Reviews
“And I had never been found by the light.”
sad and a really interesting concept, not too crazy about the execution but it was a short enough read to not be too bothered by it
Beautiful.
I thought there were a lot of beautiful descriptions/visuals in this book, but to me it felt very scattered and all over the place. I really felt for Kazu and the hard life he’d had but the book was just kind of difficult to read and often I felt like I didn’t really know where I was in the story. It didn’t feel like it flowed together, but certain parts were engaging.
Simple quick read. Quite sad overall, the main character experiences a significant death and gets stuck on the idea of having ‘bad luck’ setting him on this set path. Not a bad reflection on how important mindset is, theirs a lot the main character could of been great-full for instead of the negative he only focused on
"You never did have any luck, did you?" I’m utterly devastated but I guess that’s just how life is for some people.
Reading this is like taking a punch on my face. An uneasy feeling, and it questions your sense of guiltiness, responsibility and humanity as a whole. Tokyo Ueno Station brings upon the apparent societal issues, by looking at the world through the eyes of a homeless man Kazu.
disorienting read, but was v v beautiful and i would like to take the time to reread slower. i missed a lot of the text because it felt very descriptive at times and i didn’t have the right headspace for the book :/
Tokyo Ueno Station is a narrative urban fiction seen through the eyes of a homeless, recently deceased man named Kazu—who’s spirit lingers in one of the busiest cities in Tokyo. Over people-watching and snippets of overheard conversations from people passing by, Kazu reminices on his past and take the readers to the miserable twist and turns of his unlucky life. What strikes me the most in this story is how the protagonist painted a picture of life as a ghost is not as diiferent from the life when he was alive. Not seen or heard, he can only watch as the world continues on—whether he’s living or not, he just floats aimlessly, day after another.
zzzzzz
This was quiet, contemplative, but also full of rage.
I changed my mind. Gave a 4 before but it's actually 5.
3.5/5
TOKYO UENO STATION by Yu Miri, gorgeously translated by Morgan Giles, narrates the life of Kazu, as a man from Kashima Prefecture who travelled long lengths to Tokyo to support his family, and as a ghost drifting through the fragments of lives, both homeless and homeful, caught in the snare of soundscapes in and around Ueno Station and Ueno Gift Park. Kazu's existence is drawn in sharp parallel with the Emperor's, until the very end. Just as in life, in death, Kazu remains homeless, drifting through the sounds and memories of his life. Using her "outsider" point of view as a Zainichi (Korean-Japanese), Miri writes prose that is poetic, quiet, yet attuned to the neglected voices and thoughts of pain and longing for home. There are times when the imagery is soft and lovely, thoughtful, as if soaked in raincolour. Other times it is vivid, vibrant; sounds of train station activities and overheard conversations break up his narrative, respectively used as tools to shift strikingly from one scene to the next, and to provide glimpses into other people's lives in the shadow of his death.
"I walked faster, but each step plunged me deeper into the depths of stillness. If time could pass so slowly that its passage was imperceptible, then — is death where time stops and the self is left alone in this space? Is death where space and the self are erased and only time continues?"
That's another thing Miri illuminates so well: the invisibility of homeless people. Japanese society tends to turn a blind eye upon their existence. Their presence is treated as aged leaves swept from the park's grounds, dusted off into the streets. At a certain time span they are left to wander the streets, gathering tins, discarded books, and other scraps of the housed; only after the appointed time, are they permitted to return, and even so, the space they can use diminish little by little, replaced by flowerbeds, signs and fences. This life they lead of movement and stillness — constantly moving yet stuck in the same place — is surrounded and affected by historical and personal events, ones which are described in Kazu's narrative.
Kazu's powerful emotions, broken up in choked waves, send a foreshadowing that crackles through the pages. It was an emotional journey, and I felt like being carried by those waves. TOKYO UENO STATION is insightful and heartbreaking, and it opened my eyes to the flaws in the seemingly spotless surface of Japan.
** spoiler alert ** Tokyo Ueno Station by Yū Miri is a slim yet somber novella that offers an intimate look into the marginalized life of Kazu, a deceased homeless man who became a quiet observer. The story captures the quiet desperation of Tokyo's overlooked population, the homeless. The author uses Kazu's ghost-like status to draw a strong contrast between the lives of the homeless and the opulence of the imperial family. The book shifts into a surreal, melancholic tone towards the end, a stylistic choice that I did not expect but suits the novella's themes better. Despite this compelling social commentary and the (I think) very cool concept of observing one of Tokyo's famous train stations, the narrative falls short on its execution. The dialogues seem stiff and unrealistic, the non-linear storytelling is hard to follow, and the uneven pacing is jarring. Despite its limitations, the novella deeply explores homelessness and social inequality. I would love to read more exploring these concepts and themes but I do not think this book executed it well.
A contemplative, emotional journey through Kazu's life, which has been full of hardships. This book offers a closer look at homelessness in Japan, juxtaposed with the wealth and easy living of the Japanese imperial family. Evocative and wholly touching, this is one of those books that's nearly impossible to explain and therefore which I can only say to read, read, read and experience for yourself.
3.5
Sad, dreamlike, moving
3.5--probably should be 4 but it just made me too freakin sad
While I found some depictions in this book a fresh take, in particular the homeless in Japan, I was ultimately unfulfilled by this book. While slow and boring (something I tend to like) the story about a ghost recounting his life, even I was to bored by this lackluster story. Part of the realization came when I realized it was an effort to pick this back up after putting it down. While the narrator's life was bleak and he had bad luck, it had a more melancholy, sentimental tinge to it which I did not like at all. Deeply unimpressed.
life holds so many capabilities and this novel encapsulated a sad reality faced by many through a unique approach. could seem monotonous on the surface but it was truly gripping to follow along with the reflections of a life lost.
Too darn sad
3.5/5 "To be homeless is to be ignored when people walk past, while still being in full view of everyone." It took me a while to get into this book, but I'm glad I've finished it. It's a powerful, sad story, narrated from the perspective of Kazu- a homeless man's ghost, haunting Ueno station. The book offers an insight into Japanese culture, Buddhist traditions and inequality within the society. It made me sympathise with Kazu, as his life is filled with tragedies and hard work, with no reward. It makes me question how significant the role of sheer luck is in our lives, and why bad things happen to good, hard-working people. It's the feeling I get every time I walk past a homeless man, which has almost sadly become a norm living in London, yet there are moments I wonder about their individual lives and circumstances that brought them there. That said, I feel that the narration was a little boring at times and the story simply didn't captivate me. I didn't feel or care for the character as much as I wanted to, and found it difficult to maintain my interest at times. Still, it's a book that I needed to read.
This book deals with a topic that I haven't read about before and was super interesting from a historical fiction standpoint. I found the writing style beautiful in parts but difficult to follow. The timeline jumps were disorienting, which is a shame because I was emotionally invested in Kazu's story right through to the final page. Did me a heckin bamboozle.
Highlights
It wasn't that I wanted to die; it was just that I was tired of trying.
Page 56
I'm trying, I thought.
Set me free from trying, I thought.
Page 56
I never carried any photos with me, but I was always surrounded by people, places and times gone by. And as I retreated into the future, the only thing I could ever see was the past.
It was nothing as sweet as nostalgia or a longing for bygone days, just a constant absence from the present, an anger toward the future. I was always lost at a point in the past that would never go anywhere now that it had gone
Page 17
If I don't exist, I can't disappear either.
Page 35
At the same time I thought what a thing of sin poverty was, that there could be nothing more sinful than forcing a small child to lie. The wages of that sin were poverty, a wage which one could not endure, leading one to sin again, and as long as one could not pull oneself out of poverty the cycle would repeat until death.
But once those roses were in bloom. And once, somewhere, a painter lived. And now, through these pieces of paper divorced from the reality of the past, like fantastical flowers that do not exist in our world, these roses bloom.
I was not afraid of ghosts. Nor was I afraid of death or dying. I was afraid of living this life not knowing when it might end.
To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can always just listen.
The wages of that sin were poverty, a wage that one could not endure, leading one to sin again, and as long as one could not pull oneself out of poverty, the cycle would repeat until death.
If I don't exist, I can't disappear either.
But life is nothing like a story in a book. There may be words, and the pages may be numbered, but there is no plot. There may be an ending, but there is no end.
Time had slowed to a sluggish crawl. I walked faster, but each step plunged me deeper into the depths of still- ness. If time could pass so slowly that its passage was im- perceptible, thenis death where time stops and the selfis left all alone in this space? Is death where space and the self are erased and only time continues?
Light does not illuminate.
It only looks for things to illuminate.
And I had never been found by the light.
I would always be in darkness
My shock, my grief, my anger were all so great that crying felt inadequate.
If I don’t exist, I can’t disappear either.
To be homeless is to be ignored when people wallk past while still being in full view of everyone.
To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can always just listen.
Insomnia, then eternal sleep—held apart from one by death and the other by life, brought closer to one by life and the other by death, and the rain, the rain, the rain, the rain.
To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can alwavs just listen.
Nobody starts off life in a hovel made of cardboard and tarps, and nobody becomes homeless because they want to be. One thing happens, then another.
I used to think life was like a book: you turn the first page, and there's the next, and as you go on turning page after page, eventually you reach the last one. But life is nothing like a story in a book. There may be words, and the pages may be numbered, but there is no plot. There may be an ending, but there is no end.
I'm trying, I thought.
Set me free from trying, I thought.
(...)
The effort I made now was to live.
It wasn't that I wanted to die; it was just that I was tired of trying.
I stood alone in the darkness.
Light does not illuminate.
It only looks for things to illuminate.
And I had never been found by the light.
I would always be in darkness—