Junnosuke Yoshiyuki (1924–1994)

This was one of the most bizarre and surprising collection of stories I’ve ever read. This one was slightly better than his companion collection, and the novel, Dark Room. That being said, I read all three books in one day. If only there were more...
Junnosuke chooses for his theme the same category of entertainment as Ngai Kafu. But where Kafu’s language is flowery, Junnosuke’s is blunt and like climbing a jagged precipice that takes your breath away. The stories are varied in structure and tone, but the obsessions are present in all of them. The most disturbing and beautiful and strange one was the one where the main character runs over a cat with his car. I will never forget that story. Many of the other stories had the same atmospheric homeliness of Kazuo Ozaki’s collection Rosy Glasses and Other Stories. I have both of these volumes on my shelf now. Whereas I find many of Kafu’s characters tiresome, Junnosuke’s narrators possess the same shamelessness as Tanizaki’s. Though his consistency isn’t quite up to par with Tanizaki, Junnosuke is easily one of the best Japanese writers ever. The only problem was he did not appear to be masterful enough to compete with Kawabata, Soseki and Tanizaki. Not a lot of his work has been translated, and he’s very rarely mentioned. This book is another reason that I have to consider the vague and daunting possibility of learning to read Japanese. A good recommendation if you like Akutagawa. His narration is haunting, evocative, and endlessly readable. He makes the rhythm his own and doesn’t care a whit about what the reader might be thinking behind all of the smirks and grimaces.… (més)

This slim novel is quintessentially enjoyable in the same way that the author’s stories are. It is also easy to criticize. Like Oscar Wilde said: "There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. That is all.”

This book is beautiful and grotesque, and I believe that it is an effective psychological condensation, a profound depiction of narcissism and an eerie tale of obsession. It is not surprising that this author was a translator of Henry Miller. It is a shame few of his works have found their way into English.

Many people will dislike this book and the main character. Reading Paul Auster and even Orhan Pamuk will reveal similar characters embodying perversions, or at least dwelling in this frame of mind for protracted periods of time, but in this simple novel, the sensuality is far more palpable to me. I found this work moving and do not think it is necessary to justify the standpoint of the writer or the fictional persona.

It has the sensibility of a Tanizaki novel and the narrative distance is incredibly close. Whereas Tanizaki can still be mentioned in polite conversation, it's risky to bring up Yoshiyuki. But Junnosuke’s scenarios are just as memorable. They have a wonderful consistency. I found myself unable to stop turning pages. That was why I finished the novel in only a couple sittings. If only there was more of this author's work in English! One gets a sense of the times while really sinking into the plight of the main character, who only knows one way to live. By being a womanizer he is portrayed as a sad individual, but one that does not grate on my patience. He is almost as trapped by his flaws as the females he uses. They are all human and real. I sensed that the author labored over this book, that it took him many months to get the feel right, and to perfectly capture the aura of decadence he was going for. It could be true, but what it became was a powerful document dredged from the depths of his soul.… (més)