Tanizaki Jun'ichirō: Quicksand

titania7

Reader
Quicksand by Tanizaki Junichiro
translated by Howard Hibbett

Few writers are capable of penning an erotically charged story with as much searing simplicity as Tanizaki Junichiro. Like The Gourmet Club, Junichiro's collection of six bewitching stories, Quicksand makes a vivid impression in spite of a minimal amount of writing. At 223 pages, the book is slight, yet does not give the reader that innate dissatisfaction that comes from reading a novel that seems incomplete. The "quicksand" of the book's title serves as a visually stimulating metaphor for the vortex that pulls the cast of characters into its whirling midst. This dazzling array of characters include Sonoko, a married woman, her husband, and Watanuki, a young, effeminate man with a sexual inadequacy. But it is the seductive Mitsuko who is at the heart of this pernicious whirlpool, an eighteen-year-old girl who seems to bewitch all with whom she comes into contact. Referred to as "one of the most extraordinary femmes fatales in all of literature," Mitsuko first encounters Sonoko at the Women's Art Academy, where they are both taking classes. Sonoko is immediately struck by Mitsuko's appearance: "....you won't find another such dazzling beauty among all the young girls in Semba," she declares. Though the two women barely know one another, nasty rumors begin to spread around the art school. There is talk that they are having a lesbian affair, in spite of the fact that Sonoko is married. For some reason, these rumors draw the two of them together, and it isn't long before Mitsuko comes to Sonoko's house for a visit. While she is there, Sonoko suggests that she pose for her in the nude, as the models do in her "life" class. Reluctantly, Mitsuko complies, though she insists on being covered with a sheet. Sonoko recalls, "'....she went behind the wardrobe cabinet, took off her sash and kimono, let down her hair, combed it straight and smooth, and draped the sheet loosely around her naked body in the manner of a Kannon bodhisattva."*

Struck by the beauty of Mitsuko's body, tears come to Sonoko's eyes. She is beguiled. A frenzy comes over her, and she insists that Mitsuko remove the sheet. When she refuses, Sonoko begins struggling with her, attempting to tear the sheet off of her. After ripping it, she becomes even more frantic.

"...I bit a fold of the sheet, sinking my teeth into it and pulling hard, tearing it all the more....I felt a stab of pity for her, but when I glimpsed her plump white shoulders through the torn sheet I wanted to rip it off violently. Now I was really frantic and started stripping the sheet from her body....Then a smile at finally having had my way--a cool, malicious smile of triumph--came to my lips as I peeled off the remnants of the sheet. At last the sculptural form of a divine maiden was fully revealed, and my exultation changes to astonishment."

After a violent scene of tears and threats, Mitsuko and Sonoko make love, though the discretion that Junichiro uses lends a certain vagueness to their intimacy. Following this, the two women begin an amorous correspondence, in which they send letters to each other written on extraordinarily elaborate stationery. The stationery is, in fact, described in opulent detail by Junichiro, as are the varying styles of both Mitsuko and Sonoko's handwriting. It is a rarity to find an author so fastidious about seemingly insignificant details; yet, the fact Junichiro places importance on such trivial matters as the type of notepaper two of his characters use shows the amount of thought and consideration he puts into his writing. Often, in bi-sexual relationships portrayed in literature, one or both characters feel a certain amount of guilt. However, in Quicksand there seems to be no shame attached to the homosexual affair. "What is so bad about being in love with another woman?" Sonoko asks at one point, "someone of my own sex?" Sonoko begins to find that she longs for Mitsuko when the two are away from each other. She finds her husband boring, his conversation dull, and his company almost unbearable. But just when it seems the pair are destined to be each others' soulmates, a complication arises. Around nine o'clock one evening, Sonoko receives a phone call from Mitsuko. She says she is at a restaurant where she decided to take a bath. While she was bathing, she claims that someone took all her clothes. She implores Sonoko to bring her a kimono. When Sonoko hears a man's voice speaking in the background, Mitsuko tells her that she is with a friend, whose clothes have also been taken. "Could you possibly bring along one of your husband's kimonos, or a suit?" she questions, "It doesn't matter much." In spite of a certain degree of reluctance, Sonoko agrees to comply with her wishes. It is only later that she discovers that the friend who Mitsuko is with is a man whom she is romantically attached to named Watanuki Eijiro. Watanuki comes to see Sonoko, shortly after the bathing incident, and reveals the secret of his relationship with Mitsuko to her. "What this Watanuki told me," Sonoko relates, "was that while Mitsuko was still living in Semba, around the end of last year, he and Mitsuko had fallen in love and had even intended to be married...But gradually Mitsuko had been stirred by my own passion and had fervently returned my love, more than she ever loved him."

Watanuki says he feels "used" by Mitsuko now--that now that Sonoko has entered the picture he no longer has first place in Mitsuko's heart. Mitsuko claims to love both Watanuki and Sonoko, and she insists that she will not marry Watanuki unless he allows her affair with Sonoko to continue. "....married love is one thing and love for another woman is something else," she tells him, "so please realize that I won't give up Sister (her pet name for Sonoko) as long as I live." At one point she confesses to Sonoko, "I'd much rather be worshiped by someone of my own sex. It's natural for a man to look at a woman and think she's beautiful, but when I realize I can have another woman infatuated with me, I ask myself if I'm really that beautiful! It makes me blissfully happy!"

Gradually, as Sonoko begins to see traces of Mitsuko's duplicitous behavior, she starts to have second doubts about the sincerity of Mitsuko's affection for her. Sonoko has already revealed details of the affair with her husband, and, in spite of his attempting to dissuade her from continuing to see Mitsuko, she has remained steadfast in her devotion. However, she is not a fool, and she perceives that this devotion may well be one-sided.

"...I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand, and although I said to myself I had to escape, by this time I was helpless. I knew I was being used by Mitsuko and that all the while she was calling me her dear sister she was actually making a fool of me."

As she starts to sense Sonoko's distrust, Mitsuko starts to come up with various ploys to keep her bound to her. She pretends to have a miscarriage, even using fake blood to make the "scene" more authentic. Although Sonoko ascertains that Mitsuko is deceiving her, she nonetheless allows Watanuki to persuade her that Mitsuko must care for her, if she would make such an effort to hold onto her. Watanuki himself is convinced that Mitsuko loves Sonoko. In fact, he tells Sonoko that the only way Mitsuko will marry him is if the relationship between Mitsuko and her continues. He composes a special document and insists that Sonoko sign it. It is a contract that will bind the three of them together in a menage-a-trois that must surely be one of the strangest in all of literature. The details of the contract are as follows. Sonoko and Mitsuko will carry on their lesbian love affair, in which they look upon each other as "sisters." Watanuki will be Mitsuko's husband and Sonoko's "blood brother." And the two of them, Watanuki and Sonoko, will unite to prevent Mitsuko's love from being transferred to a third person. Watanuki also agrees not to impregnate Mitsuko. "Even in the case of a pregnancy existing at the time of marriage," he writes in a "provision" added to the original contract, "all necessary means will be taken to terminate it, if possible, after the ceremony."

Shortly after this, the truth about Watanuki is revealed. It turns out that he is impotent and that his nickname is "the one-hundred-percent-safe playboy." And more revelations come to light. It was Mitsuko who began the lesbian rumors that began at the art school some time before. She confesses that she sent anonymous postcards to everyone implying that she and Sonoko were lovers, although, according to her, she only did this to avoid marrying a man whom her family expected her to be the wife of. Sonoko wants to believe her, but she cannot. However, she is too captivated by her to break things off with her permanently. Although she sees straight through Mitsuko's lies, her beauty continues to enchant her. "If she had implored me with her eyes alone," she says, "I couldn't have resisted their bewitchment."

Eventually, Sonoko's husband falls under Mitsuko's spell, as well. Not long after Mitsuko, following a brief absence from Sonoko, comes to pick up a parasol and pair of sandals she left at the latter's house, a relationship among the three of them develops. At first, they are merely keeping company with one another; but, one day when the three of them are sleeping in the same bed together, Sonoko's husband ends up making love to Mitsuko. Sonoko tries to make excuses for him:

"....I was able to sympathize with him....I knew we were hopelessly incompatible, as I'd told him over and over, and so, just as I was always seeking another love partner, he must have been unconsciously seeking one too. Besides, he didn't know how to fill that lack by drinking and amusing himself with geishas, like other men, and so he was all the more susceptible to being
seduced."

As Mitsuko ingratiates herself into the lives of Sonoko and her husband, she start to wield a strange power over them. The level of manipulation she manages to maintain is almost supernatural. As Sonoko admits:

"In the end, both my husband and I were like empty husks--she wanted us to seek no other happiness, to live only for the light of our sun, Mitsuko, with no further desires or interests in the world."

This is one book that should be read straight through, without taking a mischievous glance at the ending. So, I will certainly not give details of the startling finale now. However, I will say that it seems only befitting that a femme fatale as dangerous and psychopathic as Mitsuko should come to a tragic end. Were she to achieve immortality, it is frightening to think of what chaos she would bring about.

Yet again, Junichiro has created a masterpiece. Quicksand is both simple and complicated, with characters that come to life almost like figures in a dollhouse. They may lack the finely chiseled facets that writers such as Balzac and Flaubert are so noted for imbuing their characters with, but they are nevertheless sculptured with enough precision to draw you into their twisted world.

Quicksand is the last of Junichiro's significant novels to be translated.
The Howard Hibbett translation is based on ChuoKoron-Sha, Inc.'s
edition of Manji, which was published in Japan in 1947. Manji was first
serialized in Kaizo in 1928-1930.

My rating for Quicksand: ****0


~Titania

*a being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order
to save others and is worshipped as a deity in Mahayana Buddhism
 
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liehtzu

Reader
Funny you should mention. I found a copy of this in a used bookstore and practically sprang on it. I love Tanizaki, though I'm not particularly fond of his opus, The Makioka Sisters, regarded by some as the greatest Japanese novel of the 20th century. It's certainly one of the longest, though that's about all I can say in its favor... Anyway, I'm more interested in the Tanizaki-in-a-sexual-fever than the pleasant novel-of-manners Tanizaki, and I very much look forward to reading this one. It's about fifth down the stack now.

Will report.
 

titania7

Reader
liehtzu said:
Funny you should mention. I found a copy of this in a used bookstore and practically sprang on it. I love Tanizaki, though I'm not particularly fond of his opus, The Makioka Sisters, regarded by some as the greatest Japanese novel of the 20th century. It's certainly one of the longest, though that's about all I can say in its favor...

Liehtzu,
The Makioka Sisters is a little tedious. Although the story is classic in style and very well-written, I've had to start and re-start the book two times thus far. This time around, I'm 300 pages in and struggling. I generally make notes on all the books I read as I read them. With The Makioka Sisters, though, as well as two or three other books I've read lately, I've slacked off. I think I'll read a couple of Junichiro's other novels first, then return to The Makioka Sisters, viewing it more as part of Junichiro's body of work than as an epic I am compelled to read. Of course, I'll make notes next time, too. That way I can write a decent view of the book. I do want to do it justice, even if it isn't my favorite of Junichiro's novels.

I could see, given the other literature you like, Liehtzu, that the more erotic side of Junichiro's writing would appeal to you. And, admittedly,
Junichiro does a marvelous job of blending subtlety and sensuality.
I don't think you'll be the least bit disappointed in Quicksand. I'll be most interested in reading your review, too! I've very much enjoyed the reviews you've posted at the forum thus far. Incidentally, you also might want to consider adding Junichiro's collection of stories, The Gourmet Club, to your collection.

I'm pleased to discover another Junichiro fan, that I must say!

Cheers,
Titania
 

liehtzu

Reader
I'm at the mercy of used bookstores where I am. Fortunately, Chiang Mai in north Thailand has better used bookstores (in terms of obscure and interesting titles) than most cities in the U. S. (actually, since you're from Atlanta - I'm from Savannah, mostly - there's a nice cut-rate new bookstore in Little Five Points right next to the little art cinema I used to frequent. Been there?). See my "recently purchased" for what I've been able to dig up around here. I also found a copy of Tanizaki's Naomi (alas, no Gourmet Club), which I strangely declined to buy. Next time I'm in Chiang Mai I'll correct that mistake, though. Another great thing about the bookstores there - or, hell, anywhere - is that trash flies off the shelves with alarming rapidity and Tanizaki can pleasantly gather dust and wait for me until the bovines return from walkabout.

I don't have any particular interest in Tanizaki's sexual madnesses over his more genteel side per se, it's just that he seems more invested in that than in that side of himself. I like sexual obsession and family epics alike, but Tanizaki's family epic is mostly tired and uninteresting. The problem with The Makioka Sisters is that it's like an Ozu film - and an Ozu film is two hours long and devastating, and Tanizaki's book is 600 pages and trudges on long after the reader's interest has ceased. It's one of the few times I thought of giving up a book midway through (the only other recent example I can think of is Nadine Gordimer's The Conservationist). It's strange because all his other novels are closer to novellas in length. Just this one huge doorstop in the 1940s.
 

titania7

Reader
liehtzu said:
I'm at the mercy of used bookstores where I am. Fortunately, Chiang Mai in north Thailand has better used bookstores (in terms of obscure and interesting titles) than most cities in the U. S. (actually, since you're from Atlanta - I'm from Savannah, mostly - there's a nice cut-rate new bookstore in Little Five Points right next to the little art cinema I used to frequent. Been there?).

I have been to a cut-rate bookshop in Little Five Points, but I don't remember an art cinema! I do love used bookshops. About three or so years ago, I bought perhaps $500 or $600 worth of books from one of those out-of-the-way secondhand book places. I procured so many fantastic books--from Machado de Assis' Dom Casmurro to Leopold Atlas' La Regenta to a Spanish classic scarcely anyone seems to have heard of called Belarmino and Apolonio by Ramon Perez de Ayala. I still have stacks of books from my two trips to that particular book store that haven't yet been read.

liehtzu said:
See my "recently purchased" for what I've been able to dig up around here.

It was an impressive list, and, I must admit, I haven't read most of them. I do own a few of them, and I'll certainly be adding them to my TBR list now that your post has reminded me that I have them around ;)

liehtzu said:
I also found a copy of Tanizaki's Naomi (alas, no Gourmet Club), which I strangely declined to buy.

My mum gave me a copy of this for my birthday, along with Some Prefer Nettles. I haven't yet read either of them, though I can't wait to do so!

liehtzu said:
Another great thing about the bookstores there - or, hell, anywhere - is that trash flies off the shelves with alarming rapidity and Tanizaki can pleasantly gather dust and wait for me until the bovines return from walkabout.

You're right about trash flying off the shelves! Too few people want the good stuff....but isn't that lucky for us??

liehtzu said:
I don't have any particular interest in Tanizaki's sexual madnesses over his more genteel side per se, it's just that he seems more invested in that than in that side of himself.

I agree. "The Gourmet Club" is wonderful at demonstrating Junichiro's predilection for eroticism. I read that he was greatly inspired by the tales of Poe when he was growing up, and it shows in this sextet of stories, as well as in a novel such as Quicksand. I'll have to see what I think of his other works. I have two more of his books (one novel, and one book that contains two novellas) waiting for me to pick up at the library.

liehtzu said:
I like sexual obsession and family epics alike, but Tanizaki's family epic is mostly tired and uninteresting. The problem with The Makioka Sisters is that it's like an Ozu film - and an Ozu film is two hours long and devastating, and Tanizaki's book is 600 pages and trudges on long after the reader's interest has ceased. It's one of the few times I thought of giving up a book midway through (the only other recent example I can think of is Nadine Gordimer's The Conservationist). It's strange because all his other novels are closer to novellas in length. Just this one huge doorstop in the 1940s.

It is quite insightful of you, Liehtzu, to compare The Makioka Sisters to an Ozu film. It reminds me so very much of Ozu's movies! I hadn't thought of it before you mentioned it, however. I think one of my complaints about this novel is that it is a trifle "dry." I'm cognizant of the fact that much of the beauty of the language could be "lost in translation," as they say.
But parts of it are definitely easy to get bogged down in. As I said, it's worth reading (in my opinion) to get a full picture of Junichiro's oeuvre of work; however, it's certainly disappointing in many ways. It is ironic that Junichiro's other novels are so much shorter in length. And yet, The Makioka Sisters is regarded as his masterpiece. Could there be a subconscious or psychological inclination/bias towards thinking that a longer book means a "greater" book?

~Titania
 
This sounds tremendous, and a wonderful review also. I wonder if the bodhisattva reference is an ironic joke, physically she resembles such but spiritually she is the very opposite in fact binding people more closely to the world of desire.

I also wonder if the focus on stationery is in part a form of sensuality, a lingering over seeming inconsequentials related to the object of desire. Is that credible at all?

I adored Diary of a Mad Old Man, a novel of sexual obsession from the perspective of the obsessive where the object of that obsession is almost accidental, certainly not particularly deserving compared to others.

As described this seems almost a ghost story, a tale of something from outside which enters lives and consumes them. Clearly also this is a novel with plays with ambiguities, particularly sexual ones (and the bishonen concept (Bish?nen - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia) is of course hardly new to Japanese culture).

This is definitely now being added to my to be read pile, I shall read it in one sitting as advised and I'm sure I shall enjoy it. I'm interested to hear more about the Makioka Sisters though, the comparison to Ozu sounds apt but it sounds heavy going. Sometimes the end of a book redeems other parts of it, I'd be interested to hear if that's the case here or if this is on occasion me) to sometimes conflate depth of content with physical depth, after all, is 223 pages really slight?
 

titania7

Reader
Max,
Many thanks for the compliments. I do think that Junichiro's reference to the bodhisattva is ironical. How could it not be, given the meaning of a bodhisattva? Although Quicksand is not by any means a humorous book, Junichiro does seem to make use of a bit of dry irony in his writing. It's interesting that you mention Quicksand as sounding almost like a ghost story. On some levels, it is rather like a "thriller" or horror tale, in that Mitsuko is nearly superhuman in her level of insidious psychopathy. Also, the hypnotic affect she has on Sonoko and Sonoko's husband is somewhat incomprehensible. It is almost as if she is a demonic spirit that has been sent into their lives to wreak havoc.

The Makioka Sisters is excellently written, and the characters are not uninteresting. There are simply parts of it that are a bit boring, and, certainly, it lacks the beguiling appeal of some of Junichiro's other books. I will perhaps go ahead and finish reading it, after all, though with only half my usual amount of notes, I don't know how thorough a review of it I'll be capable of writing. I rather depend on my notes, you see, because I read very quickly and sometimes find that I don't absorb quite a few important details.

I've now ordered Diary of A Mad Old Man from the library, Max. As I believe I told you, I had ordered it before, but the library sent it back before I could pick it up. I'm quite interested in reading it, based on what you have to say about it.

As for a 223-page book being "slight," I suppose it did strike me that way, given my recent readings of Dickens' Bleak House (over 800 pages), as well as Eca De Queiroz' Cousin Bazilio (450 pages).

Thanks again for the kind words about my review. I'm delighted that you enjoyed it!

Best,
Titania
 
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titania7

Reader
Max Cairnduff said:
I also wonder if the focus on stationery is in part a form of sensuality, a lingering over seeming inconsequentials related to the object of desire. Is that credible at all?

Possibly. I've ruminated a bit over your questions about the part stationery plays in this book. I might add, on a personal note, that I collect stationery and notecards. In fact, I've been known to spend $50-$100 on boxes of cards and notepaper at one time. All I have to do is go into a Barnes and Noble bookstore and I can find at least three or four different designs that I simply must purchase (each one being at least $15).

I'm going to quote a few passages from Quicksand because I feel that anything I would have to say about the role stationery plays in this book wouldn't compare to the paragraphs in the book that actually speak of it. It's interesting to note that it was apparently considered improper for women to use such showy stationery to write men letters on. Generally, even I save my most extravagant notecards and notepaper for my female friends--unless, that is, I'm writing a love letter. And, since I'm not bi-sexual (unlike the two women in this book), I only write love letters to men. As for the sort of notecard or type of stationery I use for a love letter....well, I pick anything that strikes my fancy, whether it be opulent or not. After all, there are moment's in every lady's life when she must throw caution to the wind! So far, I haven't had any complaints (not that I've written that many love letters over the course of my 26 years).

I quote from Quicksand, Chapter 7:

"...What finally came pouring out was a flood of figured paper: all those letters were in envelopes adorned with coquettish, brilliantly colored woodblock designs. The envelopes were small, only big enough to hold a sheet of women's letter paper folded in four, and they were decorated with evening primroses, lilies of the valley, tulips, portraits of beauties in the manner of Takehisa Yumeji, printed in four or five colors. I was somewhat taken aback at the sight. Doubtless no Tokyo woman would
choose such garish envelopes. Even for a love letter, she would prefer something plainer. If you showed her such things, you would be certain she would disdain them as hopelessly vulgar. And a man who received a love letter in an envelope like that, supposing he was a Tokyo man, would surely take an instant dislike to the sender. In any case, the taste for that sort of gaudy excess is indeed typical of the Osaka women. And when you think that these love letters were exchanged by two women,
they seem all the more excessive...."

The next passage goes into great detail regarding the stationery:

"....The dimensions of the envelope are 5 inches in length by 2 3/4 inches in width, with cherry and heart-shaped designs on a pink ground. There are five cherries in all, bright-red fruit on black stems. The hearts, of which there are ten, overlap vertically in pairs: those above are pale purple, those below gold. The notched top and bottom of the envelope is also edged in gold. Ivy leaves printed in very light green cover the surface of the letter paper, over which ruled lines are drawn in silver dots...."


My interest in cards and notepaper dates back to when I was a mere child. As a young girl, I had my own card company, and I designed all the stationery by hand. I had a small clientele, but I was rather successful.

I'm so pleased you brought up the subject of stationery in relation to Quicksand, Max. I had wanted to quote some of those passages in my initial review, but decided they would only prolong it unnecessarily. Besides, I wasn't certain how interesting people, generally speaking, would find those details. You inspired me, by the way, to finish reading The Makioka Sisters. Slowly but surely I will make it through those 528 pages!

Thanks again for your interesting comments and questions in regard to Quicksand.

~Titania
 
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Not just a form of sensuality then, it's also perhaps a commentary on class, on the inappropriateness of the relationships, on luxuriating in impropriety, though the sensual element seems there also.

To be honest, I'll plainly need to read the book and even then I suspect there may be a density of content that means not everything will reveal itself on one readthrough. How fascinating, and for that matter, how rewarding.
 

liehtzu

Reader
?Yes, I?m afraid my young mistress doesn?t have much of a conscience.?



Written in the late 1920s, Tanizaki?s Quicksand feels startlingly modern and has lost none of its punch. I ran into a friend later in the day I?d read it and grabbed his sleeve and beamed, ?I just finished my book about Japanese lesbians in the 1920s!? He did not seem to know quite how to take that.

After reading the author?s overdrawn and overpraised The Makioka Sisters I wasn?t sure that I wanted to revisit him for awhile, but I happened across two novels in the shop a few weeks ago and remembered how fond I was of Tanizaki ? not the stately, family-saga Tanizaki, but the fevered, kinky Tanizaki of, say, A Portrait of Shunkin. And then to find Naomi, about a man who marries a teenage girl who eventually comes to dominate and humiliate him? And the lusty lesbians of Quicksand? Naturally I could not resist.

Quicksand is initially disorienting, cheerfully narrated by a young woman to a you who is only later revealed to be a writer, unnamed but presumably Tanizaki, an old friend who she wants to tell ?my side of the story, from beginning to end? before the papers make a mess of it. The whole novel is one extended monologue for the most part ? the author remains voiceless except for rare, dry punctuations of Author?s note in the text (often very funny, bizarrely obsessed with details such as the ?garish? and ?hopelessly vulgar? envelopes the two women used to write their love letters that are ?indeed typical of Osaka women?). Sonoko immediately proceeds to launch into how she first noticed and gradually became obsessed with the beautiful, corrupt young art student Mitsuko, how she began deceiving her husband, and how her life began its downward spiral:



So I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand, and although I said to myself I had to escape, by this time I was helpless.




The novel proceeds briskly and inexorably to what can only be a bad end for all involved ? a careful enough reading of the first ten pages or so already reveal that Mitsuko and Sonoko?s husband are dead.

Sonoko is unabashed about revealing the details of how it all happened: how she met Mitsuko in art class and became smitten with her, how rumors began to circulate about a lesbian relationship, then how that relationship really did blossom and the deceptions that followed. She describes how she once became crazed while painting Mitsuko nude in her home, obsessed as she was by the ?perfect? body:



?There, that ought to do, ? said Mitsuko. ?Now I?m getting dressed.?

?No, no you mustn?t!? I shook my head petulantly. ?Let me look at you some more!?

?That?s ridiculous. I can?t just stay here naked like this, can I??

?Of course you can! And you?re not really naked! You?ve got to take this off--? As I spoke I snatched hold of the sheet that was draped around her, but she struggled to hang on to it, screaming: ?Let go! Let go!? Finally I heard the sheet begin to tear.

That drove me into a frenzy, and now my eyes filled with angry tears. ?All right then, never mind! I didn?t think you were such a coward ? this is the end of our friendship!? And I bit a fold of the sheet, sinking my teeth into it and pulling hard, tearing it all the more.




All is bliss after the initial fever dies down, but naturally other shoes must drop ? there?s the man Sonoko discovers in the hotel room with Mitsuko, who shatters her illusions of a pure love between women. And then Sonoko?s husband: at first merely a dupe (she thinking: ?getting around a man like you is the easiest thing in the world?), even he finally gets drawn to the evil magnet that is Mitsuko like the inevitable moth to the light.

The novel finally descends into a wonderfully sinister, surreal final circus of exhausted, drug-induced insanity and pledges of love suicides, with Mitsuko as the satanic ringmaster.

Really wonderful, the kind of thing that gets me jumping around on the sofa ? Quicksand restored my love for the author.
 

titania7

Reader
Liehtzu,
Congrats on a stupendous review of this scintillating novel. You're right in saying that it hasn't lost any of its punch. As for Mitsuko, she is indeed a "satanic ringmaster." Brilliant comparison, by the way. I'm delighted that Quicksand restored your faith in Junichiro. He is not an author to be missed, in my opinion!

I'll look forward to your review of Naomi. Once again, superb work.

Peace.

Titania
 
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