July 24, 2023
Review of Terminal Boredom by Izumi Suzuki
Terminal Boredom, by Izumi Suzuki, is a collection of science fiction short stories. It includes seven stories in total, and should be possible to finish in one afternoon, should the reader wish to do that. The stories are entirely independent plot-wise, and there is no specific affect-based benefit in reading them all at once.
In other words, the reader doesn’t need to enter any specific reading mood to get the best out of these short stories, which means, whether you read all seven in quick succession or take your time, the result will be basically the same.
You might already be tempted to decipher what I may imply by all this, so let me make it explicit: The stories in Terminal Boredom are an interesting example of a narrative that basically somewhat relies on plot, while at the same time it somewhat presents some intriguing symbolism.
I think the best description I can offer for Terminal Boredom is that it includes plenty of allusions and meanings, but the reader must work hard for them.
Review of Terminal Boredom: Genre, Plot, Narrative
When the Russian filmmaker Andrei Tarkovsky shot his 1972 science-fiction film Solaris, he chose Tokyo for some external scenes. At the time (and obviously today), the overall architecture of Tokyo was indeed far more futuristic compared to anything that could be found in the Soviet Union.
Perhaps more intriguingly, however, there is another science-fiction element to be found in the Japanese megalopolis, one that shows clearly in Terminal Boredom: an intense feeling of alienation.
Though the genre of the collection is science fiction, I would call it closer to the old-school, traditional science fiction that reflects on the human condition. Rather than becoming preoccupied with fancy descriptions of peculiar devices or hyper-advanced technology, in the world(s) of Terminal Boredom these become necessary aspects of the narrative setup.
In other words, there is – thankfully – little explanation as to why or how certain things exist in the world of each story, and the reader must readily accept them and move on.
A world where all men are basically kept in concentration camps, a woman implanting herself in the dreams of a (supposed) friend, or a family deciding to go on a picnic in the apparent remnants of a human city, are far disconnected from our current experience. And it is precisely this disconnect that sends the reader to work to figure out what are the connections still remaining – and what importance they hold.
It Is What It Is, Deal With It
Of course, such a strategy also holds meta-textual importance. Just as the reader must accept these plot elements and move on, the narrative meaning lurking in the shadows seems undeniable – and deeply pessimistic: No point trying to change the reality of your world; simply accept it.
Another element in this metatextual chain is that of the work the reader has to put, in order to decipher these realities. As I mentioned in the introduction, the stories are plot-based; they use all these science fiction devices to throw the reader into a distinctly different world. However, at the same time, nothing much is really happening.
Don’t expect any intricate descriptions of technology, cliffhangers, action, or anything of the sort. The stories in Terminal Boredom are characteristically Japanese, that is, they rely on minimalism and implied meaning. Focus is on style, absence, ambiguity, what is left out.
This also means, the reader has to work relatively hard to understand what is at play here.
Review of Terminal Boredom: Characters
The characters in the stories of the collection are about what they ought to be, considering both the science fiction genre and the short story format. They are adequately deep, featuring a certain balance between relatability and mystery. The short length of each story doesn’t allow for any sustained character evolution, but that is hardly a problem.
Perhaps what is the most intriguing aspect in most characters – at the same time, obviously enough, calling the reader to reflect on the consequences of this similarity – is their intense crisis of identity. Most of the characters in the stories are deeply vulnerable on an emotional and mental level, struggling with figuring out their place in the world.
Much of the text is situated away from Earth (literally or figuratively), but even those parts seemingly occurring “here” (spatially and conceptually; in terms of waking consciousness) feature characters that are lost.
The sense of time is deeply destabilized in Terminal Boredom, as everything seems to occur in an eternal now. The past is often approached merely as a literary (rather than historical) space, while the future is conspicuously absent.
In this framework, the characters – and, of course, vicariously the reader – are called to reflect on their existence and any (if at all) meaning there is in it. This is a chief element of science fiction, yet it’s also a characteristically modern problem.
Review of Terminal Boredom: General Impression
Overall, my impression was fairly positive. Some of the stories were more intriguing than others – in the sense that the problems they displayed seemed to have sharper contours – but overall, it was a fairly intriguing science fiction collection.
If you’re looking for either action or technological intrigue, this isn’t for you – it will… bore you terminally. Terminal Boredom is a rather cerebral, psychological exploration of modernity, both chronological (our own current time and its problems) and conceptual (living in an era of constant change).
I would compare Suzuki’s work to some of the more psychological episodes of Black Mirror: Technology is merely a starting point, the important discussions are elsewhere.
4 Comments
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I’m very self-centered now in my reading – too little usable time to do anything else, and if the brain is on I’m trying to write, not read.
In a different world (which is why we read SF at all), I’d be looking to S T R E T C H my consciousness, move my life in a direction ‘better’ than what I have, appreciate beauty for its own sake, wish for the results the stories promise. I miss that. But for now, it isn’t happening. I never worried about that in my omnivore reading phase. Now, I’ll drop something as soon as I’m bored, don’t see it benefiting me, now.
Maybe that’s normal. Maybe it’s chronic illness. Either way, it’s a loss.
But unlike most people with a chronic illness, I have hope: the possibility that research into long covid might benefit people with other post-viral illnesses. It will be interesting, if that happens, to see what happens to all the affects that have been stymied. Hope I get the chance to find out – I would be reading an awful lot of imaginative work.
Though I’m also self-centered (for far different reasons; cynicism, perhaps), my own reading pickiness and unwillingness-to-work-for-it has a peculiarly different expression compared to, I assume, others’.
To me, it’s intolerably hard reading work to read complex plots, storylines I have to keep in mind, dozens of characters, etc. etc. If you put in front of me a 600-page fantasy book with 30 tribes and 80 characters, I’ll crawl into fetal position and cry.
Conversely, give me a (near-)plotless, abstract, ambiguous narrative without beginning and ending, and I’ll dive head first.
To each their own!
Was that a gentle dig? Pride’s Children in toto will be 500k words, around 1200 pages, and has already more than 65 named characters. And strongly plotted, I’m afraid, with everything connected. Though the plot is basically NOT that complicated, even though it has many attached and cross collected pieces. And most ambiguity is highly temporary and from the pov of only one character at a time. Sorry, but I find it easy to follow (after 23 years?). No tribes – plenty of families; t’will serve.
It was accidental, I didn’t have Pride’s Children in mind. Rather, I was thinking of some historical fiction or fantasy that begins by offering 20 pages of genealogical information and family trees.