A review by liralen
Where the Dead Pause, and the Japanese Say Goodbye: A Journey by Marie Mutsuki Mockett
4.0
The subtitle of the book is A Journey, and Mockett's journey is a complicated one. Half Japanese by birth, she never forgets—or lets the reader forget—that she was also born and raised American. With family in Japan, though, and her grandfather's bones to bury, she sets out in the wake of the 2011 earthquake to better understand Buddhism and grief and Japan's peacefully co-existing contradictions.
I read this for class, and it's easily my favourite book of the semester. There aren't easy answers, not least because there aren't easy questions, but Mockett takes to her exploration with a great deal of self-awareness and humour. She talks grief and depression but doesn't let the book get mired in it; rather, she asks more questions and pieces together more parts of a culture that does not quite let her claim it. An older man who was also visiting Aizu watched me as I carried on to my mother. He gave me a tolerant and compassionate smile. "I'm so sorry you are upset," he said. "But you don't understand. You aren't Japanese" (8).
This sense of being an outsider, though, is complicated by Mockett speaking Japanese and having Japanese family and otherwise understanding far more about Japan than your average Westerner. She is reminded that she is not Japanese, but also invited to see and do things that non-Japanese-speaking Westerners are not; there are conversations from which she must tease meaning, but she has the context with which to do so.
If it sounds like I'm skimming over huge parts of the book—grief! the tsunami! Buddhism!—well, I am, but it's not because they're not important. We haven't discussed this in class yet, but I'm very much looking forward to what others pick up on as standout themes.
I read this for class, and it's easily my favourite book of the semester. There aren't easy answers, not least because there aren't easy questions, but Mockett takes to her exploration with a great deal of self-awareness and humour. She talks grief and depression but doesn't let the book get mired in it; rather, she asks more questions and pieces together more parts of a culture that does not quite let her claim it. An older man who was also visiting Aizu watched me as I carried on to my mother. He gave me a tolerant and compassionate smile. "I'm so sorry you are upset," he said. "But you don't understand. You aren't Japanese" (8).
This sense of being an outsider, though, is complicated by Mockett speaking Japanese and having Japanese family and otherwise understanding far more about Japan than your average Westerner. She is reminded that she is not Japanese, but also invited to see and do things that non-Japanese-speaking Westerners are not; there are conversations from which she must tease meaning, but she has the context with which to do so.
If it sounds like I'm skimming over huge parts of the book—grief! the tsunami! Buddhism!—well, I am, but it's not because they're not important. We haven't discussed this in class yet, but I'm very much looking forward to what others pick up on as standout themes.