As you might have noticed from previous reviews, I’m a great fan of Japanese literature. I’m also a great fan of cats. Combine the two, and this review of The Travelling Cat Chronicles, by Hiro Arikawa, was the result.
Indeed, I’m writing this review mere minutes after I finished the book, as the impact is still very fresh in my mind. You should also know that I finished reading the book in a few hours – it’s one of those books that simply flows effortlessly.
So, what is The Travelling Cat Chronicles about? Much more than what the premise lets you think.
Not all limitations in expression are censorship. Think of an academic essay where – except quoting others for specific purposes – you can’t say “lol” or “whazzup”. But censorship is all about limitations in writing and expressing. Censorship of thought, in particular, is an especially insidious process – and the ultimate goal of censorship.
Censorship of thought essentially refers to self-censorship – I will use the terms interchangeably in this post. A system or process that manages to censor thought has been so effective in “plain vanilla” censorship, that people – having become conditioned – no longer bother writing or expressing what they think would be anyway censored.
Therefore, censorship – like using euphemisms, which are also a form of censorship – is ultimately about thought control. Moreover, exactly like euphemisms, self-censorship is achieved with subtlety, sophistication, and ambiguity.
That’s precisely what makes it so dangerous. Like unintended misinformation, self-censorship can creep into your writing without even your noticing it.
Censorship is about raising a wall and teaching someone to stand before it. Self-censorship is about teaching someone to stand there even when the wall is removed (more…)
As is often the case with some of my reviews – Outline, by Rachel Cusk comes to mind – this review of Confessions of a Mask, by Yukio Mishima, is not just a review. It’s also an opportunity for me to explain something about how literature is supposed to operate.
And here’s the (meta-)lesson: There’s no “supposed to” in literature.
Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask – in a meta-textual twist, having this very element as the core of its plot – demonstrates how awfully things can fall apart once you begin following rules and supposed-tos.
Mishima’s novel is probably one of the most difficult books I’ve ever thought to review. Not only does it defy categorization, but reading it I wonder whether we could even call it “a novel”. In that regard, it’s very similar to Invisible Cities, by Italo Calvino.
Confessions of a Mask is a fine example of our struggle to balance between being part of society and understanding it can’t offer us what we crave. If this duality sounds familiar, take a look at my post on the meaning of Jinjer’s “Pisces” – talking about a multi-layered metaphor, huh?(more…)
