Tag Archives: Life & Society

A story about a little sister


Book review, from Tokyo – A lone girl in a blue dress stands barefoot with her hands crossed behind her back. A doll in a similar attire lies face up beside her. A hand outstretched. When I saw the cover, I was drawn to the title, 『わたしのいもうと』 (Watashi no Imouto, lit. My little sister), thinking that it would have been a story about a little sister. Well, it was.

Keiko Ajito’s characteristic darkish, wispy lines on the cover sowed the seeds for the atmosphere of the story of a little sister’s suicide rooted in bullying. Only once throughout the entire book, do we see a page in lighter tones. Cheerful, faint, wistful, like a distant memory. From seven years ago. When the family moved to a new town. The little sister was then in Primary 4.

Miyoko Matsutani tells us that they spoke an unfamiliar accent. In school, the little girl was picked on for her shortcomings and her differences. She dished out lunch in class, but that was refused. In the end, no one even spoke to her. She ended up staying home, alone in her room, unable to eat, rescued from the brink only by her mother’s care and companionship. That fragile relief seemingly broken by the joyful voices of her classmates making their way to secondary school.

All this while we see her sorrow, loneliness, and isolation in dark pages. Crying in the playground with a lone withering flower. Sitting apart from her doll. Curtains drawn with a lone light inside. Ever since the bullying began, we almost only ever see the girl’s back, as if she had turned her back on the entire world.

The silent girl took to folding paper cranes. Endlessly until she was buried in them. Her mother folded paper cranes to try to understand what her daughter was feeling. Then one day, she was gone, leaving behind a short letter.

The kids that bullied me have probably forgotten about me.
I wanted to play with friends. I wanted to study.

In her end notes, Matsutani reveals that this book is based on a letter she received from the sibling. She warns us to remember that guileless actions and words can cause pain and suffering to others, and also offers advice to accept our differences to avoid friction and conflict, and notes how this is by extension the key to tolerance and peace.

In school, we had our nicknames. I did call others by their nicknames too. Some had less pleasing nuances, others were plainly repulsive. But never once did I feel that alone or isolated. However much one was targeted, we all had our groups to return to. Perhaps it was down to the acceptance of our differences that had been ingrained in a multi-cultural environment or the ambiguities of our own identities or vindications. Or our curiosity of those things that make us view others as different, that allow us to reach out, grab that extended hand, and pull it back from the edge.

I can see how bullying of an “other” thrown into a group can easily escalate when the group defines itself based on its specific differences from others and takes much pride in its exclusivity, such as in distinct national or cultural identities. But when its members start asserting themselves and recognizing the diversity within the group, it can and will evolve into a more inclusive and comfortable one for everyone. And perhaps then such a tragedy can be avoided.

Title: 『わたしのいもうと』 (Watashi no Imouto, lit. My little sister) text by Miyoko Matsutani, illustrated by Keiko Ajito
Publisher: Kaisei-sha Ltd., 1987

Systems of our own making


Book review, from Tokyo – Our modern society is a web of systems. Communications networks, law and enforcement, finance and payments, sewage, gas, electricity. Modern human society runs on these. Alliances, ideologies, capitalism, and the different political systems are also of our own making. But not everyone goes by the same rules. If someone made them, then someone else can change them. But when only one person makes all the decisions, it is called a dictatorship.

Translated by Lawrence Schimel into English based on Equipo Plantel’s Spanish title first published in 1977, This is a Dictatorship (Book Island, 2021) reminds us that there are those who rule with an iron fist today, inciting fear and terror. Mikel Casal’s blocky bold illustrations for the 2015 version portray a beady-eyed, moustached, bald dictator who calls all the shots in his country. (For more on the illustrations, read this interview on Picturebook Makers.) The few people close to him grow wealthier for their pretenses while the masses stay poor, discontented and silent for fear of persecution. We are told that dictatorships end with the death of the tyrant or when he is kicked out by the masses. This we know does not happen if there is succession nor will it be a peaceful transition in the latter situation.

Using a limited colour palette, Casal’s pictures seem to transport the reader back a few decades to the time when dictatorships were easily recognizable. But the end notes warn us that many methods may be used to subvert democratic functions even in apparently democratic societies. Gerrymandering, politicizing public organizations, public accounts lacking transparency, subverting human rights and speech are just some examples that come to mind.

For the apparent, we only have to look to instances of civilian oppression for examples. Sometimes, however even without overtly terrorizing, the constant flex of military muscle can threaten and unravel the mental fabric of a free autonomous territory or even a neighbouring sovereign nation. Of course, other methods could involve wielding the legal machinery to take down and silence opposing voices, often with reputational and financially crippling consequences.

When the world grapples with a breach of sovereignty, we are reminded that peace and democracy were never givens. Of course, the same goes for a dictatorship. Systems of our own making require much work to uphold and maintain. Without that they can become very shaky, very quickly. That one feels sufficiently threatened or within their capacity to change the rules, though, seems to indicate that the rest have not talked to or heard them enough. Conflict will always involve at least two sides, and ideologies are often in opposition to one another.

But shouldn’t it be obvious to everyone, including politicians and capitalists, that our collective sustenance depends on how well we share and use our world’s resources together, not money nor how imaginary lines or cultural groupings delineate and divide us? Or have we all been sold on the myth of eternal economic growth on limited resources? Why haven’t we taken a break from the cycle of production-consumption to think about new systems for humanity? Perhaps one answer lies in the direction of the political systems we have devised and under which we are governed.

Title: This is a Dictatorship by Equipo Plantel, illustrated by Mikel Casal, translated from Spanish by Lawrence Schimel
Publisher: Book Island, 2021

Cake trees to tide over


Book review, from Tokyo – Autumn seems to have come early. The scorching mid 30 degrees Celcius heat has vanished miraculously, and I find myself in a lower 20s drizzly mist. Well, one could take solace in that the Obon holidays again welcomed the peak of summer in August, a period that coincides with the yearly ceremony to mark the date of end of World War II in Japan, which was again broadcast on TV, but this year during the Tokyo Olympics.

“The 15th of August, 1945” – this date starts each story in Akiyuki Nosaka’s The Cake Tree in the Ruins (Pushkin Press 2018, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori). Nosaka lived through the firebombing of Kobe and survived his family. An award-winning writer whose works which include The Grave of the Fireflies, which inspired the Studio Ghibli movie, Cake Tree is a collection of twelve short stories of his memories from his childhood. Its content is apparent in the original Japanese title 『戦争童話集』(Sensou-douwa shuu; Chuokoron-Shinsha, 2003, original edition 1980), literally “wartime children’s stories”.

What did Nosaka want his stories to convey? Well, they are certainly not your usual reading fare.

An oversized lovelorn whale who gets blown into bits by depth charges to protect his beloved, a similarly-sized submarine; a boy who loses his mother and his speech in shock and has to relearn it from his pet parrot; a mother who turns into a kite after applying her milk to soothe her son’s skin as they are engulfed in flames; an old she-wolf who finds the energy to protect a diseased Japanese girl abandoned by her fleeing brethren in China; a kamikaze pilot who takes a pet cockroach out on his last mission and leaves it with rations in his archaic plane’s cockpit on a barren beach; a POW who befriends a girl orphaned by firebombing, takes cover in a forgotten air-raid shelter, and runs off alone into the mountains, fearful of being discovered by civilians bringing news of the end of the war; the story of the cake tree in the ruins that grew from crumbs of Western cakes baked in wartime Japan, a tree that only children knew but the grown-ups never noticed; a keeper who escapes with the zoo’s elephant into the mountains, wandering back to a town burnt to the ground in their search for a new hiding place; a soldier who succumbs to starvation on a southern island but finds his way back to Japan and his mother through stories and folktales; a boy who finally comes to terms with his father’s death when his home bunker is finally filled; the children who deflate themselves to fill one last leather hydrogen balloon weapon and release it into the August sky; and the soldier who loved horses, followed one to the mountains after the barrack’s stable was bombed open, and decided to “quickly follow it in death” to keep its trust.

One line for each story is not enough to illustrate the emotions and thoughts that were aroused. With the exception of the POW’s humorous story, many of them end in death, whether by starvation, assault, flames, disease, or harakiri. However, I did not feel overly miserable nor distressed but instead felt enlightened to the many methods and falsehoods of propaganda and the absurd weapons devised as Imperial Japan reached the end of its tether. I also encountered a fact that I had trouble understanding when I first learned about it from my Japanese relatives – rice rationing continued until as recently as 1982, more than three decades after the war had ended. But more so, I read stories of what people had to do to survive (or die trying) and was pulled through the volume by the solace from the undercurrents of compassion and the humane, regardless of them being between humans or not, in the pages.

The title of this collection comes from the seventh in the volume, perhaps indicating a continuation of the first seven published as The Whale That Fell in Love with a Submarine (Pushkin Children’s Books, 2015). Perhaps the cake tree was a deliberate reference to Kobe, Nosaka’s hometown and a city famous for its Western confections, particularly the Baumkuchen, literally “tree cake” in German. Or perhaps the title alludes to creations like the cake tree with its sweet aroma of care and affection that help us tide over the most difficult of times.

Title: The Cake Tree in the Ruins by Akiyuki Nosaka, translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori
Publisher: Pushkin Press, 2018

Picture poetry


Book review, from Tokyo – What do you get when you bring an illustrator a poem? You might just get a picture book. Apparently, that’s what happened with 『オサム』 (Osamu, a somewhat common name for a Japanese boy or man). On the cover is a gorilla holding a bunch of flowers to its nose, a little bumblebee buzzing near its brow. The French flap offers a hint – “When I tried to draw a good person, I ended up with a gorilla!” Those words belong to Hiroshi Abe, who drew the illustrations to Shuntaro Tanikawa’s words.

Curious, I turned the page.

It begins with a statement that is at once simple and profound.

ほかの生きものと　ともにオサムは生きている

(Hoka no ikimono to tomo ni, Osamu ha ikite iru; lit. Osamu lives together with/among other living things.)

The book flips page after page into Osamu’s interactions with the other living things around him – children, other gorillas, neighbours, nature – and his temperament – quiet, gentle, kind, fun. He spends his birthday lying quietly on a shady grassy patch, looking somewhat happily to an owl and a chameleon perched on an overhanging branch. Osamu writes a letter to a teacher who taught him many years ago and bears a contented smile as he stands on all fours eyes closed among a bed of flowers of an ancestor’s grave – Osamu is grateful and respectful of those before him.

The book closes with

オサムは今日も　つつましく生きている

(Osamu ha kyou mo tsutsumashiku ikite iru; lit. Osamu lives today (and everyday) humbly.)

Like many picture books, the beauty lies in the collaboration between pictures and words. Abe manages to express what is not in Tanikawa’s words, the interpretation often simple and beautiful. For instance, when Osamu visits an ancestor’s grave, we only see a bed of flowers, and Osamu’s quiet nature is expressed by him looking inquisitively at a bumblebee. There is no extravagant fanfare over a birthday nor tussles for supremacy. Even in action, Osamu imbued a sense of quiet and being at peace with all things around him, a good being enjoying a simple, humble life.

Like many a good book, another twist waited at the end.

There, I found a pleasant surprise – another poem by Shuntaro Tanikawa! In『ぼくのゆめ』(Boku no yume, lit. My dream; boku is normally used by boys but some girls today use it too), a grown-up asks “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The child replies “My dream is to become a good person.” When the grown-up pulls a frown and chides the child for not having a bigger dream, the child’s reaction is,

“I don’t need to be great

I don’t need to be rich

My dream is to be a good person

That’s what I think to myself without saying it out loud”

Trying to put the idea of ii hito or good person into words, Tanikawa wrote Osamu, the poem by the name of the good person he envisioned. And Hiroshi Abe drew inspiration from the quiet, gentle gorilla in Asahiyama Zoo, Hokkaido.

A book that reads from front to back and back again, these two well-loved children’s book creators bring us another precious book, this time a poetic one on enjoying the simple life as a good being.

Title: 『オサム』 (Osamu) text by Shuntaro Tanikawa, illustrated by Hiroshi Abe
Publisher: Dowa-ya Co., Ltd., 2021

From past to present…


Book review, from Tokyo – A century has passed since the end of the first great war. Some say the peace treaty gave the world a short 30-year hiatus before the next one, one that was also fought in Asia. Hundred years seem a short time in our shared history, but how many real-life accounts actually remain? Published 70 years after the end of WWII, 『若者から若者への手紙 1945←2015』(Wakamono kara wakamono he no tegami 1945←2015, lit. Letters from youths to youths 1945←2015) affords us this luxury. But be prepared.

“1945←2015″ contains 15 accounts and reflections of the war by 15 men and women, mostly around their 20s in 1945. Young men sent to frontlines across Asia, one tasked to conduct biochemical tests, a field nurse who subverted a medic’s order, a teacher sent inland with school children to avoid bombings in the city, an ethnic Korean who lost his family name before getting conscripted, one lured by the promise of Manchukuo and left behind in China, survivors of the a-bombs in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

One portrait photo precedes each account – this is my story.

We can read facts from history, but the 15 letters shine light on those lives and their inner journeys –

How they were trained to kill, to see the enemy, to follow orders. How their compatriots fell like flies to disease, weakened by malnutrition. How their misery continued even after surrender, facing stigma as returners, as Okinawans. How they found salvation, finding lessons for humanity, remembering their will to live, not just survive, and as survivors, to continue telling their stories.

Reading leaves much to imagination, and the words painted uncomfortable images. My first reading left me numb, even nauseous. Just try substituting the third person (they, their) for the first person (I, my/our) for the paragraph above that starts “How they…”

Thankfully, those stories were spaced by reflections and letters from 15 youths writing back, each again with a photo. Thoughtful responses expressed gratefulness for sharing, filled with hope and dedication to a future of peace and no war. What shocked was the gap in perspectives – the chasm between today and those personal accounts seemed too far to bridge. But that is only natural, since the backdrop that colours our view of life, and with that our readings, are drastically different.

“1945←2015″ brings readers actual accounts of 1945 alongside attempts to frame the 2015 view of the last world war after 70 years. It paves a journey to understanding life in that tumultuous period of Japanese and world history, but more importantly, poses questions on humanity and life, whether in war or peacetime.

When the book was first published in 2015, more than half of the survivors had already passed on. But their stories remain and are set to reach English readers as an e-book, partly funded by an online campaign that will soon close comfortably past its original target.

————-
Aside 1: I remember first reading this on the train last year, when North Korea fired ICBMs in Tokyo’s direction. A nearby salaryman snidely remarked to his colleague, “We’ll just fire back, huh?” before alighting at Shinjuku station.

Aside 2: Recently, I’ve noticed more flybys by Chinooks and Black Hawks. Once a whole squadron(??) flew North over Kanpachi, a major ring road in Tokyo. Never have I seen such scenes before in this city that I’ve lived for more than ten years. It felt more like Yamato, in neighbouring Kanagawa.

Aside 3: Earlier today, my phone buzzed. A Yahoo! Japan news flash – The filling of Henoko bay has begun.
————-

Title: 『若者から若者への手紙 1945←2015』
Text by Naomi Kitagawa and Motomi Murota, photos by Yuriko Ochiai
Publisher: Korocolor Publishers, 2015

Just different


Book review, from Tokyo – Four teens popped into the train the other day. One of them was visibly larger than the other three, and a tad bit more tanned. He seemed relaxed, laid back, as did the rest. The train crowd that day was just enough for everyone to see whatever happened across the length of the carriage.

The next moment began an episode I would not forget in a hurry. One of the boys starts picking on this bigger boy, making snide comments on his size, his stubby nose, the tiny curls in his hair, his brownish-blue eyes, anything that seemed obviously different.

Hums and haws deflected each attack, as his large frame sank deeper into the cushion. One of the other boys interrupts to ask the interrogator about his family, offering his friend a brief respite. The bigger boy musters a  response, asking some questions of his own. The exchange continues, mostly one-sided, with the obtrusive teen probing deeper.

Perhaps there wasn’t any ill intent, but it was still a disturbing exchange that happened right in front of everyone else.

This episode brought to mind the OECD PISA 2015 report on bullying released earlier this year, where 15-year-olds provided, for the first time, self-reports on their experience of frequent bullying. Compared to other forms of bullying, Japanese teens saw more verbal bullying but less overall than the OECD average. However, PISA acknowledges that cultural differences could have affected responses. Incidentally, the suicide rate among Japanese school children peaks when school resumes in September after about 6 weeks of summer vacation.

Fortunately, Jason Parker, the brave, level-headed sixth grader in Holly Thompson’s verse novel “Falling into the Dragon’s Mouth” (Henry Holt and Company, 2016), never contemplates suicide, but he does come within a whisker of joining them.

Jason’s story starts with him being thrown into a group notorious for bullying. He would have to navigate various tasks together with them for almost two months, until the next seat change. His friends advise him to keep a low profile, to never react, lest it got worse. The teacher is indifferent, even apathetic. Everyone just goes about minding their own business, keeping a safe distance.

Respite comes from his little sister, whether it is the mess in their shared room, their adventures storming through the streets, meeting new people in the neighbourhood, and ultimately when she saves him. He also finds some joy outside school and peace at Aikido class, where he trains his mind and body to be ready for his enemies, or so he thinks.

Two crimes are woven into the plot – a fire and a lost paperweight. The former was arson, a primer for the latter case that had a greater bearing on the story. For the class, it was theft. For Jason, it was betrayal and the worst possible scenario averted by his little sister.

The verse format forces the reader to stay close to Jason, as we follow him through a harrowing period of his life in a coastal town.

We join him in keeping alert for attacks at school, which leaves one exhausted but still looking to avoid contact in town. We are grateful for the pockets of refuge in Aikido and other parts of the town, the space to reach out to Jason’s interests elsewhere. We are blind-sided by his wayward focus, losing sight of obvious danger, before finally finding closure and a way forward with Aikido.

Jason’s story made me step back to reflect on my reactions toward differences, on the importance of learning to accept differences as they are, as a chance to connect, not abuse. It opened the door to delving deeper, to view outward aggression as a suggestion of other problems, to recall how difficult it is to handle peer pressure, and to look out for tell-tale signs of abuse and reach out, because it could make a whole world of difference for someone.

Title: Falling into the Dragon’s Mouth
Author: Holly Thompson
Publisher: Henry Holt and Company, 2016 (available in hardcover, paperback, and ebook)

Questions from The Ranch of Hope


Book review, Tokyo – Years after the 3.11 triple disaster, a rancher continues to tend to his herd of more than 330 cattle in a no-go zone in Namie, Fukushima. Portrayed as a nuclear rebel by parts of the media, the picture book behind the ranch raises some serious questions.

On the cover of “Kibou no Bokujo” (The Ranch of Hope), he could easily have been chewing in defiance on a burning cigarette. Instead, it shows a man with his dog, cat, and cow with the ranch in the background.

The pictures go from animals and houses abandoned after the disaster to the lone rancher who stayed behind to tend to his ranch. Inside, cattle eat, drink, defecate, and get hungry. The rancher continues his job, feeding and tending to them. Some of the weaker grow ill and die, but the rest have remained healthy, eating, drinking, defecating, and getting hungry again. Cattle numbers have recovered, it says, as the ranch took in those that had wandered near from elsewhere.

The touching parting gaze between another rancher and his endearing calf is paired with a page splashed in red with carcasses and several men in the faraway background clad from head to toe in white protective wear. In contrast, the owner of the Ranch of Hope goes around doing his daily chores in his regular farming attire. He is simply doing his job, keeping his cattle fed and alive, even if they can no longer be sold because no one would take them.

The story goes deeper, into the rancher’s thoughts – what is the meaning of life, of plentiful rice fields, rivers teeming with fish, clean fresh air, a local brand painstakingly built up by the community over the years, that vanishes just like that?

The book’s sobering pictures serve as a reminder of the gravity of some decisions in life, which are made by a few and end up affecting many others.

Title: 『希望の牧場』 (Kibou no Bokujo, The Ranch of Hope)
text by Eto Mori, illustrated by Hisanori Yoshida
Publisher: Tokyo, Iwasaki Shoten, 2014

Ideas from the man on the 10,000-yen note


Book review, Tokyo – 10,000 yen is about 100 US dollars. So, a Fukuzawa is about a Ben Franklin, money-wise. ”Who?” you may ask. While the founding father is widely known for his adventures with kites and lightning, the former is no where as famous, possibly even in Japan.

So again, who is this man, the face on Japan’s most valuable note in wide circulation?

Fukuzawa is, in fact, the founder of Keio University and a forward-looking thinker at the time of the Meiji Restoration in Japan. When Japan faced colonial pressure and technology, Fukuzawa published “Gakumon no Susume (Encouragement of Learning)” to advocate learning to build knowledge and individual prowess to ensure sovereignty. He was quite a figure in the modernization of Japan. (His reputation after that requires more careful research, for me at least.)

A few months back, I found “Kodomo no ‘Gakumon no Susume’“, a book that re-presented his ideas for primary school children. Among the series of such books by Takashi Saito, which includes the Analects of Confucius, this one caught my eye because I was looking for something from Japan, and about it.

My immediate impression was the universality and relevance of his ideas. Nothing too overwhelming. Just simple ideas on tolerance, diligence, honesty, righteousness and good demeanor, just to mention a few.

A familiar board-gamesque path lining the page borders illustrate each of his 19 ideas, leading the reader from start to end. A learned bird donning a graduation cap would sometimes offer prompts to help the reader understand and think deeper.

Fukuzawa himself is known as a keen student and translator of Chinese, and later European and American thinking and sciences. He clearly found many dots in the course of his learning that he connected to form his own coherent ideas. To me, this was the master demonstrating to would-be students how to acquire information to create new knowledge.

The Internet is today often our first, immediately-available, omnipresent, go-to data source, but I shudder at how information is sometimes generated online, let alone have knowledge created from it. To me, learning and questioning have never been more important, and perhaps it is this urge that led me to acquire this book for myself.

Maybe only Keio University alumni and note maniacs or collectors would dig deeper into the face on the 10,000 yen note. Neither of these am I. But the ideas in this reworked version struck me as immensely relevant, and I am sharing my thoughts here to help foster the formation of new knowledge, and understanding.

Title: こどもの「学問のすすめ」(Kodomo no “Gakumon no Susume”, lit. “Encouragement of Learning” for children)
by Takashi Saito
Publisher: Tokyo, Chikuma Shobo, 2016 8th reprint (1st published in 2011)

A picture book of mirth and love…


Book review, Tokyo – On one of my frequent visits to the children’s section of a local bookstore, a familiar cover caught my eye. A lady ghost smiled warmly with a tear in her eye, holding a little boy tight high above a town in the light of the moon. A picture of mother and child separated by death no doubt, reaffirmed the title, “Mommy’s a Ghost Now!“.

I read this a few months back in some other bookstore. Then, I was drawn by the cover and had picked it up to see what stories it held. I recalled the sorrow, the tingling in my nose that grew into sniffles, and the ticklish vibes I got from the exchanges between mother and son. The pictures in the pages struck a chord, as I clearly remember tears welling up the last time.

This time was slightly different. I could read it more calmly, braced for the feelings and memories that were sure to grow as I turned the pages. And they did. Emotions had gotten the better of the reader in me the last time, probably more than just once. So I chose to focus on the text and pictures that told the story.

Roundish shapes, clear and distinct colors, the pictures seemed primed to brew humour. The text told a story of parent-kid bickering, over tiny details, countless I-told-you-sos and don’t-do-it-agains. All tinted by a sentimental  and funny take on a relationship that everyone can identify with, one that began with love from the start.

A picture book that exceeded my expectations, the title prepares readers for a story of mother and son coming to terms with her sudden and accidental death, and then being separated from her (and her eccentricities) by life and death. It seemed to suggest that it was all part of the journey for everyone, and, of course, the boy has to have his way of finding the courage and strength to live on.

Having read it more than once, it sure would make a special present, if I can emulate others in finding the courage to buy it for someone, perhaps for myself.

Title: ママがおばけになっちゃった！(Mama ga obake ni nacchatta, lit. Mommy’s a Ghost Now!)
by Nobumi
Publisher: Tokyo, Kodansha, 2015
http://children.kodansha.co.jp/en/books/picturebook/42631.html

Economic indicators for happiness?


Book review, Tokyo – What does it mean to be economical? Does it mean living within one’s means? Prudence probably sums that up better. What about only using what we need? That’s being frugal. Maybe being economical is about getting our money’s worth, and economics about efficient distribution of limited resources. Time is money, goes the old adage. So who’s measuring how we use our time for something worthwhile?

Modern life is about being tied, to loans, debt and feeding the ravenous monster that is the world economy. Countries chase numbers to pull in money for growth and indicators, to make sure the huge monster stays happy. Have we taken the time to stop and think about how happy we are as a cog in this unstoppable machinery?

Is it surprising that a picture book with a profound message that is more than 5 years old strikes more than a simple chord with someone in finance? The speaker, a former guerilla fighter, also happened to be the simple, frugal former head of state of a nation once known as the Switzerland of the Southern hemisphere, who featured in a series of Japanese books. Before these two picture books by Chobunsha, how the two languages sounded was the most obvious link between the two countries. The books created a new one, the ideas of former Uruguayan President Jose “Pepe” Mujica.

The first picture book released in 2014 vividly illustrated the then president’s simple, frank Rio+20 speech of his view on the state of human civilization. Lives misled by the demons of desire that end unfulfilled, saddled and ultimately crippled by debt. He proposes a rethink of our goals, our lifestyles at the fundamentals of modern society. He was content with his, tending to his vegetables, chickens, and refusing his official ride but indulging in a simple daily dose of tea. Acknowledging the importance of work to society, he leaves hints to being content and happy. His message that day still rings strong in Japan and recently Taiwan, and on Youtube, in the world’s search for sustainability.

The second book, a follow-up nearly 18 months later, is a longer, deeper look at the story behind the man who made that speech. Compiled from years of speeches and an interview after he was relieved of his stately duties, the book brings readers on a journey through his past as a guerilla fighter, the things, books and people, that changed him, and his thoughts on the future that we can fight to create.

The second book specifically mentioned Asia, hinting at the value of Asian teachings. By doing so, he seems to suggest that, when the time comes, Asia and its values would promise a chance to move the world in a new direction, toward a new type of life.

The illustrations and stories in these books are targeted at children, but the ideas are ones that adults relate more easily to. These books invite reflection and interaction, to discuss and find a way forward. It found success in Japan with a thoughtful population seeking escape in a time of a pro-growth national policy. So why not in other societies or markets that chase the same lofty highs? The language is the first barrier, the unconventional ideas are the next. Hopefully, we will get to see these books in English, preferably sooner rather than later. Otherwise, we’ll all have to depend on the Japanese and Chinese to work on finding happiness together.

“Sekai ichiban mazushii daitouryou no supiichi (A speech by the world’s poorest president)” was later translated into traditional Chinese as “Quan shijie zuiqiong de yeye lai yanjiang” by RuHe publishing. “Sekai ichiban mazushii daitouryou kara kimi he (A message from the world’s poorest president)” was released in October 2015 in Japan.

Publisher Jp:

  1. http://www.choubunsha.com/sp/book/9784811320670.php
  2. http://www.choubunsha.com/sp/book/9784811322483.php

e-commerce Tw: http://www.books.com.tw/products/0010689941

(Removed) J-Lit Center En

(Added) Retailer Kr:
http://www.kyobobook.co.kr/product/detailViewKor.laf?barcode=9791156130628

(Added) Publisher En:
The World’s Poorest President Speaks Out
Enchanted Lion Books, 2020