Book Reviews: Wandering Son, Shimura; The Magic Meadow, Key; Autobiography of a Geisha, Masuda

Title: Wandering Son vols 1-4
Author: Takako Shimura
Translator: Matt Thorn
Published: Fantagraphics, (2011-2013) 2003-2005
Rating: 2.5 of 5
Page Count: 210+228+224+~100=760
Total Page Count: 332,870
Text Number: 1168-1171
Read Because: on NYPL's Beginner's Guide to LGBTQ+ Manga, hardbacks borrowed from the Wilsonville Public Library
Review: 2.5 stars, review of the series "entire"—I DNF'd midway through volume 4. Slice of life is lovely, and it's the right pacing for a gentle exploration of the gender identities of young trans kids; it's predictably conservative trans representation, but there's room for the organic inconsistency and uncertainty which sells the character arcs. But 15 volumes is too much room, and the hijinks and supporting characters grow tedious. Shimura's voice is gentle and her style round and clear (except that, as always, it can be hard to tell characters apart). I wanted to like this, and I'm still glad it exists; but I wasn't getting enough out of it to persist through 11 more volumes.


Title: The Magic Meadow
Author: Alexander Key
Published: Open Road Media, 2014 (1975)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 125
Total Page Count: 332,995
Text Number: 1172
Read Because: reviewed by rachelmanija, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Five children and their nurse teleport from a derelict hospital to a beautiful meadow. This is brief and engaging read that does almost nothing I expected—it's effectively a science fantasy take on the portal fantasy trope, and the entire plot is a gentle mystery: what's the nature of the world the children are leaving, and the world they're entering, and how did they get there? It's successfully paced against the struggle to survive in a new place; I would have loved the cozy, perilous, mysterious atmosphere as a kid, but as an adult reader it feels a little sketched-in, particularly the ending.

Reader beware re: the depiction of disability. I personally dislike mystery illnesses as a trope, but it suits the general vibe. The children are partially cured of their conditions in the portal world, which is handled with relatively delicacy but still is what it is.


Title: Autobiography of a Geisha (芸者、苦闘の半生涯, Geisha, Half a Lifetime of Pain and Struggle)
Author: Sayo Masuda
Translator: G.G. Rowley
Published: Columbia University Press, 2005 (1957)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 185
Total Page Count: 333,180
Text Number: 1173
Read Because: recommended by ambyr, borrowed from OpenLibrary
Review: The poverty and disenfranchisement could make this a painful read, and it's brutal in its honesty. But Masuda's voice is aware and immediate—she moves quickly through her memoir, she sketches other people distinctly, she balances pathos with an expected liveliness that approaches humor. It creates a surprisingly accessible view into the rarely discussed (but oft imagined) realities of life for a bathhouse geisha in the 1930s and 40s, but Masuda expands from her memoir into a broader view that critiques the effects of misogyny and politics on poor women in rural Japan. My previous touchstone on geisha was Iwasaki's Geisha: A Life, which I also recommend; I appreciate the memoirs even better in tandem, as they explore vastly different experiences within a shared, flawed system.

Wildfires, autumn, cats (!! <3), grief: a general update

CW for wildfire talk, COVID talk, dead dad talk I guess.

• The city I'm living in entered green/"get ready to evacuate" status in the first week of the Oregon wildfires (specifically the Lionshead fire), but thankfully never progressed beyond that and de-escalated after ~5 days when the rain came. Air quality was a worse problem for longer, but has since improved thanks in large part to more rain. On one hand, taking photographs of all your valuables, organizing all your important documents into one box, and similar emergency prep work isn't bad to have done; on the other hand, staring into the reality of "these are my physical possessions which, like huge swathes of my state, could be gone forever" is terrifying, and it's just a lot of process on top of the everything else which is also just a lot to process.
  
  
• Example: I had library materials due during the fires which, lol, no. But when I checked the library website they were like "we're extending our already-extended checkouts because the state is literally on fire and we're closed so please don't come in"—which is lovely, their communication and accommodations and safety perceptions have been consistently great, and tbh I wish the checkout periods and no late fees were always this generous. But. "The library, which just reopened after the plague-related closure, is closed again because its entire district is on fire" is so ridiculously indicative of this fucking year and I hate it.
  
  
• The only thing that can make quarantine worse is an air quality advisory! ...Honestly, I appreciate temporary moments of isolation, struggle, deprivation, that power outage/snowed in feeling. But the apocalyptic moodlighting, that "weekend home in Lothric*" feeling, isn't the same. It's claustrophobic, it's heavy; it made me feel trapped in a way quarantine hasn't, given my native agoraphobia.
  
  * Lothric is the city in Dark Soul 3 and I actually have a lot of feelings about living in Dark Souls, which is effectively one of my hearthomes even tho hearttype/hearthome language doesn't usually appeal to me. But when you live in Dark Souls you are part of the lifecycle of Dark Souls, which I've written about in depth before. I find that framework cathartic and productive ... but I don't wish it upon this nation and this planet in 2020; indeed, the dystopic fantasy of burn it down, start over is actively counterproductive. Our world (our people) can't be recreated from the ashes; our world shouldn't be liberated from that endless cycle of staving off destruction; that fiction distracts us from the necessary of work of healing. My point here is that my vacation in Lothric was bittersweet. It was in many ways a concrete externalization of the existential fear of global warming et al.: look ye, look ye, for the world is literally on fire, the sky is red as if the eclipse hung in the heavens!! But the cause and solution are markedly different, and the closeness of that fictional framework isn't a comfort—it's terrifying.
  
  
• We emerged from wildfire haze to discover that autumn was here? ??? It's picturesque in comparison, these bluegrey rains and yellowdead leaves. August, who has been a little standoffish because of summer heat and her general wariness since the introduction of the overly-social babyboy cat, has begun to insist on daily snuggles in a warm lap. I've already made one batch of apple sauce, which came out closer to stewed or even caramelized apples, deep brown and caramel savory/sweet, without losing their chopped texture. I'll start on the next batch when I'm done with this post. I have pumpkin bread planned! It's great.
  
  
• And Speaking of Toby! The fur he lost at the humane society from the combo neuter surgery and collar has all grown in (and probably his winter coat is coming in, too), and he is again transformed. It turns out that's where he was hiding all his fluff. His cheeks in particular have grown a little lion mane. I didn't think there could ever be another cat I might love as much as August ... but things seem to be developing in that direction. I'm so proud of the gradual improvement in interactions between Toby and August, and glad that I taught him tricks off the bat because having "good boy" as a way to provide instant feedback on his behavior is so useful. I love cats every day, love mine every day, would not be complete or happy without them ... but I love them most in autumn, the most picaresque season to have two black cats, one coincidentally named October.
  
  
• My dad died in October, and I hate & am grateful for that timing. Anticipating that anniversary contaminates my favorite season, but loving this season offsets that dread. And as little spiritual as I've turned out to be, that autumnal cycle of death still resonates in a way that makes it feel like a natural time to mourn.