Leaving the Interior

This past weekend I flew up to Tokyo for two literary events.  The first was a Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators showcase, at which eight of us presented our recent and forthcoming works for children.  Interestingly, one illustrator, Youchan, had just completed a Japanese book about a deaf child at school.  Another, Naomi Kojima, spoke about translating the letters of a legendary children’s book editor, and my friend Holly and her illustrator did a presentation on the making of The Wakame Gatherers.  (For my interview with Holly, click here.)   I was lucky to meet Yuka Hamano, the illustrator for my own forthcoming picture book, Playing for Papa, which will be published by Topka Books in Spain.

The following evening I was on a panel along with Alfred Birnbaum (Haruki Murakami’s first English translator) and Barry Lancet, Executive Editor of Kodansha International, at the Society of Writers, Editors and Translators New Year Party.  I read a few pages of Losing Kei and talked about the book.

 I had a great time.  Unfortunately, while I was gone, my hubsand and mother-in-law had a big blow out which had nothing to do with me.  My mother-in-law said, however, that it happened because I wasn’t here to act as a buffer.  Also, she had some self-esteem issues because Jio didn’t eat all of the bento she prepared for him.  And my son said he didn’t feel well and stayed home from school yesterday, although he had no fever, did not vomit, and had a healthy appetite.

In Japanese the word for wife means “woman of the interior.”  See, I’m supposed to stay in the house all the time.  Look what happens when I go out! 

This weekend I’m going to Kagoshima.

Losing Kei reviewed in Mamazine

Thanks, Kate Hopper, for the lovely review of Losing Kei in Mamazine.  You can also read bits of our phone conversation on Kate’s blog.

Hair Cut

In Japan, the stereotypical occupation for the blind is shiatsu masseuse, whereas for the deaf it’s cutting hair.  Indeed, there is a vocational track at the local school for the blind for massage, and at the school for the deaf for aspiring barbers and beauticians.  So I guess it’s sort of appropriate that yesterday my deaf daughter gave herself a hair cut.

I was busily cooking supper, and she was across the room, crouched behind the kerosene heater.  When I went to get her for dinner, I saw hanks of hair strewn all over the floor.  She’d used children’s scissors - the very scissors she’d been using to cut construction paper minutes earlier.  I was in such shock that I couldn’t even muster anger.  I told her that next time, if she really wants a hair cut, she should tell us and we’ll take her to a professional.

She’s always signing that she wants to get a hair cut, even when her hair is fairly short.  I thought that she liked to go for the bag of snacks the barber gives out at the end, or for the racing car chair.  As it turns out, the bangs really were bothering her. 

Brrrr

Today was pretty darn chilly.  Mt. Bizan (Mt. Eyebrow, for those of you who don’t speak Japanese) was dusted with snow this morning.  Here are some current temperatures around the house:

master bedroom - 10 degrees Centigrade

the room where my computer is (supposedly my writing room, but really the husband’s TV/mah johng room) - 9 degrees 

Fantasy Fulfilled

Although I am not usually in the mood to cook, I love looking at cookbooks and I have something of a pot fetish.  I actually used to spend two hours or more duplicating meals from Saveur.  I remember a particularly delicious - and labor intensive - Chilean dish that involved chicken, beef and raisins.  But Yoshi was never all that enthusiastic about the results and, well, you know how kids are.

Nevertheless, I have been hankering for years for a Le Creuset pot.  I guess on some level I believe it’ll turn me into a slender French woman, as seen in the food ads of Elle, and that my sauces will turn out perfectly every time.  The one I bought was irresistibly on sale at nearly half price. It’s bright orange and very substantial.  I can’t wait to use it!

In Memorian

Alexander “Sandy” Taylor was the co-founder of Curbstone Press, an award-winning press known for publishing books with a social conscience.  I was thrilled, when, about five years ago, Sandy sent me an email offering to publish my short story collection, River of Dolls.  We exchanged email about this book over the past few years.  I hadn’t signed a contract yet but I checked in with him every now and then.  There were some delays due to fundraising and other issues, I gathered, but in his last email to me, he wrote that we would soon decide which of my stories to include.  More time passed.  Being preoccupied with the other two books I had coming out this year, I didn’t worry about the matter too much.  But then, at the end of December, Sandy suffered a stroke and died.  These things happen.

I regret that Sandy will not be publishing my short story collection.  I could tell, from my limited contact with him via email and Facebook, that he was passionate about literature.  All of the authors who worked with him sing his praises.  And  on my shelf, I have many books that he published - evidence of his great eye and his enthusiasm.

Rest in peace, Sandy. 

We, Wii, Oui

Yesterday my son’s friend came over.  I told his mother that after the boys finished their homework, they could play with the Wii.  “What’s a Wii?” she asked.  Ah.  Blissful ignorance.

Our house is turning into a den of inequity.  It’s the place where my friends’  organically fed kids get brownies made from a box, and are exposed to Nintendo DS and Wii and other pernicious electronic games.  We’re actually trying to steer our twins to more wholesome activities (Webkinz WITHOUT the video games, the activities found in The Dangerous Book for Boys and The Daring Book for Girls).  In fact, yesterday the boys went out to play baseball in the rarely traveled street in front of our house.  But then my mother-in-law came out and started fretting that they got in the way of the  neighbors who came by (rarely!!) on their bicycles and that it was dangerous (even though I was there, supervising and there were NO cars), etc. etc., so the kids wound up going back into the house, back to the Wii.  We didn’t buy the Wii ourselves. Someone gave to to my husband as an end of the year gift.  And while I continue to believe that “real” baseball is better than the virtual version, Wii has its good points.  Even Lilia could get a strike during Wii bowling, and I hear that my 91-year-old grandfather has been playing Wii sports at his retirement complex.  So, for the moment, I say “oui” to the Wii.

Review of Goodbye Madame Butterfly

My review of Goodbye Madame Butterfly: Sex, Marriage and the Modern Japanese Woman by Sumie Kawakami is now online at HerCircle Ezine.

For the Record

Yesterday evening I found my husband inebriated* at the kitchen table.  “You wrote negative things about Japan in your novel,” he said.  “And everyone is going to think that the husband in the novel is me.”

So, for the record, Yusuke, the ex-husband in Losing Kei should not be confused with Yoshi, my actual current husband.  Yoshi is not an art dealer.  In fact, he once fell asleep  in an art gallery on one of our dates.  Yoshi does not have a beard.  Well, at least not usually.  Yoshi does not run a construction company.  He does not come home at 11PM.  He loves our children and has a good relationship with them.  He does not consort with gangsters.  Okay?

*For the record, he was not drinking heavily because of my novel.  He’s tired and jet-lagged and just one beer made him a bit punchy. 

Home Alone

So we’re back home, and I’m alone in the house.  How odd after three weeks of togetherness!  There is no husband hovering, waiting to check the Japanese news sites; no kids wanting to play games with their Webkinz; no parents waiting for me to disconnect so that they can use the telephone.  (So now you know why I didn’t blog much while on vacation.)

We had a bit of an adventure after deplaning in Osaka Monday night.  We got off the plane, carrying heavy Lilia, and there was no wheelchair!  The cabin crew assured us that the wheelchair had been loaded onto the plane, but all we saw were three airport wheelchairs and a folded stroller.  One of the flight attendants went looking for it and came back with a little old Chinese lady riding around in Lilia’s chariot!  “No wonder it’s so small,” she reportedly said upon being advised of her error.  Lilia was outraged, but happy to get it back.