urban life which seemed very conventional and limited and the yearning in Young-hye to be close to nature. This only happens when she is sent to a mental hospital. Clearly food is very important in this culture, to the point where a father strikes his daughter over it. In the mental hospital, the vivid description emphasised how no-one was listening to the patient. He concluded it was an interesting book, well translated with some interesting snapshots but he did not pick up themes of oppression and abuse.

Neil found the cultural differences made the book harder to understand or emphasise with the characters. It was "quite interesting, a bit frustrating and difficult to understand what it was about".

Rob wondered if it was a book about Korean society for a Korean audience or for a foreign one. If the latter, it was too soft on the issues it raised. Whilst it was interesting and did make a point about the gender issues, he found it unconvincing. There was no cogent reason, he felt for the vegetarianism, no critique of the mental health system and the Mongolian mark made little impression, except perhaps for the sexual encounter. He was not convinced Kang was trying to say something meaningful as opposed to using things like the vegetarianism and the mental health system as plot devices.

Mark W was pretty underwhelmed by the whole thing: "fairly typical repressed far eastern sexual fantasy stuff in the middle, masquerading as art, dressed up at the beginning and the end with various musings. Not my cup of tea".

So interesting but not amazing as shown by the average score of 6.3 and £10 left in the kitty!