No One Knows
-
- $9.99
-
- $9.99
Publisher Description
Fourteen tales selected from the breadth of Dazai’s fabled career, some never before seen in English
No one really understands how we suffer. One day, when we’re adults, we may come to recall this suffering, this misery, as silly and laughable, but how are we to get through the long, hateful period until then? No one bothers to teach us that.
Osamu Dazai was a master raconteur who plumbed—in an addictive, easy style—the absurd complexities of life in a society whose expectations cannot be met without sacrificing one's individual ideals on the altar of conformity. The gravitational pull of his prose is on full display in these stories. In “Lantern,” a young woman, in love with a well-born but impoverished student, shoplifts a bathing suit for him—and ends up in the local newspaper indicted as a crazed, degenerate communist. In “Chiyojo,” a high-school girl shows early promise as a writer, but as her uncle and mother relentlessly push her to pursue a literary career, she must ask herself: is this what I really want? Or am I supposed to fulfill their own frustrated ambitions? In “Shame,” a young reader writes a fan letter to a writer she admires, only to find out, upon visiting him, that he’s a bourgeoise sophisticate nothing like the desperate rebels he portrays, and decides (in true Dazai style): “Novelists are human trash. No, they’re worse than that; they’re demons. . . They write nothing but lies.”
This collection of 14 tales—a half-dozen of which have never before appeared in English—is based on a Japanese collection of, as Dazai described them, “soliloquies by female narrators.” No One Knows includes the quietly brilliant long story “Schoolgirl” and shows the fiction of this 20th-century genius in a fresh light.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
This dazzling collection from Dazai (1909–1948) comprises all the "soliloquies" he wrote from the perspectives of women. Taken together, they convey a startling breadth of emotion, from the melancholy of "Cherry Leaves and the Whistler," about a compassionate woman who tries to bring her dying sister comfort, to the amusement of "Katydid," in which the narrator criticizes her successful artist husband. Though he's praised for his "ascetic purity," she knows he's merely a "happy-go-lucky egotist." Throughout, Dazai moves from banal situations to profound insights with ease. In "Skin and Soul," the narrator's skin rash gives her the sense that her entire self is unravelling, leading her to admit, "I feel doomed." On the exterior, most of the women characters are silent and submissive presences—dutiful wives, daughters, sisters, and mothers. The juxtaposition between how the world sees them and how they see the world lends an urgent sense of revolt to their freewheeling monologues. Dazai's spectacular collection sings with resounding truths.