What you are looking for is in the library - by Michiko Aoyama

 Books set in Japan seem to be having a moment just now - there are several on the display tables in Waterstones. (If you scroll down a bit, you'll see my review of Four Seasons in Japan, by an English writer who has lived in Japan for many years.)

I read quite a variety of types of books. I've often tried to figure out why on the one hand, I like crime novels and thrillers - while on the other, I like life-affirming books about ordinary lives, where nothing obviously dramatic happens. I also read historical fiction, and non-fiction about travel, nature, and politics. I don't these days read science fiction or horror stories, though I did many years ago. And I'm increasingly unwilling to read dystopian fiction - I find real life quite worrying enough, without positing a horrendous future inhabited by feral tribes and featuring a deathly, post-industrial landscape.

It's partly to do with mood, of course - and partly to do with time of day. I want something soothing for my bedtime reading: recently, gripped by Jack Reacher novels, I've found myself waking from nightmares, and I can't be doing with that, thank you very much. Incidentally - did anyone hear Lee Child being interviewed on the Today programme earlier this week about libraries, and how important they'd been to him as a boy growing up in Birmingham? He was excellent. He said that any passing relative would be inveigled into signing up for a library ticket, so that the family could take out more books than their allotted number - even the dog had a ticket! (I remember this was a big advantage of working as a Saturday girl at the library in our town - I could take out as many books as I wanted.)

Anyway, back to quiet books, of which this is one. It takes the form of a series of stories about an unconnected group of characters, each of who feels 'stuck' in their lives. Each of them happens to go to a small library, where they encounter a rather mysterious librarian, Sayuri Komachi. 'Her skin is super-pale - you can't even see where her chin ends and her neck begins - and she is wearing a beige apron over an off-white, loose-knit cardigan. She reminds me of a polar bear curled up in a cave for winter... She is looking down at something, but I can't see what exactly.'

The thing she is looking down at is an object made by felting. When someone comes to her asking for a book on a particular subject, she will recommend one for them. But she will also recommend one which is nothing to do with what the customer has asked for, and she will also give them one of these small felted objects. And somehow or other, the unexpected book and the object will between them reveal - or help the customer to discover - what it is they need to do to change their life. Some of the customers meet, or their lives cross in some way - and that's essentially it.

So - nothing obviously dramatic. But a message emerges about hope, and the possibility that you  can make small changes which will make a big difference - at whatever stage of life you are at. It's clever, subtle, gentle and joyous. It might be just what you need in times like these.

Four Seasons In Japan, by Nick Bradley

 

Full disclosure - I read this book in the spring, and this would be a better review if I'd done it then - but there we are, I didn't, so I'll just have to do the best I can. This is the first book I've reviewed here for quite some time, and I want to kick off with a book I really enjoyed - and I liked this one so much that I've already given/recommended it to several friends.

First off, let's look at the cover - because it very much reflects the feel of the book inside. Its lines are clear and elegant: it's beautifully balanced: it exudes calmness and a contemplative feel. The branch at the top bears autumn leaves: the one at the bottom, spring blossom. The title, in a simple, clean font, stands out against the large moon, which in turn is suspended against a blue sky. So we know that nature and the turn of the seasons are going to be important. And the cat? Well, there is a cat in the novel, but this is also a nod to the author, whose first book was called The Cat and the City, and who did a PhD on the cat in Japanese literature. (Though Nick Bradley is English, incidentally, he spent many years in Japan.)

The book has two interlinked stories going on. It starts with Flo, a translator who is going through a difficult time in her personal life - her relationship with Yuki, her Japanese girlfriend, is breaking down, and she isn't handling it very well. 

And then she finds a book which someone has left on her train. It's called The Sound of Water, by Hibiki. She's never heard of the author or rhe publisher - and it has been rather beautifully published. She begins to read.

The story is about a tough old woman called Ayako, who lives in a small country town called Onomichi. We learn pretty soon that her husband and son are both dead, and that her son committed suicide. We learn that she owns a small coffee shop, and that she loves the familiar routine of her days, and her small circle of friends. But something has happened which she knows will disturb that routine: she has had a message from her daughter-in-law to say that her grandson is coming to stay. Throughout the day, the prospect niggles at her: it seems she does not know her grandson well, and is not looking forward to his visit.

He isn't either. He feels he's being sent into exile from the city because he's failed his exams, and the prospect horrifies him. 

At first things don't go at all well between them. But gradually, as one season changes to the next, their relationship develops. Kyo, the boy, learns a great deal - about his father, about the past, about life. And Ayako learns things from Kyo, too.

Flo is fascinated by the story and decides she wants to translate it. But she must first find the author to get his permission - and that turns out to be no easy task.

There's so much more to the book than this. In fact, glancing through the first few pages, I find myself being drawn again into this world, which is so different from my own - particularly that of Kyo and Ayako: I find them more likeable characters than Flo (who could perhaps do with a dose of Ayako's tough love) - and I decide I will read the novel again.

Oh, and the cat has one eye and is called Coltrane. And there are pictures. It's a really lovely book.