Tokyo Ueno Station (National Book Award Winner)
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
A surreal, devastating story of a homeless ghost who haunts one of Tokyo's busiest train stations.
Kazu is dead. Born in Fukushima in 1933, the same year as the Japanese Emperor, his life is tied by a series of coincidences to the Imperial family and has...
Kazu is dead. Born in Fukushima in 1933, the same year as the Japanese Emperor, his life is tied by a series of coincidences to the Imperial family and has...
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A surreal, devastating story of a homeless ghost who haunts one of Tokyo's busiest train stations.Kazu is dead. Born in Fukushima in 1933, the same year as the Japanese Emperor, his life is tied by a series of coincidences to the Imperial family and has been shaped at every turn by modern Japanese history. But his life story is also marked by bad luck, and now, in death, he is unable to rest, doomed to haunt the park near Ueno Station in Tokyo.
Kazu's life in the city began and ended in that park; he arrived there to work as a laborer in the preparations for the 1964 Tokyo Olympics and ended his days living in the vast homeless village in the park, traumatized by the destruction of the 2011 tsunami and shattered by the announcement of the 2020 Olympics.
Through Kazu's eyes, we see daily life in Tokyo buzz around him and learn the intimate details of his personal story, how loss and society's inequalities and constrictions spiraled towards this ghostly fate, with moments of beauty and grace just out of reach. A powerful masterwork from one of Japan's most brilliant outsider writers, Tokyo Ueno Station is a book for our times and a look into a marginalized existence in a shiny global megapolis.
Story Locale: Tokyo, Japan
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There's that sound again.That sound-
I hear it.
But I don't know if it's in my ears or in my mind.
I don't know if it's inside me or outside.
I don't know when it was or who it was either.
Is that important?
Was it?
Who was it?
-
I used to think life was like a book: you turn the first page, and there's the next, and as you go on turning page after page, eventually you reach the last one. But life is nothing like a story in a book. There may be words, and the pages may be numbered, but there is no plot. There may be an ending, but there is no end.
Left behind-
Like a sculpted tree on the vacant land where a rotted house has been torn down.
Like the water in a vase after wilted flowers have been removed.
Left behind.
But then what of me remains here?
A sense of tiredness.
I was always tired.
There was never a time I was not tired.
Not when life had its claws in me and not when I escaped from it.
I did not live with intent, I only lived.
But that's all over now.
-
I watch slowly, like always.
It's not the same scene, but it's similar.
Somewhere in this dull scene, there's pain.
In this seemingly familiar time, there are moments that hurt.
I look closer.
There are lots of people.
Each and every one different.
Each and every one with different minds, different faces, bodies, and hearts.
I know that, of course.
But seen from a distance, they all look just the same, or
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similar.
Each and every face looks like nothing so much as a small pool of water.
I'm watching for myself on the day I first set foot on the platform at Ueno Station, in the throng of people waiting for the Yamanote Line inner-loop train to arrive.
I used to look at my appearance reflected in mirrors, glass panes, and pictures, and I had no confidence in myself. I do not think I was especially ugly, but I never had the kind of looks that would have attracted anyone's attention.
My reticence and incompetence troubled me more than my appearance, but worst of all was how unlucky I was.
I had no luck.
I hear that sound again. Just that sound, like it's blood coursing-like a vivid current flowing-back then I heard nothing but that sound, rushing around inside my skull, like there was a hive in my head and hundreds of bees were trying to fly out all at once, it buzzed and burned and hurt, I could think of nothing anymore, my eyelids twitched and trembled as if they were being hit by raindrops, I clenched my fists, all the muscles in my body tensed-
It ripped me to shreds, but the sound wouldn't die.
I couldn't catch it, and trap it, or lead it far from me.
I couldn't close my ears to it, and I couldn't get away.
Ever since then that sound has lived with me.
Lived . . . ?
"The train now approaching Platform Two is for Ikebukuro and Shinjuku. For your safety please stand behind the yellow line."
If you go out the ticket gates at Ueno Station's park exit and look over the road to the grove of ginkgo trees, you'll always see homeless people there.
When I sat there, I felt like an only child who had been orphaned, despite the fact that both of my parents had lived into their nineties, never leaving their village in Sma, Fukushima Prefecture. And following my own birth in 1933, my parents had four daughters and three sons: Haruko, Fukiko, Hideo, Naoko, Michiko, Katsuo, and Masao.
The fourteen years between Masao and me made him more like my
Each and every face looks like nothing so much as a small pool of water.
I'm watching for myself on the day I first set foot on the platform at Ueno Station, in the throng of people waiting for the Yamanote Line inner-loop train to arrive.
I used to look at my appearance reflected in mirrors, glass panes, and pictures, and I had no confidence in myself. I do not think I was especially ugly, but I never had the kind of looks that would have attracted anyone's attention.
My reticence and incompetence troubled me more than my appearance, but worst of all was how unlucky I was.
I had no luck.
I hear that sound again. Just that sound, like it's blood coursing-like a vivid current flowing-back then I heard nothing but that sound, rushing around inside my skull, like there was a hive in my head and hundreds of bees were trying to fly out all at once, it buzzed and burned and hurt, I could think of nothing anymore, my eyelids twitched and trembled as if they were being hit by raindrops, I clenched my fists, all the muscles in my body tensed-
It ripped me to shreds, but the sound wouldn't die.
I couldn't catch it, and trap it, or lead it far from me.
I couldn't close my ears to it, and I couldn't get away.
Ever since then that sound has lived with me.
Lived . . . ?
"The train now approaching Platform Two is for Ikebukuro and Shinjuku. For your safety please stand behind the yellow line."
If you go out the ticket gates at Ueno Station's park exit and look over the road to the grove of ginkgo trees, you'll always see homeless people there.
When I sat there, I felt like an only child who had been orphaned, despite the fact that both of my parents had lived into their nineties, never leaving their village in Sma, Fukushima Prefecture. And following my own birth in 1933, my parents had four daughters and three sons: Haruko, Fukiko, Hideo, Naoko, Michiko, Katsuo, and Masao.
The fourteen years between Masao and me made him more like my
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Autoren-Porträt von Yu Miri
Yu Miri; translated by Morgan Giles
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Yu Miri
- 2021, 192 Seiten, Maße: 12,6 x 17,6 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Übersetzer: Morgan Giles
- Verlag: Riverhead Books
- ISBN-10: 0593187520
- ISBN-13: 9780593187524
- Erscheinungsdatum: 22.06.2021
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Tokyo Ueno Station and Yu Miri"Tokyo Ueno Station is a dream: a chronicle of hope, loss, where we've been and where we're going. That Yu Miri could conjure so many realities simultaneously is nothing short of marvelous. The novel astounds, terrifies, and make the unseen concrete--entirely tangible and perennially effervescent, right there on the page." Bryan Washington, author of Lot and Memorial
"Glorious." New York Times Book Review
"[A] relatively slim novel that packs an enormous emotional punch, thanks to Yu's gorgeous, haunting writing and Morgan Giles' wonderful translation.... Yu does a magnificent job exploring the effects of all kinds of loss on the human psyche. Tokyo Ueno Station is a stunning novel, and a harsh, uncompromising look at existential despair." NPR
"Poetic... How Kazu comes to be homeless, and then to haunt the park, is what keeps us reading, trying to understand the tragedy of this ghostly everyman. Deftly translated by Morgan Giles... It is an urgent reminder of the radical divide between rich and poor in postwar Japan." The Guardian
"Spare, indelible." O, the Oprah magazine
"A novel of the world we all share not what we expect from a ghost story but frightening all the same." Rumaan Alam, Washington Post
Coolly meditative, subtly spectral Yu s spare, empathetic prose beautifully expresses Kazu s perspective on the passage of time; he feels a constant absence from the present, an anger toward the future. This slim
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but sprawling tale finds a deeply sympathetic hero in a man who feels displaced and longs for connection after it s too late. Publishers Weekly, STARRED review
Restrained and mature. A gemlike, melancholy novel infused with personal and national history. Kirkus Reviews, STARRED review
A surreal fable of splintered families, disintegrating relationships, and the casual devaluation of humanity. Booklist, STARRED review
"A radical and deeply felt work of fiction, psychogeography and history all at once, tapping us straight into the lifeblood of a Tokyo we rarely see: Tokyo from the margins, rooted in the city's most vulnerable and least visible lives - and deaths." Elaine Castillo. author of America Is Not the Heart
"One thing Yu can do is write. She is simultaneously a social outcast and a literary star, a dark, brooding presence on the bookshelves. A creative genius." New York Times
"Yu, an ethnic Korean in Japan, is no stranger to modern society s traps driven by nationalism,capitalism, classism, sexism. Her anglophoned latest (gratitude to translator Giles for providing fluent accessibility) is a surreal fable of splintered families, disintegrating relationships, and the casual devaluation of humanity." Booklist (Starred Review)
Restrained and mature. A gemlike, melancholy novel infused with personal and national history. Kirkus Reviews, STARRED review
A surreal fable of splintered families, disintegrating relationships, and the casual devaluation of humanity. Booklist, STARRED review
"A radical and deeply felt work of fiction, psychogeography and history all at once, tapping us straight into the lifeblood of a Tokyo we rarely see: Tokyo from the margins, rooted in the city's most vulnerable and least visible lives - and deaths." Elaine Castillo. author of America Is Not the Heart
"One thing Yu can do is write. She is simultaneously a social outcast and a literary star, a dark, brooding presence on the bookshelves. A creative genius." New York Times
"Yu, an ethnic Korean in Japan, is no stranger to modern society s traps driven by nationalism,capitalism, classism, sexism. Her anglophoned latest (gratitude to translator Giles for providing fluent accessibility) is a surreal fable of splintered families, disintegrating relationships, and the casual devaluation of humanity." Booklist (Starred Review)
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