This book arrived safe and sound in my letterbox this morning. It is only a slight book, so I managed to finish it off pretty quickly.

I have to say that the more I read, the less I liked Peter Carey. He is clearly not much of a people person—his interactions with others are uniformly awkward and I was rather appalled by the way he treated his son’s friend, Takashi. He seemed more intent on rushing around, trying to achieve some purpose that wasn’t even clear to himself. He came across as being distinctly snobbish.

The book reminded me a bit of Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. That too is about a foreigner in Japan struggling to come to terms with the culture through some particular aspect. I felt that Herrigel did it with far more grace, though to be fair Herrigel was actually living in Japan at the time rather than just there for a quick visit. Herrigal didn’t demand answers in the way that Carey did or seek to extract the essence of a culture by interrogating its forms.

The non-answer to Carey’s interview questions by those in the anime and manga industry reminded me a lot of Zen and Buddhism—the teacher isn’t there to give you the answers, you must arrive at your own.

Despite my dislike of Carey, it was quite a fascinating book. I loved that he highlighted the generational gap in Japan as well as between himself and his son. That in turn resonated with the culture gap.

Hearing about the bombing of Japan was quite eye-opening and made me realise that there is indeed a focus on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, when the devestation was really more widespread. There were other facts scattered throughout that made me stop and think as well (13 year-old samurai being one). Miyazaki came across to me as being as much a breath of fresh air as I’m sure he did to Carey. And being quite an anime fan, I appreciated the references.

All in all, an interesting book, but not one I particularly enjoyed.