Yoko Ogawa

I'm not normally a fan of dystopian fiction, but I found this a powerful and unsettling read. Simply yet lyrically written , the writer - this is told in the first person - lives on an island in thrall to the Memory Police. Things comprehensively disappear: in the early days, simple things like roses, and the inhabitants soon lose any memories of the things that have vanished. Those unfortunate people who find they do not forget - and the writer's parents seem to have been among them - simply are removed by the Memory Police and never seen again. The 'writer' of this book is herself a novelist, and we are privy to her latest effort, involving a young typist whose story in some ways moves in parallel to the story the author is living through. She hides her editor in her house, because his memories do not fade, and he is therefore in danger... We never find out more about the Memory Police, or know to whom they are answerable. But we are left with a lot to think about - totalitarian regimes, life, death and the process of letting go and of dying. I'll go on thinking about his book.… (mais)

2.5 at best. Normally I love surrealism in literature and art, and the first half of this book was no exception, but by the end I was left with the same unanswered questions as the beginning, and ended up strongly disliking the narrator to boot. Though I understand there's supposed to be a deeper meaning symbolized by the surreal events happening on the island, I would've appreciated some hints on how the Memory Police came about, how the "disappearances" happen and are chosen... something! Instead, we just get a bunch of idle speculation. The time and setting are unclear, though the characters live similarly to how we do today, which gave me the impression that more details/worldbuilding were to follow. Grounding the story further might have driven its message home a little better, instead of the nebulous way it's delivered here.

Also, I was absolutely done with the main character when she risked everything for no reason by walking into the Memory Police headquarters (apparently without suffering any consequences though, so it's all excused I guess?) and somehow managed to ignore the repeated signs of an oncoming stroke in her friend the old man until the day he died of one (for context/contrast, she took the dog to the vet at the first sign of illness). I can understand unlikeable characters, but I cannot abide inconsistent or stupid ones, and the unnamed narrator of this book unfortunately happens to be both. In fact, she hardly qualifies as a main character for me because she takes a backseat in almost all the events that matter - she tells us what happens to her, what other people are doing (the old man does pretty much everything, for instance, when it comes to their rescue operation) carries on an icky affair with a married man she's hiding (contributing nothing whatsoever to the plot), and then just kind of fades away at the end. Good riddance, honestly.… (mais)

Se volete leggere qualcosa di inquietante, potete sempre contare su Yōko Ogawa. Ne L’anulare abbiamo una storia che ricorda vagamente quella del nostro Barbablù: abbiamo una donna che, nonostante tutti i campanelli di allarme che sente suonare – e noi con lei – continua a lavorare per lo strano e inquietante laboratorio del signor Deshimaru, che finisce per regalarle il paio di scarpe forse più terrificante della letteratura mondiale..

Sono delle belle scarpe, ma dall’aspetto assolutamente ordinario: voglio dire, non è che mordono non appena le infili. Ma Ogawa è molto abile nel fare di un accessorio così comune e così quotidiano un tramite per mostrare la capacità di annientare le donne che possono avere gli uomini con le loro esigenze e le loro richieste che non tengono conto delle libertà e dei bisogni altrui.

Fin dalla prima pagina di questo libriccino sentiamo montare un’inquietudine che quasi fa venire voglia di urlare tanta è la tensione che si finisce per accumulare. Meno male sono “solo” centotré pagine altrimenti mi prendeva un infarto.… (mais)