With all the talk about millennials and their avocado toast, there is also a fear for the next generation. While others will decry that they are destroying certain industries, most will point out that they lack the resources to continue as things were. They cannot afford to move out on their own and build their own life. There is no longer the same kind of jobs. Jobs that provide benefits and resources one can build a life on. When I read Yōko Tawada, The Emissary, I am struck with this same notion. In her story, Japan is isolated from the rest of the world much like during the Edo period. Some sort of catastrophe has struck Japan and has left children born as old men and women. The elderly also now live for a much longer period of time. It seems that underneath this story, is this same fear of the next generation inability to grow to adulthood and sustain themselves. It is a parent's worry about their children writ large.

Written out of fear of the after-effects of Fukushima, this sci-fi post-apocalyptic novel examines life turned on its head. Children are born old and will likely die young whereas the old have almost an eternal life. Most of the story involves thoughts and conversation between a great-grandfather and his great-grandson. The grandson is wise beyond his years. Almost a knowing about himself and the world. Even though we are aware of some sort of disaster that has happened, it isn't discussed in-depth. The universe built drives the story, but it isn't well developed or necessary for the story. It isn't until the last part of the book do we discover the disaster and the meaning of the title of the book, The Emissary.

A good examination of the fear for the next generation. The metaphor works to articulate this fear.

A thought-provoking and unique premise, where a man-made disaster causes Japan to cut itself off from the world and for the elderly to gain eternal life and health, while the young are sickly and helpless. Young Mumei can barely walk, and is therefore wholly dependent on his grandfather Yoshiro, a centenenarian-and-then-some who is a ball of energy who goes running daily.
Having known no other life, Mumei is a remarkably content young soul, unfussed by the fact he isn't mobile and that life is somewhat restricted due to limited resources.
Tawada's reversed world is an interesting concept, but loses a little in some clunky translations - in particular some of the slightly impenetrable word plays of the original. There's plenty to enjoy here, though, including an incredibly pure heart in the misshapen form of Mumei. Well worth a read.

This was an interesting, quick read, but certainly not for everyone. Quirky and a bit strange, the main characters, Yoshiro and Mumei, provide a necessary anchor when the narrative threatens to overwhelm the reader with how much the world had changed up to this point.

This story has its charm and I did find it well written and honest, but its length is the assurance that the reader finishes this unique look at the future world without regretting the time spent.

Strangely beautiful, but hard to completely grasp, Tawada’s story takes place in Japan, in a dystopian future, where Japan has become isolated due to some unnamed horrible event. Also, possibly a result of the event, old people live forever and stay strong, and young people are weak and incompetent. The driving force behind the story is the inverted relationship between Yoshiro and his great-grandson Mumei, whom he takes care of and protects. The novel felt impressionistic in style and was difficult to follow without paying close attention. It might be worth reading twice to get a better grasp of it. Luckily it’s short.

<blockquote>On tree day maybe the cherry tree in the schoolyard will fall on top of me and crush me. Almost all trees are sick these days, even if they look healthy their trunks are hollow, so all it takes to make them fall over is a sight from someone standing next to them. That's why all those signs say "Do not sigh near this tree." I can see it now — a whole row of cherry tree falling like dominoes, starting with the one farthest away. I run away.</blockquote>

The Emissary, by Yoko Tawada, is a slight novella that poetically hovers over many interesting themes without ever touching down.

I'm hard-pressed to explain what The Emissary is about. It takes place in a future, post-disaster Japan, where children are helpless and frail and wheelchair-bound and elders are robust. (Is this not the way the world is? Or is it upside down? Is it the elders or the children who have wisdom?)

<blockquote>Assuming he had knowledge and wealth to leave to his descendants was mere arrogance, Yoshiro now thought. This life with his great-grandson was all he could manage. For that he needed to be flexible, in mind and body, with the courage to doubt what he had believed for over a century. He'd have to slough off his pride like an old jacket and go around in his shirt sleeves. If he was cold, rather than buying a new jacket it would be better to think of ways to change his body so that it would grow a thick coat of fur like a bear's. He was not really an "old man," but a man who, after living for a century had become a new species of human being, he thought, clenching his fists again and again.</blockquote>

Japan has quarantined itself from the rest of the world.

<blockquote>Having been among the first countries to withdraw from the global rat-race in which huge corporations turned underground resources into anything they could sell at inhuman speeds while ruthlessly competing to keep production costs lower than anyone else's, South Africa and India now kept to a policy of supporting their economies by exporting language alone, discontinuing all other imports and exports. The two nations had formed what they called "The Gandhi Alliance," which was gaining world-wide popularity. They got along so well that other countries were beginning to envy them. South Africa and India fought about soccer and nothing else, their positions on humanity, the sun, and language being perfectly matched. Contrary to the predictions of foreign experts, the economies of both were growing steadily. Like these two nations, the Japanese government had also stopped importing underground resources and exporting manufactured goods, but with no language it could export, Japan had come to an impasse. The government hired a linguist to write a paper proving that the language Okinawans spoke was linguistically unrelated to Japanese, to promote its plan to sell the Okinawan language to China for a good price, but Okinawa refused to let this underhanded scheme go through. They came back with an ultimatum: If Japan insisted on selling their language to China, then Okinawa would stop all shipment of fruit to the main island of Japan.</blockquote>

Old man Yoshiro had once written a novel, Ken-to-shi, Emissary to China, which manuscript he'd buried because there were too many foreign place names.

Meanwhile, Yonatani, the teacher, is tasked with selecting the child most suitable to be an emissary. (Emissary to where?) "All he could teach them was how to cultivate language. He was hoping they themselves would plant, harvest, consume, and grow fat on words." He has his eye on Yoshiro's great-grandson, Mumei.

The Emissary imagines a future where the past (our now) doesn't make any sense. Tawada is as playful and surreal as ever. The story, such as it is, is grounded in the intergenerational interplay, but I lost my bearings when trying to understand the big picture, Japan's place in the world, or the new human's role.

<blockquote>"So in another hundred thousand years we'll all be octopi?"

"Maybe so. A long time ago people would have thought of that as devolution, but it might just be evolution after all."

"In high school I used to envy people with bodies like Greek statues. I was trying to get into art school, you see. Don't know when I developed a liking for entirely different bodies — birds, say or octopi. I'd like to see everything from an optical point of view."

"Optical?"

"No, I meant octopus. I want see through the eyes of an octopus."</blockquote>

”For an old man like Yoshiro, time after death no longer existed. The aged could not die; along with the gift of everlasting life, they were burdened with terrible task of watching their great-grandchildren die.”

Set in the Japan of the future, this story focuses on Yoshiro and his great-grandson, Mumei. What has transpired in the past is vaguely touched on, but never really fully explained. Countries are no longer in communication with one another - the whole world has changed. The older generation can’t die, the younger generations struggle to thrive.

”As a child he had assumed the goal of medicine was to keep bodies alive forever; he had never considered the pain of not being able to die.”

There are almost no animals; there are dogs which one can rent for a run, a “lope.” An end-of-the-world scenario.

I can’t say that I ‘loved’ this, or even ‘enjoyed’ reading it. It seemed disjointed, which seemed to be intentional - but it didn’t make it more or less enjoyable even thinking that was a possibility. It had me contemplating what her message was, and there were some moments where I recognized the message she was trying to relay. Commentaries on the overly-politically-correct attempts to please all. The renaming of holidays to achieve this.

”’Labor Day’ became ‘Being Alive is Enough Day.’”

I’m not the target audience for this, but I’m also not sure who is. It felt as though the author wrote this only for her own entertainment, that it wasn’t really meant to be enjoyed or even necessarily appreciated by others, just a message to be conveyed.


Pub Date: 24 APR 2018


Many thanks for the ARC provided by New Directions / W.W. Norton & Company

I alternate between thinking of this as delightful and sweet, or sad and eerie. I suppose it is all four: the relationship between Mumei and his great-grandfather is loving and tender, though the circumstances that create it are certainly unfortunate. We read of a future version of Japan, cut off deliberately from the rest of the world, in which the elderly are healthy and will perhaps live forever, while the children struggle. I won't ruin what an emissary is, but I will tell you I am so glad I read this novel and hope to read more by the author soon.

This book reads like the kind of dream you awake from with the details slowly spinning around in your brain, ethereal and spooky.

I honestly loved this read. I slowed down my normal reading pace to enjoy the beauty of the writing and the subtle horror of the story.

This starts off and promises to continue to be an odd read and I am okay not finishing it.

This was a quick read and the language was undoubtedly beautiful and very original. The characters were well-written and interesting but I found things a bit confusing at times and I would have liked a little more context or a clearer picture of the changes that were taking place in the country. I enjoy magical realism but I found at times there wasn't quite enough solid ground to stand on and I just ended up confused and a bit bored. It's a small thing, but it also bothered me that it's all one long chapter. However, that may change before publication. There's no doubt in my mind that Tanawa is a talented writer but perhaps this just wasn't for me.

It's the end of the world... (or at the very least Japan). Countries are isolating from one another. The landscape is polluted and inhospitable. There are no animals. Children are born disfigured and the elderly aren't dying. This reads like a fable. It's a short but beautiful read. I feel like there was something lost in translation (the references to language) but I enjoyed it regardless.

Thanks to Netgally..

Tawada builds a strange world of near future isolationist Japan. A country whose children are born increasingly fragile and birdlike, cared for by aging grandparents who have seemingly lost their ability to die along with the relaxation that is currently expected of old age. Mumei, one such child, is uncommonly intelligent and resigned to his situation. His devoted great grandfather tends to all his wants and needs and is well aware that Mumei seems destined for something beyond Japan as forbidden as that concept is in their society. Mumei's great grandmother and teacher also muse on his role in a future that they hope will, in a way, be a return to the past.