A young Tomoko is sent to live with her aunt’s family in their spectacular home, complete with expensive furnishings and trinkets, foods that Tomoko has never even heard of, and even a pygmy hippopotamus, who is the last remaining animal in the family’s old zoo. Their wealth is bolstered by the success of the uncle’s soft drink company. Tomoko is just as taken with each member of the family, present or absent, as she is with her new surroundings. Each of the men is handsome and intelligent, the women charmingly quirky and welcoming. But she is particularly drawn to the youngest, the true treasure of the house: her beautiful cousin Mina, whose severe asthma attacks confine her within a tight radius of the home, whose excursions outwards are made either on a van to the hospital or to school on the back of the hippo, whose collections of matchboxes draw out fantastical story after story, building a world that can hardly be contained within the walls of the house. The facade of this seemingly perfect family begins to crack as Tomoko begins to learn its secrets, and as the changing world events of the outside break through the boundaries of their carefully-controlled world.

I loved Ogawa’s THE MEMORY POLICE, and while there isn’t the same, moody existentialism here, MINA’S MATCHBOX has a similar, subtle introspection. Here, Ogawa relies less on mood, less on building tension, less on drama, and more on a slow, changing expectation—which did make me wish for a little something more. MINA’S MATCHBOX was first published in 2006; this English translation by Stephen Snyder is coming out on August 13.

(Note: This book briefly includes the events of the Munich Olympics between Palestinians and Israelis; even so it is important to point out that Ogawa’s / the characters’ rhetoric around it should be interrogated, should you choose to read this book)

Mina's Matchbox is a lovely slice-of-life novel encompassing a year of a girl's life as she lives with her aunt's family in coastal Japan. The prose is beautiful and really captures the time period in Japan (1972) as well as the emotional upheavals of early adolescence. There isn't a whole lot of a plot, but the book plays with memory and things like class differences and loss with storytelling that is beguiling and astute. I think it will definitely appeal to a specific readership, and I'll definitely recommend it to such folks.

This book was a relaxing and very nostalgic read. I love the different perspectives of memory that are at play in the novel and the characters' very eccentric descriptions. I just overall liked the childhood quality of the book.

Mina's Matchbox by Yoko Ogawa is a hypnotic and introspective novel about a young girl uncovering buried secrets in an affluent Japanese family. In 1972, twelve-year-old Tomoko stays with her enigmatic aunt's family in Ashiya. Surrounded by a magnificent home and captivating relatives, Tomoko is drawn into a world of secret crushes and elaborate storytelling by her cousin Mina. As she navigates the family's sophistication and underlying complexities, Tomoko experiences a powerful and formative interlude in her life. This elegant novel, rich with the magic and mystery of youthful experience, offers a striking depiction of a family on the brink of collapse.

Thanks to NetGalley for the ARC.

Mina’s Matchbox was a lovely read. Yoko Ogawa has a wonderful capacity to convey a rich depth of emotion within her characters’ unique situational and self-awareness, no matter the setting, and Mina's Matchbox offers the reader many opportunities to reflect on just how complex the adult world felt as a young person.
Each character is delightful in their own way and the way they interact with one another was uplifting. There was much to enjoy in this coming-of-age tale, but I have to say that what I loved the most were the matchbox descriptions and stories.

A book with a little whimsy!
I did read more about puberty breasts and men’s volleyball than I think was warranted. But the characterization was so, so strong.

In the spirit of a certain character in the book...
magnetized “health” mattress is so strange. Magnetized mattress meant to “promote health” or something like that would make more sense.

I don’t know what loofah lotion is.

“You’ll catch your death of cold.”
sounds weird? either say you’ll catch a cold or you’ll catch your death in this cold

My love for Yoko Ogawa continues. She loves to explore memory, and she has done so again here in a more straight forward yet beautiful way.

Our narrator, Tomoko, moves to her cousin Mina’s family home in a coastal town in Japan when she is 12 years old. Tomoko tells us that if you wanted to describe mina in a few words, you might say she was an asthmatic girl who loved books and rode a pygmy hippo. But if you wanted to distinguish her from everyone else in the world, you’d say that she was a girl who could strike a match more beautifully than anyone. I was absolutely fascinated by Mina, her family, and their impact on Tomoko.

This are pivotal years of Tomoko’s life, and we learn that because we hear about these years through her memories as an adult looking back. Coming of age stories where the narrator looks back are my absolute favorite. We don’t always know a core memory is happening in the moment; sometimes it takes time. And the core memories that make us who we are are often quiet at the time and come back roaring later. I loved exploring these quiet moments with Mina and Tomoko. There is a tone of melancholy throughout these 280 years. The melancholy that comes with childhood and looking back on it and it’s lost or kept lightness.

While the ending was a bit of a miss for me, the book was a large win. I recommend picking this up as well as The Memory Police and The Housekeeper and the Professor to see all the ways Ogawa plays with memory.

I was interested in this book because I enjoyed Yoko Ogawa's "The Housekeeper and the Professor". Unfortunately this book didn't quite draw me in. As others mentioned it is a rather slow paced, slice of life story. The setting (a large, lavish mansion with a sickly child) seemed somewhat wasted on the style of book as I expected there to be more mystery or drama.

My first time reading from this author and I was unsure of what to expect from this book if it would be a thriller or something else but it was a very relaxed read. The story of a year at Tomoko's aunt's house where she lived with a light room, tiny stories written on matchboxes and a pygmy hippo. It is plotted nicely without much focus on innocuous things

It almost felt like reading a storied diary where all the major news points that happened in 1972 were written in and told by the view point of childhood innocence. The book felt drenched in nostalgia with interjections of current life for Tomoko and a neat wrap up of where she was now. I enjoyed feeling immersed in one point at her life without major drama, struggles or strife.

Definitely read if you like volleyball!

This is the first book by Ogawa that I was really able to appreciate. The unusual setting and the descriptions of each family member really helped to paint a picture of their lives. Amongst all the recently translated J-Lit featuring cats, coffee and Kyoto, this is a horse of a different color and will evoke an oddly nostalgic feel for those readers familiar with Japan. It is dark, but also charming and the word 'quaint' also comes to mind.

Thank you to NetGalley for an advance copy of this book. I enjoyed this very unique tale.

I really enjoyed the relationship between Mina and Tomoko. It’s a lovely coming of age book that I think my students could relate to while also learning about a different culture. Very vivid and realistic character development, including the characters besides the main girls. While there are some compelling aspects of the story, it’s slowed down a lot by seemingly unnecessary diversions; for example, the characters get really obsessed with volleyball, and while Ogawa kept me interested in baseball in The Housekeeper and the Professor, in this case it just felt very out of place.

"If you wanted to describe Mina in a few words, you might say she was an asthmatic girl who loved books and rode a pygmy hippopotamus. But if you wanted to distinguish her from everyone else in the world, you’d say that she was a girl who could strike a match more beautifully than anyone."

This book encapsulates much of why I love Japanese literature. The characters’ inner psychological reality meaningfully mingles with the plot in a way that it tends not to in western fiction. Also—this focus is brought down to earth with an eye toward the almost mundane, ordinary aspects of life, at the same time elevating those same concerns. Mina’s Matchbox is a coming-of-age narrative, a snapshot of a year (1971–1972) in the life of our protagonist, Tomoko, when she goes to stay with her fancy cousin, Mina. They are well-off, live in a large house, and have a hint of the foreign, with a German grandmother providing an otherworldly, “exotic” quality to that branch of the family. Yet, all is not as it seems—her uncle has frequent disappearances that no one talks about, her German grandmother has a certain forlorn look when seeing her old pictures, and even Mina seems desperate to experience something of the outside world that she is restricted from due to her health.

The blurb almost does this book a disservice. It sets it up to appear like some tantalizing mystery; but the mystery is not some cliched third act reveal; rather, it is the all too real and infinitely more significant act of a child coming to understand the complexities and nuance inherent in family life, even when material wealth and needs are accounted for. Coming from Tomoko’s position—a family that isn’t particularly well-off, and a newly single mother—it seems like having money and status is the key; but for Tomoko, her year with Mina is a revelation that this is not the case at all.

The plot is told through vignettes of memory: an older Tomoko recollecting and savoring her childhood memories. In this aspect, it reminded me of ‘Only Yesterday’, one of my favorite Ghibli movies. (I watched it when I was the same age as the protagonist, and it had such a tremendous effect on me—the power of examining your childhood, the good and bad altogether, is a fantastic narrative to explore.) Ogawa takes this thematic element and weaves a web of immersive memories. Though I typically prefer plots more structured, in Japanese fiction I’m better able to let go of this need for external structure; the journey, not the destination, is itself satisfactory due to its telling. That is not to discount the individual events—there are few things more poignant than the inclusion of a beloved pet pygmy hippo, for instance. (Pochiko is on the cover of the US edition, which is a great move—kudos to the designer; in some ways, Pochiko is as much as an emblem of that summer in Mina and Tomoko’s lives as any other, and especially an emblem of Mina herself.)

Many of the turns in the story are seen through the simplistic clarity of a child’s eyes, such as the boundless wonder and anticipation for a rare meteor shower, or the merriment in pushing your friend towards their crush, or even the realization that the adults we look up to are not as infallible as we believe; such simple moments take on a certain nostalgia that is a recurring theme in the book. For much of the short novel, this nostalgia almost felt like an omen—surely, there must be some harrowing, inescapable end towards which we are being shuttled; perhaps this is merely another aspect of my western bias. The denouement is there, but it is not a sharp fall from a cliff—rather, it is a gradual unwinding, like the end of a rollercoaster, though not quite so abrupt. It felt like having tea with Tomoko and, before you know it, the time to depart and go home has arrived.

The characters of Mina and her family are surprisingly dynamic, given that this is a memory—Ogawa imparts much depth on them, even in such a short time span. Mina is a precocious preteen with an overwhelming yearning for books and creating stories, and truly, what reader can’t connect with that? It was especially interesting to see how Tomoko and Mina’s interactions are characterized by the former—first, as a kind of admiration, a gratitude for being taken into her confidence; later, it becomes a kind of protectiveness, a desire to help as an older sibling might. This, in turn, normalizes Mina and her ‘otherworldly’ family. There were more relatable moments, like Mina’s mother being obsessed with typos, or Mina and Tomoko getting swept up in the fervor of the 1972 Olympics; these added a unique complexity to what might otherwise be a standard narrative. (I also had never heard of the Munich Massacre/Black September, which seems almost embarrassing to admit now, given current events; it makes me slightly regret not taking care to visit the site of the Olympic Village when I had the chance.)

The setting, the seaside town of Ashiya, was fascinating, if not quite picturesque; much of the plot hinges on Tomoko and Mina being somewhat secluded in her country-house. They are but a short 15–30-minute drive away from the city, but given the uncle’s frequent disappearances, the children end up mostly staying at home, with Tomoko’s occasional trips to the library on the local bus. Ashiya is essentially quite suburban, but Mina’s home, settled on a dramatic cliffside with a view to the mountains, almost feels like a fantasy land—their house even had its own petting zoo for a time, so the atmosphere certainly fits. The setting of the scenes may be the light-bath room or the living room in front of the TV, nothing extraordinary; yet, it still feels magical, tinged in that dreamy style of memory.

Ogawa’s writing style is conversational, given the older Tomoko’s narration; it is also delightfully prosaic. In translation, it can seem somewhat stilted at times, but this is also something I have come across in other translated Japanese fiction—whether it is a style inherent to Japanese literature or merely a quirk of translating it, I can’t determine. In any case, it is a credit to the translator, Stephen Snyder, that the narrative voice of Tomoko still shines through so vividly. It was quite refreshing coming from contemporary western fiction where authors try to cram three similes into a paragraph in an effort to be ‘literary’. Western authors, take note—sometimes less really is more.

The narrative style can seem disjointed at times, but this only further reflects the nature of memory and remembering, with certain elements taking us on tangents and others abruptly fading into wisps. Moments of what were once great sorrow or joy can become weathered over time, like a well-worn lucky stone that is rubbed frequently; but a slight jolt of reminder can revive those emotions to their original strength. I am also envious of how vibrant Tomoko’s memory is—not only the events, but the smells, textures, and colors are all as alive for her as they were when the events happened; as someone with a patchwork memory who can barely remember a year ago, let alone my childhood, I was impressed. Naturally, this power comes from intentional remembrance on Tomoko’s part—she is surprised to realize that her memories of the summer of 1972 were tucked away in a dusty corner, all but forgotten, until she deigned to examine them. Memory necessarily involves acknowledging that the events in question have come and gone, never to be ours again; thus, memory is but a fleeting shadow of the real thing. For humans, time is a linear experience, and we all race towards the natural end—from a child’s perspective, coming to grips with this sentiment is a notable turning point in one’s maturity.

As with The Memory Police, which Ogawa is perhaps better known for in the west, memory and identity are central themes. Tomoko’s memory, of course, is the whole premise—and a remarkable one at that, one so vivid in its retelling as to seem invented. Of course, Tomoko admits as much at points—her recollection is only so powerful, and certain moments or phrases have to be imagined; but this rather adds to the credibility of her memory, rather than detract from it. Every memory we examine has a hint of retelling and embellishing to it, as our brains naturally fill in gaps with what we expect to see. I also loved the references to the literary greatness of Yasunari Kawabata, a fantastic author whom I’ve only recently come to appreciate. The power of stories is another anchoring point—Mina’s titular matchboxes aren’t just sources of flame, but they are inspiration for her stories based on the weird or random art on their covers. (Maybe I’m just too young, but did matchboxes really have such odd covers? Is that a Japanese thing, or a mid-twentieth century thing?)

Moreover, as with any coming-of-age tale, the growth of Tomoko and Mina (as well their relationship) is a large focal point; much of this only comes to fruition toward the end of the novel, but I appreciated how it nevertheless ties everything together from the beginning, much like in ‘Only Yesterday’. We are who we are precisely because we are the culmination of our experiences, the mundane and the extraordinary alike. And much like that film, it has left me with a deeper appreciation for the time I have already spent and will continue to spend, a renewed opportunity to be more mindful of the everyday—the good, the bad, and even the boring—because once this time is gone, it will be gone. This might be a good candidate for a re-read. I would certainly recommend this book to anyone who would enjoy reminiscing over childhood memories or who is obsessed with the moving power of memory or ‘memento mori’, or one who enjoys simple yet powerful narratives about who we are and how seemingly innocuous moments in our lives can nonetheless influence the course of one’s life. I certainly walked away from this book feeling a certain nostalgia and secondhand appreciation for what has passed; I can only hope to bottle up this buoyant feeling in my review like one of Mina’s matchbox stories to enjoy years from now.

Thank you to Pantheon Books and the author for the opportunity to read and review this book. My review reflects only my honest opinions.

Quotations are cited from an uncorrected proof and may be revised in the final edition.

It was a bit of a slow read for me but I am a Yoko Ogawa fan, so it was fine. I really enjoy how different all of her books are - and yet bound together by a certain whimsical vibe that is both cozy and dark. I liked spending time with this quirky family, the narrator's voice and story was very comforting. Personally, it didn't pack the punch that Memory Police did for me, but I definitely look forward to more from Ogawa!

This was a 3.5 rounded up to 4 for me due to its dreamy oddness. At the heart of the story is a young girl who is trying to make sense of her new surroundings and in the process uncovers things she might have preferred not to. But then there's the whole pygmy hippo and obsession with the family company's soft drink, and I was left wondering what I was missing about the significance of these seemingly random inclusions. Some might find it off-putting, but I mostly considered it whimsical in a dark way.

"If you wanted to distinguish her from everyone else in the world, you'd say that she was a girl who could strike a match more beautifully than anyone."

This lovely novel focuses on 12-year-old Tomoko who spends a year with her aunt's family in 1972. Her cousin, Mina, is the one who collects matchboxes with tiny, elegant stories pasted within them. Beautiful and asthmatic, she also rides a pygmy hippo to school, and loves books.

It's all strange to Tomoko, whose father died young and whose struggling mother needs the time for a course to improve her dressmaking skills so she can earn a better living. The change from Tokyo to the lovely house in the coastal town of Ashiya is great, but her aunt, cousin, and handsome German uncle make her part of their family.

She's a kid, of course, and wants to snoop in order to understand her aunt's distance and drinking and her uncle's long periods of absence from the house. She's curious about Mina's German grandmother, who gently shares photos of her family, who are lost. Tomoko will make no momentous discoveries because no. matter what she suspects, her love will temper her need to know.

I loved that there was no resentment of Tomoko, and she is not jealous of what Mina has that she does not. How refreshing.

And Pochiko, the pygmy hippo? A wonder.

Many thanks to Pantheon and NetGalley for a digital review copy in exchange for an honest review of this deceptively simple novel.

This is a cute and enjoyable little novel by an author that I quite enjoy. I was under the impression that this was an earlier novel, but it actually is more recent than her more famous novels. It's a great story and it's well written (though I read a translation so it's actually hard to judge this).

Tomoko finds herself sent to the home (mansion) of her aunt while her mother goes off for further schooling. The book tells the tale of what she experienced in the year that follows. My favorite detail is that there's a pygmy hippo living in the family's garden, a rather large pet.

My enjoyment of this novel was a bit tampered by my own (untrue) expectations. Based on the description provided for this book, I wrongly assumed there would be some light thriller/mystery vibes as we got to know the family’s secrets along with Tomoko - however I was very much mistaken. This novel is more of a slice-of-life story about Tomoko’s time living with her aunt, uncle, cousin, and co while in middle school. The story is family-focused and strong on character building.

Mina’s Matchbox was my first novel by Yoko Ogawa and it is clear immediately that she is a fantastic author. I very much enjoyed her prose and am personally a fan of translated Japanese literature. Ogawa writes beautifully.

Overall I enjoyed this work although my enjoyment was tempered by my (maybe unfair) expectations. I am definitely interested in going back and exploring more of Ogawa’s works.

I would recommend this to readers who enjoy Japanese culture and light family dramas.

Thank you to NetGalley and Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor for providing this eARC in exchange for an honest review!

one of the things I love most about Ogawa’s writing is her ability to zoom in. this novel is a perfect example of that.

i’m a huge fan of the memory police and enjoy that each of her novels is a bit different from the other. Mina’s Matchbox is no different in that it is very different from her other work.

We follow Tomoko as she is shipped off to her uncles house shortly after her father dies. there she witnesses her very different side of her family. everything centers around Mina, Tomoko’s younger cousin, and more specifically her illness and how that effects the other members of the family.

the descriptions of the house on the coast are just wonderful and truly transport you

if you’ve read any of Ogawa’s other work, don’t skip this one.

Yoko Ogawa's "The Housekeeper and the Professor" is one of my favorite books, so I was excited to read this. The story is gentle and delightful. The characters and relationships are unique and compelling and I enjoyed spending time in a world created by Ogawa again. Highly recommended for readers who appreciate great writing and characters. So glad I had the opportunity to read and review this ARC. Thank you, NetGalley. #Mina's Matchbox #YokoOgawa

A slice-of-life genre where you follow a girl named Tomoko as she lives 1 year in her aunt's house. Each day, she discovers unusual secrets of how their family lives and the house itself like a pet hippopotamus.

There wasn't much of a plot besides reading about what she experiences and nothing big happens.

The book is for those who like a casual story and reading daily life.

I was unfortunately not in the mood for this kind of genre, which is why I rated it 3 stars and sadly had to DNF it. One day, I might finish this book as it was still very well-written.

Thanks to Netgallery and the publisher for the ARC!