Medium
I’m trying to keep this space for book reviews, cultural matters and travel. I thought I would try Medium for musings on other topics. My first post there is now online. Next here will be the latest instalment of the Japanologue.
Big in Japan 6
I
Kanazawa railway station is quite something. After the Shinkansen glided in, coming to a stop at precisely the correct second, we were soon able to see its bold modern design, dominated by the Tsuzumi-mon gate, shaped like the traditional Japanese drums, but also, we thought, reminiscent of a temple gateway.
The main interest in the city is all to the east of the station. Our hotel was a few steps to the west, so we were well placed each day to walk through the lively station precinct and the Tsuzumi-mon gate to commence our sight-seeing.
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| This place had all the main essentials covered. |
Kanazawa, in the northern central mainland of Japan, is worth a visit because of its historical interest. It has not been subject to the kind of modernisation enforced on other cities after war or natural disaster, so it preserves more widely than elsewhere the buildings and the culture of the past. We found the main sites within easy walking distance of the centre, and set off first to explore the famous Kenrokuen Garden via a stroll through the impressive grounds of Kanazawa Castle, of which more later.
Kenrokuen is a major tourist attraction, so the advice is to get there early. It opens at eight, and we were there not long after. Despite some rain, the first we had encountered in Japan, there were a good many people around first thing. Kenrokuen, which was originally the private garden of the feudal ruling family – which is why it adjoins the castle – is huge, varied and beautiful, with something to catch the interest at every turn. According to Japan Guide, “Kenrokuen literally means ‘Garden of the Six Sublimities’, referring to spaciousness, seclusion, artificiality, antiquity, abundant water and broad views, which according to Chinese landscape theory are the six essential attributes that make up a perfect garden.” Even through a rather persistent drizzle, it was difficult not to be impressed by the trees, the plants, the fountains, the lake… Here’s the obligatory Brit in raingear shot:
Really, though, nothing could dampen our enthusiasm for this place. We wondered around for quite a long time, at the end of which the promised hordes had indeed appeared, and it was getting quite crowded. We were glad we’d made it an early start. You can see literally thousands of photos of the garden taken in better weather here, so I won’t post many of our rainy shots. Here are some items of interest, though:
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| This fountain, which looks quite modest, is claimed to be Japan’s oldest. |
This stone tablet contains a haiku by Basho, which goes
Aka aka to
Hiwa tsure naku mo
Aki no kazu
or something like “How brightly the sun shines, turning its back to the autumn wind.” Again, it’s a rather modest monument, but is much revered as it commemorates Basho’s visit in 1689 on the narrow road to the deep north.
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| The gardeners were out in force, in outfits that hadn’t changed much in three hundred years. |
We left, slightly damp, but very content with what we’d experienced, as the rain stopped.
The castle, which was almost completely destroyed by fire in 1881, has been partially, and painstakingly, rebuilt, using the same techniques and materials as in the original. It was the first fortified building we had encountered in Japan, and it was clear that it presented a formidable obstacle to potential enemy forces.
Climbing up on the ramparts gave us a view of the city and showed how dominant the castle must have been when it was built in the late sixteenth century by the local feudal lords.
I especially loved the huge wooden gates that guard the entrances. They don’t supply these at B&Q:
II
Exploring the main city, we chanced upon a coffee shop run by an American, from Seattle, and his Japanese wife. Sol was a really friendly and welcoming guy, who happily chatted about Kanazawa and recommended some sights and places to eat. Close to his shop lies the Omi-cho market, an extraordinary place crammed with stalls selling all kinds of food, but especially seafood. The creatures laid out for the shopper’s delectation didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen in a fishmonger’s, and while we enjoyed the lively bustle of the place, we moved on quickly.
We headed out on foot to the former Samurai district, Nagamichi, to stroll around the various well-preserved houses from the Edo period. The narrow streets are defined by earthen walls, the construction of which was apparently a privilege only afforded to Samurai. The narrow lanes, which intersect with the Onosho canal, the oldest of Kanazawa’s fifty canals, are perfect for a leisurely wander, with each former residence of a warrior clan just a few steps from the last.
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| No smoking, even on the streets in Kanazawa. |
The residences were well-preserved, and beautifully presented.
The interiors were minimalist, with an emphasis on the rituals of domestic life:
The exteriors were simple, too, understated, yet demonstrating the status that the Samurai would have had compared to the ordinary people. These are substantial dwellings.
III
We wanted to look again at the area around Kenrokuen in better weather, so the following day we headed for the Seisonkaku Villa, which adjoins the garden.
This villa, built in 1863 by the local lord for his mother, was yet another exquisite architectural gem. It’s one of the finest of the Samurai dwellings in the city, and has historical displays of interest, but the main attraction really is just to experience the calm elegance of the interior, and the views of the garden in its autumn glory.
We walked down the hill back into town, where we had planned to visit the museum of contemporary art, which is a striking modernist building. When we arrived, it was really crowded (it was weekend) and as there were no exhibitions that really appealed, we decided to leave it, and make the most of the sunshine.
Unexpectedly, we came across a lovely little museum dedicated to Noh Theatre. On the ground floor, a Noh stage is laid out, and they encourage visitors to try on a Noh costume, and practise some classic gestures. Here’s a goddess I happen to know:
After that interlude, we enjoyed some browsing in a very high-class craft shop attached to the museum, and walked to a quiet area where we could see the D.T. Suzuki Museum. Suzuki was an important Buddhist philosopher, and this memorial to him is a beautifully calm spot for contemplation.
I’m not reading the profound insights of Prof. Suzuki there, by the way: I’m working out the best route back to the castle.
We walked along the castle wall until we came to the Oyama shrine, built in 1599, and a curious mix of architectural styles. Bits of the shrine originated elsewhere, and the gate was originally designed as the portal to the castle. It’s an impressive, sprawling place now, with some startling statuary:
IV
Sol advised us to visit the Higashi Chaya district in the evening, when the street lanterns gave this area a pleasantly welcoming atmosphere. This area is where the geishas would entertain in the teahouses. It dates from 1820, and outside Tokyo and Kyoto is the largest of these pleasure districts in Japan. It’s been well preserved and is now a magnet for tourists, particularly those wanting an atmospheric crepuscular stroll.
We arrived in the late afternoon, when it was still light, and did a circuit. The teahouses still function, and are supplemented by places selling souvenirs and gifts.
Later, when dusk arrived, the area felt quite different, and it was worth a second circuit to experience the area in the lamplight.
We had the obligatory encounter with a cat:
After a while, we sought out Huni, the restaurant recommended to us by Sol at the coffee shop. He had described the location well, and he needed to, because from the outside, as he’d said, it looked just like a private house, and was off the beaten track. We could see a kitchen through a window, and when we entered, it became clear that the kitchen opened into the dining area, where a couple of tables were waiting, as well as some seats at the counter which marked off the kitchen. We sat at the counter and had a great chat with the owner, who spoke excellent English, and who was happy to rustle up a delicious vegetarian meal for us.
Afterwards, we walked around the quiet residential streets, and came across a curious little shrine, featuring more figurines in knitted outfits.
Even the car park next to our hotel had a guardian in a little hut:
All in all, a lovely evening. We arrived back at our top floor room which gave us a panoramic view of the city.
Kanazawa was a delight, full of unexpected pleasures. The following day we were travelling on the Shinkansen again, back to Tokyo.
Big in Japan 5
Taxis in Japan, we found, were beautifully clean, retro-sixties style monuments to kitsch, replete with head-rest doilies and cute seat covers. For our day trip from Kyoto to Hiroshima, we needed an early start, and our helpful host arranged a taxi. Our man was waiting as we emerged five minutes before the appointed time from the apartment. He was dressed in an immaculate uniform, complete with white gloves, and drove us smoothly to the station, dropping us off at the Shinkansen entrance. No agonising about the tip, of course, because in Japan you don’t tip.
We could go for a day’s outing to Hiroshima because, even though it’s about 225 miles away, the bullet train would take us there in less than two hours. We planned a further visit that day, so on arrival at Hiroshima, we took another train and a short ferry trip to the island of Miyajima We could see the Itukushima, a floating shrine, guarded by the Torii gate from the boat.
On arrival, a short stroll through streets where deer roamed freely took us to the remarkably orange floating shrine.
The shrine, which dates originally from the sixth century, though nothing from that era survives, is a World Heritage Site, and deservedly so. Its broad wooden platforms, supported by pillars, stand in the sea, and it’s thought that the original intention was to worship the island spirits. Even though we visited alongside lots of other people, and the inevitable school party, it was a peaceful, enlightening experience.
We moved on to look at some of the other shrines and monuments that are thickly dotted about the island. We didn’t have the opportunity to linger, as we only had a couple of hours, but it was enough to get the flavour of this unique place. Having climbed a short distance up Mount Misen, we arrived at the Daisho-in temple, where we were greeted by five hundred heads with little knitted hats:
Stoke City fans, possibly.
A couple of encounters with some scary guardians, more tame deer, and then time to say sayonara to this wonderful place.
We took the ferry and train back to Hiroshima, and headed out on a tram to the Peace Park. After the beauty of Miyajima, this was a sombre reminder of the other side of human nature. The first thing we saw was the famous “A-bomb dome”, the shell of a building very close to the epicentre of the explosion. It is a striking and effective monument, and reminded us of the Gedächtniskirche in Berlin, which has a similar purpose.
We spent the afternoon walking around the park, looking at the various monuments. We were particularly struck by the Children’s Monument, inspired by the story of Sasaki Sadako. On the day we were there, lots of schoolchildren took turns in singing and performing poems dedicated to peace. It was touching to see and hear.
We found that being English attracted attention from the kids. They wanted to practise, and many had worksheets to fill in, where they wrote down the answers to simple questions they asked us: what do you like about Japan? and so on. We were quite the celebrities for a while. Here’s me with some of my army of adoring fans:
The Peace Museum at Hiroshima is a must-see. The displays are heartbreaking, documenting in relentless detail the horrific effects of the bomb. We spent an hour or so there, until we were to meet up with a friend of a friend, with whom we were to see the main part of the city.
Hiroshima now is a modern, bustling city, with hardly anything pre-1945 standing. We did see the Bank of Japan, that survived largely intact, but nothing else. Big broad streets, some of them covered, made up most of the commercial district, but we weren’t there to shop. We were on our way to eat Okonomiyaki…
Our new friend has lived in Hiroshima for twenty years, and is a regular at the place he was taking us to. The dish is the local specialty, and, luckily for us vegetarians, is infinitely adaptable. A nondescript modern building – the Okonomimura – houses dozens of competing okonomiyaki establishments, all laid out in the same way: an L-shaped hot plate, behind which the cook stands, and in front of which you sit. Each of the stalls had room for maybe 10 – 15 customers. We went to the Hirochan, which is operated by a very friendly and obliging husband-and-wife team, who were happy to make a veggie special for us. The cook starts with a pool of batter on the hot plate, adds vegetables and other ingredients, noodles, sauces, turns it and flattens it until all is cooked, and then cuts it with a sharp spatula-like tool into smaller chunks. We ate with one of these straight off the griddle, though you can have it served on plates. Accompanied by an ice-cold beer, this was absolutely delicious.
We had a wonder through the streets afterwards, noting that, at the end of October, there were many Hallowe’en displays, so clearly that aspect of American culture has become a thing in Japan.
We took a tram back to the station, and arrived back in Kyoto late that night. Next: Kanazawa.
Marina Warner at The John Rylands Library
To the John Rylands library to see Marina Warner (does the Dame come before or after the Professor?) give her lecture Oracular Narrative: Timing and Truth Telling. This was a very pleasant event, with a drinks reception beforehand, and then the lecture itself in the historic reading room of the grand neo-Gothic building:
( Image: © Copyright David Dixon and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence)
The lecture, accompanied by some striking visuals in a slide show, had clearly grown out of Dame Marina’s recent work on fairy tale, particularly the Thousand and One Nights. She made the point that prophecy, in its widest sense, dominates discourse: markets deal in futures, reporters and experts speculate on what happens next, rather than accounting for what has happened, and so on. She linked this to the presence of prophecy in art and literature, in a very wide-ranging talk that took in Shakespeare (particularly The Winter’s Tale), the carvings of Amiens cathedral, the Mabinogion, Kafka, Judith and Holofernes, and the Qalendars’ tales in the Arabian Nights, among many other topics.
As well as exploring the role of “what will be” in these texts and artefacts, she looked at how that tradition manifests itself in contemporary world literature. The novels she chose were by writers who had been considered for the International Booker Prize, whose panel she chaired last year. All, shamefully, were new to me – more titles for the TBR pile. Mabanckou’s Memoirs of a Porcupine sounded intriguing, maybe an African Rushdie; Ibrahim al-Koni’ s Gold Dust deals with universal themes in a desert setting; Gamal al-Ghitani’s Zayni Barakat uses the fictional biography of a historical figure to make political points about recent Egyptian politics; Radwa Ashour’s Siraaj is an Arabic take on sub-Daharan African geopolitics; and the Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai’s novel The Melancholy of Resistance seems like an extraordinary tour-de-force from Dame Marina’s description on the Man Booker prize site.
So, much food for thought, expressed in clear and crisp sentences that engaged the listener without attempting to baffle with jargon. Marina Warner is a genuine public intellectual. We need more like her.
(Image of Marina Warner: Dan Welldon)
Big in Japan 4
Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan, enchants the visitor at every turn. And it’s not just the temples and shrines. The modern buildings, too, command attention, none more so than the railway station, which we saw quite a bit of in our travels. It’s a massive glass-fronted edifice in the centre of the city, and you can travel to a rooftop garden via the escalators to take in the view – though only through glass panels, which reflect when you take a photo of course. Still, spectacular:
We set out to see some of the major sights on our second day in Kyoto, and on another bright and sunny morning, we walked south from the station the few blocks to began with the Toji temple, which dates from the eighth century, but what strikes the visitor immediately is the pagoda, the tallest in Japan, and one that has been cunningly built to survive earthquakes. The current structure is over three hundred years old, and is built to last.
We walked north of the station to seek out the Hongan-ji Temples. These massive complexes date back in parts to the sixteenth century, and remain very important sites for Japanese Buddhism. The first, Nishi Hongan-ji, has all sorts of treasures, including what’s thought to be the oldest Noh stage in Japan. The scale of the buildings was impressive, as was the air of quiet dedication about the place. All was calm and serene as we strolled around the grounds, and glimpsed inside the halls where some people were at prayer.
The Higashi temple was undergoing refurbishment, so we caught the bus back up to the Gion district, where we embarked on a walk around eastern Gion and Higashiyama. This district is very distinctive, almost a separate enclave, which has retained its traditional character. The paved streets are narrow, and quite touristy now, but the district is packed with architectural and cultural interest. We took the walk recommended in the guide book, which involved a steep trek up the hill to the Kiyomizu temple and then a stroll around the packed streets. The temple area was thronged with people, and we made the decision not to join the crowds, but to head for the little streets. It was the season for school trips, and everywhere we saw very well-organised groups of kids, all sporting distinctive caps to mark them out. Here’s a group joining the masses at the Kiyomizu temple:
Apparently, the Kiyomizu temple, founded in 778, is one of those places that every Japanese will visit at least once. Most of them seemed to be there that day! Back on the streets, it was not unusual to see people in traditional dress, often, we were told, hired for the occasion, so that the wearers could promenade around the area:
The streets are full of shops selling handicrafts to tourists, both foreign and Japanese. They are of very high quality, and priced appropriately. We just window-shopped. After another walk up the hill we arrived at the Kodai-ji Temple, next to which was, rather incongruously, the main coach park for the district. There is an impressive bell:
It was getting towards dusk by now, so we went out by the startlingly colourful Yasaka shrine and on to the bustling streets of fashionable Gion, where fashionistas and politicians mix.
That was enough for the day, especially since we had an early start the next morning. We really loved Kyoto, but we would be leaving it for our flying visit to Hiroshima on the Shinkansen the next day.
Dan Hicks
I suppose it will have been in late 1971 or early 1972. I was meeting my girlfriend, but had stopped on the way to pick up my monthly copy of Zigzag, an odd, rather amateurishly produced alternative magazine that featured articles and interviews about mainly American rock music. It wasn’t like Sounds or NME, which concentrated on the charts. The fact that it was named after a Capt. Beefheart song gives an indication of where it was coming from. It also had Pete Frame’s Rock Family Trees, where the various incarnations of groups would be presented in diagram form – ideal material for me, who liked to know everything about the bands I favoured. Anyway, when I arrived at my girlfriend’s house, I remember her saying “I see you’ve got your instructions, then,” referring to the copy of Zigzag in my hand. I argued feebly that I could make my own mind up about what to like, but she was right. I tended to follow the advice I found there, as a way of broadening my collection of records by loon-panted denizens of Laurel Canyon. And sometimes, this led to my acquiring albums that really weren’t worth persevering with, but I would try because Zigzag said they were good. Thus, I had a copy of Poco’s A Good Feeling to Know, which was not a good album to buy, try as I might to like it. There were a few other duds of this proto-Eagles country-rock type. But Zigzag also alerted me to people I would never otherwise have come across, and whose music I have been listening to in the intervening forty-odd years.
One such is Dan Hicks, whose death was announced yesterday. I took a chance on his album Striking it Rich, bought from Rare Records in Manchester. Along with his backing group the Hot Licks, Dan went on a streak of brilliant records in the early seventies, but for me, that album, with its giant matchbox design, was the pinnacle of his achievement. The sound has elements of Django Reinhardt, and of western swing. The songs are often wryly observational, and frequently funny, delivered by Dan in a laconic, throwaway style, and supported by the Andrews sisters-style harmonies of the Lickettes. I played that album over and over again – to my soon-to-be-departed girlfriend’s annoyance. I loved the interplay of the voices, the timbre of Sid Page’s violin, and the timeless quality of the sound: this didn’t seem to be music of the seventies, or any other decade. It still sounds, to me, brilliantly fresh now. Have a listen to “I Scare Myself” from Striking it Rich to see if you agree:
Eric Ambler: The Levanter
I read, as I suppose many of my generation did, Eric Ambler’s The Mask of Dimitrios and Epitaph for a Spy when I was a teenager. They were exciting tales of action in a Europe on the brink of war, with heroes not of the John Buchan mould (I’d read the Richard Hannay books of course) but ordinary men plunged against their will into extraordinary experiences. Journey into Fear, memorably filmed with Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles, is another prime example. Since my teens, though, I hadn’t read an Ambler novel, but my revived interest in spy fiction, sparked by the huge enjoyment I derived from reading Jeremy Duns’s Paul Dark sequence, sent me back to Ambler.
The Levanter is late Ambler, first published in 1972. It is set a couple of years earlier, largely in Syria, and is concerned with the way in which one of those typical Ambler protagonists finds himself embroiled in a terrorist plot. Reading this novel in 2016 is instructive, if only to realise how depressingly little attitudes in the Middle East have changed in the intervening forty-odd years. The eponymous Levanter is Michael Howell, whose very British name conceals a more complex mixed Armenian, Cypriot and Lebanese heritage. He’s the head of a family engineering company with a long history of business in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, and is doing well in the difficult circumstances of the time, negotiating with the one-party Syrian regime with the help of his Italian secretary/lover. But, as is so often the case with Ambler, his relatively cosy world is about to be shattered by the intrusion of some brutal political realities. A terrorist group, the Palestinian Action Force (modelled on one of the many such groups that emerged after the Six-Day War of 1967) has infiltrated the company in order to manufacture bombs to use against Israel. Howell, for reasons carefully explained, cannot simply go to the authorities, and the scene is then set for a tense game of cat-and-mouse as Howell attempts to outwit the coldly sadistic leader of the terrorist cell, Salah Ghaled.
The narrative is split between three first person narrators: Lewis Prescott, an American journalist, who provides the background detail through his account of an interview with Ghaled; Teresa Malandra, the secretary, who offers a wry perspective on her boss; and Howell himself, who carries the bulk of the narrative, mostly attempting to justify his actions since he has been, we glean, vilified by both sides after the events have concluded. Howell is always at pains to show how his actions stem from the best of motives, and his self-deprecating stance helps the reader to identify with him as he becomes increasingly entwined in the terrorist plot. Ambler stresses his ordinariness – he is a successful and enterprising businessman, yes, but as Howell ruefully points out, “when the commodity is violence and the man you are dealing with is an animal” his business skills are of little use. Howell’s narrative is careful and detailed – that attention to detail is one of his character traits, but also leads to the only parts of the story which drag a little. I’m not sure the reader needs to know quite as much about the construction of dry cell batteries as we are given here. That said, the second part of the novel, which concerns the attempted raid by the terrorist group, moves at a fair pace, and the scenes on board Howell’s ship the Amalia as the climax approaches are gripping.
Ambler maintains his usual high standard in this tale, where every character is flawed and no-one completely blameless. In a world stripped of moral certainties, Howell represents a kind of grubby virtue.
Entartete Musik
To the Manchester Jewish Museum, on Holocaust Memorial Day, for a concert of music condemned and banned by the Nazis as “degenerate.” This was a bold move by the museum, which has decided to host more events to gain attention ahead of a big rebuilding programme.
After a glass of (kosher, of course) wine, we were invited in, to find the inner space dominated by the famous poster which was used as part of the Nazi campaign against music of any kind which did not suit the Nazi philosophy. The campaign, during which concerts were held in which the music was vilified, ran parallel to the “Entartete Kunst” exhibition, which condemned virtually all experimental art, particularly that produced by Jews.
The programme featured songs by Weill and Brecht, Krenek, Holländer and some atonal Schönberg. The show was devised, presented and sung by Peter Brathwaite, who gives a full account of the artistic process in this article. We were delighted both by Brathwaite’s strong voice, and the engagingly innovative style of presentation. A series of evocative photographs accompanied each song, animated through some computer trickery, with a translation of the lyrics alongside. It gave each song an added dimension, and really enhanced the show. You can get some idea from these stills on the @MusicDegenerate Twitter feed:
Brathwaite, of whom I predict great things, is an assured and accomplished performer. His German pronunciation is excellent, and he attacked each song with relish, really bringing out the savagery of the satire, and the black humour too. It was great to hear the Brecht / Eisler “Solidarität” from the wonderful film Kuhle Wampe as a song in its own right. And, inevitably, we finished with Brecht and Weill’s “Mackie Messer”, a song whose bizarre transition into a standard easy-listening tune about mass murder deserves a post of its own.
Peter Brathwaite, on this showing, is a star in the making. I would love to have a recording of his versions of these songs, and surely that will come. In the meantime, he tells me, we will be able to see some footage filmed on the night. I look forward to that immensely.
Big in Japan 3
Onto the Philosopher’s Walk in Kyoto. Note the position of the apostrophe: we are talking about one philosopher here, Nishida Kitaro, a professor at the university, who walked here daily in the nineteen twenties, and whose work, rather pleasingly, is described as “path-breaking.” Nishida’s best-known philosophical concept is “Absolute Nothingness” but it’s difficult to imagine he came up with that idea on his daily constitutional, since the walk is full of life and interest.
The paved pathway runs either side of a small canal on the western side of the city at the base of the Higashiyama mountains. We approached along suburban streets that reminded me of the posher suburbs of Berlin or Hamburg. The walk is not a taxing one, and there is no particular advantage in starting at any one place, so we just joined it at the nearest convenient entrance and walked north.
At every turn on this walk, the visitor encounters something of beauty, whether it’s the autumnal colours which were so vivid when we were there, or the serenity of the shrines that line the pathway. One stop was at the Eikan-do temple, which has a pagoda whence panoramic views of Kyoto can be had.
We strolled further, past several smaller shrines, to the Honen-in temple of the Jodo sect, which is very rustic in appearance, with a thatched roof, and some fine examples of the raked-sand Zen gardens that we encountered many times on our trip.
We walked further, encountering quite a few well-fed and happy-looking cats, who seem to be part of the Philosopher’s Walk experience. They certainly must be among Japan’s most photographed cats: everyone stopped for a quick snap.
The main attraction on the walk is the fifteenth-century Ginkagu-ji, or the Silver Pavilion. Not that it’s silver – that was the original plan, apparently, but the shogun Yoshimasa, who wanted a silver version of the Kinkaku-ji golden pavilion in Kyoto city, was frustrated by the intervening war, and the plan was never executed. This is the most popular spot on the walk, and we saw tour groups there, whose whole experience of the walk was a bus to the entrance of the pavilion, a quick look round, and then back on the bus. They missed a lot. It has beautiful gardens, including a massive raked sand area. We loved the colours.
We walked down to the southern tip of the walk, where the large Nanzen-ji temple complex awaited us. This is a series of buildings, dating back to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with much open space around it. We wandered around, enjoying the peace and the massive presence of history:
One curious feature of the area is the presence of a very western-looking aqueduct, built in the late nineteenth century to carry water via the canal to Kyoto. It seems incongruous amid all the formal temple architecture.
Our final stop on this walk was the lovely Tenjuan temple, a kind of haven dedicated to the Zen master who served Emperor Kameyama in his religious studies, and most notable now for its gardens. After a long day’s stroll, we really enjoyed sitting in the garden, particularly around the lake, where the carp are quite demanding:
This was a perfect day. The walk was full of historical interest, and had plenty of places to find refreshment and unusual crafts, of a definitely superior kind – no tourist tat here.
We had another day in Kyoto, which will be covered in the next instalment. Stay tuned.
Shiny New Books
Shiny New Books 8 is now out. As usual, it features an eclectic range of book reviews both fiction and non-fiction, including my take on the fourth Paul Dark espionage novel. There’s also my guide to the fiction of Manchester. But don’t let that put you off – there’s lots of stuff here to whet the appetite of the most jaded reader. I was intrigued by Eleanor Franzen’s review of Jeanette Winterson’s The Gap of Time, the first in a series in which contemporary novelists present their versions of Shakespeare plays. I look forward to Howard Jacobson’s Merchant of Venice. In Bitter Chill looks like the start of a promising crime fiction career, and a new novel by Umberto Eco is always an event.
In non-fiction, Neurotribes, about Autism, seems to be a compelling read, and Barbara Howard makes a good case for yet another biography of Charlotte Brontë. In the reprints section, interesting to see that the small independent press Daunt has reissued John Collier’s quirky 1930 novel His Monkey Wife.
So, lots to read and enjoy at SNB. Have a browse!