Hitomi Kanehara: Autofiction
Hitomi Kanehara is an interesting lady. As I always do when reviewing an author for the first time I make a point of reading the biography blurb at the beginning of the book to get a feel for his or her background; Kanehara’s is, to put it mildly, unconventional. Her status as a professional writer, aided by the endorsement of well-known author Ryu Murakami whose edgy and controversial works bear quite a similarity, is all the more surprising given that she dropped out of school at an early age, left home as a teenager and started her career by e-mailing drafts of her work to her father, who works as a literary translator. Add to this the fact that Autofiction is focused on a twenty-something female writer who also had a colourful early life, and you have to wonder where the inspiration for this striking novel came from.
This possiblility that the book’s title should be taken literally is dangled in front of the reader’s nose from the outset but whether it’s a clever bluff on Kanehara’s part is another matter. Either way, the character of Rin and the events of her life are a fascinating read. The first chapter picks her story up soon after her wedding, then successive chapters take up the narrative at points earlier on in her life; telling stories in reverse is nothing new of course (taken to extremes in the likes of the movie Memento) but in this case the approach serves to dig into the troubled psyche of the protagonist, peeling away layer after layer of insecurity and paranoia as it goes.
It’s always difficult for me to judge the prose of foreign language authors because my criticism might be misdirected: are its shortcomings and strengths the result of the original writer, or the person who translated them into English? Here, I’m not sure if I am indeed witnessing a remarkable writer in Kanehara, or whether David James Karashima is adept at creating a startling atmosphere when translating from one language to another. I’ll give the two of them the benefit of the doubt and say it’s a bit of both.
I’m not actually overly concerned whether it’s Kanehara and/or Karashima who is responsible because the end result is brilliant either way. Rin’s first-person narration flows effortlessly despite her mood swings throwing the tone from one extreme to the other: one moment she is declaring her undying devotion to her husband; the next she is hating him for what she perceives as infidelity. This ever-shifting perspective is carried over to her earlier encounters and relationships that may not justify her behaviour but certainly goes some way to explaining it.
I don’t want to spoil things by spelling out the details but Rin’s life is a mixture of personal failings on her own part, such as rejecting offers of assistance from those around her, and instances where those who are in a position to help let her down badly. The tragedy at the heart of it all is that, for all her psychotic episodes and occasionally violent and self-destructive behaviour, Rin is a lonely and misunderstood individual who just wants to be loved.
The world in which she lives, that of a seedy underbelly to modern Tokyo which is rarely depicted in fiction, let alone elsewhere, goes a long way to contributing to Rin’s fragile and disturbed mental state. The vulnerability of a young woman who tries to fill the voids in her life with cheap alcohol, unsavoury nightclubs and unsatisfying romantic entanglements is poorly suited to this environment but is too insecure and self-deluded to find a way out.
I was left a little disappointed with the conclusion though. The final chapter, portraying a fifteen-year old Rin, doesn’t seem to go back far enough: the origin of her mental disturbance would settle things once and for all so for me it fails to completely explain her personality. On reflection however, the scattered snapshot approach, an interesting modern variant on slice-of-life storytelling, is still very effective in trying to explain a personality who is very difficult to understand. How blameless is Rin? Is the fact that she’s fooling herself into thinking she’s happy tantamount to being genuinely happy? I don’t honestly see the point in stating my answers to these questions, because much of the enjoyment of this novel is coming up with answers of your own; I think the complexity of her character is probably deliberately open to interpretation.
The first-person viewpoint is essential in a novel such as this because the important plot points often take place inside the protagonist’s head. This is I think why Rin’s emotional problems go largely undetected by those around her: she hides her insecurity (”I’m a no-good person.”) by outrageous, extrovert behaviour while the reader sees the frightened and unsatisfied young woman who dwells within. In a way it’s a cautionary tale in that a contemporary, conformist society can let the vulnerable slip between the cracks; at the same time it suggests that those individuals could find themselves in such positions through their own volition. Thanks to this talented young writer, I’m now aware of how this path of life has no easy resolution.
Summary
Fans of modern fiction that dares to explore areas that many others dare not will find much to enjoy in Autofiction: whether it draws from the author’s personal experiences or not, it takes the reader into unknown, and occasionally unsettling, regions of modern Japan and a troubled individual who lives there. I’m now eager to sample more of Kanehara’s gripping and outstanding work, and look forward to what she will surprise us with next.
Leave a Reply