The Japan Society Review 94
Book, Stage, Film, Arts and Events Review

Issue 94 Volume 16 Number 4 (August 2021)

The August issue of The Japan Society Review presents fivereviews that cover a diverse spread of media and topics
related to Japan. The opening review explores a twovolume academic work focusing on public diplomacy,
human rights, and modern slavery in Japan and the US.
Providing an extensive collection of primary sources, USJapan Human Rights Diplomacy Post 1945, written by
Roger Buckley, offers an analysis of the historical context,
debates, and documentation regarding sexual and labour
trafficking in Japan and beyond during the postwar
period.
Tokyo Junkie, the fascinating memoir of journalist
and author Robert Whiting, is the subject of the second
review of this issue. Robert Whiting has lived in Tokyo on
and off for more than fifty years and in this book looks at
the changes and history of the city as well as his personal
experiences over the years, “a powerful case study on theemotional realities of prolonged expat living”.

In the field of literature, the prizewinning novel Lonely
Castle in the Mirror by Tsujimura Mizuki is also reviewed
in this issue. An innovative blend of contemporary social
commentary and magical realism, Tsujimura’s work
touches on issues related to children’s mental health,school bullying and human relations.
Departing from our usual focus on written works, thefourth review covers the most recent release from young
Japanese musician Kaneko Ayano. Yosuga is Kaneko’s 6th
full-length album and offers a powerful combination of
striking vocals, spirited guitar riffs and poetic lyrics.
The final review of the August issue concentrates
on the illustrated art book Kintsugi: The Poetic Mend,
where Japanese tea ceremony student and author Bonnie
Kemske guides us through the origins and techniques ofthis striking Japanese art form and the intricacies of therepair method in restoring broken objects using lacquerand gold.
Alejandra Armendáriz-Hernández

Contents
1)

US-Japan Human Rights Diplomacy Post 1945:
Trafficking, Debates, Outcomes and Documents by
Roger Buckley

2)

Tokyo Junkie: 60 Years of Bright Lights and Back Alleys...
and Baseball by Robert Whiting

3)

Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Tsujimura Mizuki

4)

Yosuga by Kaneko Ayano

5)

Kintsugi: The Poetic Mend by Bonnie Kemske

EditorAlejandra Armendáriz-Hernández
Reviewers
Cameron Bassindal, Eleonora Faina, Laurence Green, Ian Nearyand Riyoko Shibe.
Image: Cover detail, Lonely Castle in the Mirror by Tsujimura
MizukiUS-Japan Human Rights
Diplomacy Post 1945:
Trafficking, Debates,
Outcomes and Documents
by Roger Buckley
Renaissance Books (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-1912961122
Review by Ian Neary
The UK government defines “human trafficking” as‘the recruitment or movement of people, by the useof threat, force, fraud, or the abuse of vulnerability, for
exploitation’. It is related to, although not identicalwith, on one hand “modern slavery” which may, butdoes not necessarily involve migrant labour and on
the other “people smuggling” where the migrants
may be more or less willing participants in the process.
These terms are notoriously difficult to defineor ascribe numbers to but if a problem cannot
be quantified it is not possible to assess whether
interventions are effective. The Walk Free Foundation
has worked with the International Labour Organisationand the International Organisation for Migration todevelop the Global Slavery Index (GSI) which ranks
countries according to the prevalence of modern
slavery as part of its work to agitate for its elimination.
The GSI report of 2018 shows Japan to be at thebottom (top?) of its international league table - 167th
out of 167 – with an estimated 37,000 people living inslavery compared, for example, to 403,000 in the US
ranked 158. Nothing to see here then? Well, not quite.
Not, obviously, if you are one of the 37,000. Moreover,some argue that at least some elements of modern
slavery in Japan result from the state sponsoredTechnical Intern Training Program (TITP) which is lessabout training in transferable skills for workers fromdeveloping countries than providing cheap labour toaddress acute shortages in low skilled sectors in waysthat enables worker exploitation and human rights
abuses through a system that amounts to “trafficking”.
The USA passed the Trafficking Victims Protection
Act in 2000 and in 2001 issued its first report tobring international attention to the ‘horrific practiceof trafficking in persons’. The report describes thesituation in each country and places them into oneof three tiers: Tier I those which fully comply with theAct’s minimum standards, Tier II those which do not yet
fully comply but are trying, and Tier III who are judged
to neither comply with the minimum standards nor
be making any significant effort to do so. In 2002 the2Japanese government was shocked to find that it had
been placed into Tier II. This report noted the two issues
of women trafficked for commercial sexual purposes
and men trafficked for labour purposes. After being
promoted to Tier I for a short while, the 2020 reportplaced Japan once more into Tier II noting inter alia
cases of forced labour existing with the TITP schemes.
Roger Buckley provides an analysis and set of
documentation to allow us to better understand thehistorical context to these developments. Specifically,‘to examine how the US has deployed public diplomacy
with Tokyo to confront Japanese sexual and labour
trafficking, while also charting the successes andfailures of the US’s own record’ (p. 1). Volume I of thistwo volume set begins with just over 100 pages ofhistorical perspective and assessment starting with
the immediate postwar period and ending with apostscript that brings the narrative up to April 2021.
This section is excellent particularly the firstchapter which elegantly summarises the postwar riseof the discourse of human rights and the way thisbecame embedded in various United Nations (UN)documents and practice from the 1940s throughinto the twenty-first century. Chapter 2 looks at theway these standards were incorporated into Japan’s
new constitution largely at the insistence of the US
occupiers. This is an area that Buckley is well qualified
to write about having published extensively on theoccupation period. Nevertheless, there was morethat might have been written about the role playedby domestic advocates of human rights. It is well
documented that article 25 on social and economic
rights was largely included as a result of pressure fromthe Japanese Socialist Party. Subsequent chapters
trace the development of anti-trafficking policy in the
US and Japan across the twentieth century before
discussing at greater length developments since 2000.
Clearly it is these recent developments that mostinterest the author and probably most of his readers,but I wondered about the influence of the UN system
on Japan’s human rights policy making from the 1990s
onwards. For example, Japan’s engagement with thereporting processes prescribed by the international
conventions on rights generally and women andchildren more specifically. Surely there were somereferences in Japan’s reports and the UN committees’comments on them to trafficking issues?
And what about the absence of a Human
Rights Commission (HRC) in Japan despite several
promises made in the late 1990s to create one? A truly
independent HRC might have taken up the trafficking
Issue 94 Volume 16 Number 4 (August 2021)issue and indicated problems with the TITP from an earlystage. It might also have suggested early ratification of
the UN Trafficking Protocol of 2000 something that did
not take place until 2017, typically late and then withreservations that did not make human trafficking an
offense in criminal law.
The explicit comparison of the US with Japan
is very helpful. The US is described as providing‘leadership’ and Japan engaged in ‘catch-up’ – but
was there anything distinctive in their relationship in
this policy area? And does the relationship remain thesame today?
On the documents which make up three quartersof the two volumes: I wondered how many of them wereneeded now that most readers have internet access.
Certainly, all the documents in the second half of Vol
I, the Japanese constitution, the texts of the Universal
Declaration of Human Rights and main covenants andconventions are readily available on-line. Readers could
have been given the website addresses if they wanted

to check them out for themselves. The same may not
be true for the documents in Vol II as some of them
may be more difficult to locate. Often only the mostrecent report is available and sometimes older reports
are actually made more difficult to access. Still, even
there the inclusion of the website addresses where areader can access these documents for themselves
might help them locate subsequent years reports.
Overall though this is a handsome two volume set
that introduces the reader to the debate on a serious
human rights issue that is rarely covered by English
language sources. It not only provides a backgroundcommentary introducing readers to the main contoursof the problem but also provides them with ample
material enabling them to conduct further researchthemselves. Japan’s record in this policy area may
be good by international comparison but as Buckley
makes clear that there is still more that it needs to do
to be accepted as a Tier I nation.§

Tokyo Junkie: 60 Yearsof Bright Lights and Back
Alleys... and Baseballmore engrossing for its candid nature, even if at times
its sprawling trajectory threatens to lose us halfway
between national history and anecdote. Japan’s
journey from postwar devastation to the pinnacleof urban modernity is well told, but it’s the personal
touches that linger most in the memory. As Whiting
openly admits, many will come across as shocking or
striking to modern readers, but are included by wayof holding up a lens of accuracy to the times in which
they occurred. As the famous LP Hartley quote goes:‘The past is a foreign country: they do things differently
there’.
Hailing from rural California, and originallyassigned to Tokyo as part of the United States Air Force,
Whiting and his memoirs are initially presented throughthe lens of America’s postwar military involvement inJapan; the scope, however, quickly becomes more
expansive. One of Whiting’s acquaintances in the early
60s is an eminent plastic surgeon in need of an English
tutor. Whiting is happy to oblige. One of Japan’s‘1%’, the surgeon has a lucrative line in ‘augmenting’nightclub hostesses looking to ‘enhance theirprofessional appeal’. Later, at the surgeon’s luxurious
new Harajuku apartment, they sip Napoleon brandy,
watching Tokyo’s 1964 Olympic opening ceremony, inthe company of two movie actresses ‘wearing trendy
Mary Quant miniskirts’. Japan’s return to the worldstage is complete.

by Robert Whiting
Stone Bridge Press (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-1611720679
Review by Laurence GreenTime has a way of getting to you. Half a century is agood spell of time, by anyone’s measure. For Robert
Whiting, a journalist and author who has lived inTokyo on and off for more than fifty years, looking
back over that vast spread of years comes in the formof a fascinating memoir - Tokyo Junkie - that plays out
like a love letter to what Anthony Bourdain dubbed,‘the greatest city in the world’. Beginning as a seriesof articles for the Japan Times back in 2014, Whiting whose previous books You Gotta Have Wa and Tokyo
Underworld have also become Japanese best-sellers
in their translated versions - has an ambitious task at
hand with this expansive volume, interweaving his
personal narrative into the unfolding backdrop of
Japan’s own great journey through time.
How does one set about capturing such scale?
It helps to have a raconteur-like knack for good, oldfashioned storytelling, and with Tokyo Junkie, the tone
is invariably brusque, to-the-point, straight talking.
Whiting tells it like it was - and the account is all theLatest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/resources/reviews/

3

These early passages are richly evocative ofa world of sex, sultry nights and drinking. It was theswinging 60s, after all - and Japan could evidently
swing with the best of them. It feels a lifetime away,
another planet, almost. At other moments, thememoir offers more universal, timeless sentiments;
a self-affirmation of feelings so many of us will haveexperienced ourselves, encapsulating that singular‘pull’ the country’s largest metropolis exerts on the
wide-eyed foreigner:‘I was already heavily addicted to Tokyo. I liked theincredible energy, the activity, the politeness, theorderliness, the cleanliness, the efficiency, the trainsthat always arrived on time, the mix of the old andnew, the temples, the shrines, the crowds, the brightneon lights, the charm, and the uniqueness of it all.’

There is no doubt that Whiting’s account is
unapologetically sentimental and sensational atmoments. It looks at Tokyo not so much through rosetinted glasses - after all, it is highly candid about its
seedier side throughout - but through the gaze of one
long since converted to its charms; the tight grip ofa love affair from which there is no turning back. As
Whiting continues to teach English to a successionof Japanese, he quickly discovers that it is invariably
he who comes away from the experience having
learnt the most, and many of his resultant insights
into the Japanese mindset and way of life are vividly
regaled. Another memorable anecdote: His local
neighbourhood watchperson, who seemingly knows
the social comings and goings of everyone, waves
cheerily and informs him: ‘You had visitors today,’ Whiting goes up the stairs to his tiny flat and opens
the door to find two of his students have somehow
let themselves in, cleaned the place spotlessly, and left
him a little cake from the nearby bakery.
As the years march on, we hear Whiting’s
thoughts on topics ranging from politics to baseball.

Lonely Castle in the Mirror
by Tsujimura Mizuki
translated by Philip Gabriel
Doubleday (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-0857527288
Review by Riyoko Shibe

Kagami no Koji, an innovative and tender blend of social
commentary and magical realism, is a prizewinning
novel by Tsujimura Mizuki published in 2017, with4

Whiting’s passion for the latter is clearly palpable, andeven for those with no prior interest in the sport, his
enthusiasm is catching - particularly the parallels hedraws between the sport and the Zen-like qualities
of its samurai spirit. Like many of Whiting’s accounts
though, there is often a darker story to tell beneath it
all - most anecdotes coming back to the extreme senseof discipline and work ethic ingrained throughout
Japanese life. Friends abandon a youth of politicalactivism to ‘grow up’, join society and get married.
Workers drink themselves to devastation to cope withthe stress of Tokyo salaryman culture. The endlessmonotony of consensus-generating meetings. Young
women hired by banks purely to serve as future wives
for the male staff. All are conveyed in compelling detail,and Whiting’s thought process as he tries to negotiate
the gap between the America of his birth, and theJapan that he increasingly finds himself assimilating
into, are a powerful case study on the emotional
realities of prolonged expat living.
One hopes this memoir will find a home alongsideother great recollections of 20th century Japan, suchas Ian Buruma’s A Tokyo Romance or Alex Kerr’s Lost
Japan. It is so easy for us all to be ‘experts’ in thenuances of Japanese culture these days, with a wealthof information at our fingerprints via the Internet - but
it is for precisely this reason that we owe it to ourselvesto cherish accounts of this nature, of the individual,
because they present us with an intimacy andtrueness of feeling that with every year passes further
into the past. These are more than picture postcardsof history, or lines in a textbook. Japan changes,
evolves, as it must - but the Japan of this book, andWhiting’s journey through it, forms part of an accountof moments in time that deserve to be remembered.
Nation and individual, entangled together - a tale of alife, truly ‘lived’.§the English translation by Philip Gabriel, titled Lonely
Castle in the Mirror, published in 2021.
The story starts off like other fantasy novels.
Instead of stumbling through the wardrobe tofind Narnia, or falling down the rabbit hole to find
Wonderland, seven children wake up one morning
to find their mirrors glowing, and upon putting theirhand against the glass, they are pulled through to finda castle guarded by a wolf and the Wolf Queen. They
are set a task: they have a year to search for the key toIssue 94 Volume 16 Number 4 (August 2021)

the wishing room, and whoever finds it will be granted
a single wish.
The seven children brought to the castle havestopped attending school, having suffered some sortof trauma in their family or among their peers, and so,they are home to notice their mirrors glowing at 9am– the start of the school day. They learn that the castle
is open for the duration of the academic year, and only
during school hours, and they are free to come and go
as they please within this time.
In this way, Tsujimura introduces us the social
issue of futoko: children who stop going to school for
extended periods of time, reasons for which are often
reported as family circumstances or bullying. Tsujimura
reveals seven diverse stories of futoko, thus presenting
the people behind this phenomenon, giving depth
and dimension to the issue. Empathising with teachers,
parents, friends, and bullies themselves, she ponders
why children would drop out of school, and explores
the isolation which can colour and define people’s
lives from a young age. Given the problem of bullying
in Japan, and associated public health issues among
young people including suicide and hikikomori, thebook’s popularity should come as no surprise, winning
the Japan Booksellers’ Award in 2018.
The story unfolds through 12-year-old Kokoro’seyes. Having suffered a traumatic experience at school
which led to her hiding in her house, fearing for her
life while her bullies shouted and bashed on her door,
Kokoro withdraws into herself, and finds herself unable
to communicate with her parents and teachers. She
becomes increasingly isolated from the world aroundher.
To Kokoro, it quickly becomes clear that eachof the other children have a similar experience, but
all appear reluctant to divulge their story. It is clear,though, that the castle – unlike other fantasy worlds– is a safe haven for the children, offering respite fromthe traumas of the outside world. They are given
physical space, with each child having their own
private room, as well as communal rooms for thegroup to congregate; and time, every school day for awhole year, to explore friendships, build connections,and slowly process their trauma.
Matching these themes of human connection andisolation, the pace of the book is appropriately slow andmeasured. Tension builds gradually, with hints of what
is to come dropped close to the start and resolved onlyat the end. Apart from ominous howling that grows
louder as 5pm approaches, and the knowledge that
if they stay past this time, the wolf will come and eat
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whole whoever is left, there is no dramatic plot line.
Instead, we are given space to observe how the children
form connections, resolve difficulties, communicate,and navigate the complexities of friendship. We see,through detailed accounts, shy exchanges of gifts,
unreciprocated confessions of love, fights unfold andresolve, and birthday celebrations.
It is relevant that these social dynamics are notmediated by an adult. Outside the castle, beyond themirror and in the real world, we see the children battlewith the control and parameters inflicted on them byteachers, school systems and parents. But through themirror and in the castle, they have freedom to live as
they please, form connections with one another, andconfront their anxieties and fears in their own time.
Despite the dark themes underlying the book, andvisceral fear felt by the children in their respective realworld experiences, written from Kokoro’s viewpoint –a child’s perspective – the tone remains optimistic andhopeful. There is the sense that without support fromfriends, family and peers, and without apt processingof their experiences, the children could suffer later onin life: as well as the trauma of the bullying, the children
express guilt for dropping out of school and missingclasses, and worry they are letting down their parents.
Some withdraw in total isolation and fear leaving theirhouse entirely, while others rebel by dying their hairand getting into relationships. But from their stay inthe castle, the children are given the space to learn andslowly heal. We see, in what feels like real time given
the pace of the book, the importance of patience,trust, and time in healing, and of granting children
autonomy in how they choose to process trauma.
And, as they are given space in the castle to be
free from fear, on the outside, in the “real” world, theygrow too; empathising teachers and parents come tospeak to the children, who give them space as they try
to recover; and we are introduced to the School, an
alternative school for children who’ve dropped out ofmainstream school, drawing parallels with free schools,
which emerged in Japan in the 1980s in response toincreasing truancy.
Lonely Castle in the Mirror – its success in Japanand beyond – perhaps points to a broader trend inincreasing awareness of children’s mental health, withbullying also the topic of Kawakami Mieko’s highly
anticipated Heaven, translated in 2021. Tsujimura,using fantasy and magical realism to amplify historicaland current trends, commentary and research inbullying and mental health – adds hope and depth tothe conversation.§5

Yosugaby Kaneko Ayano
Album released on 14 April 2021
https://kanekoayano.net/special/
yosuga/
Review by Cameron Bassindale

Yosuga is the 6th full-length album from Kaneko
Ayano, one of Japan’s best kept musical secrets. Since
2014, Kaneko Ayano has released a body of work
which charts her considerable progress as a musician.
From the Britpop inspired riffs and melodies of her firsttwo albums, she has evolved her sound to become theposter girl for the Japanese Pop-Folk scene. In Ayano’squest for fresh sounds and new audiences, in 2018
she released a track for the Japanese remake of theimmensely popular 13 Reasons Why on Netflix, andeven collaborated with the popular Hip-Hop artist KID
FRESINO earlier this year. It is a shame then that her
latest offering does not go as far as her other albums
do in pushing the envelope and developing her style.
That being said, there is still much to like.
While she has never been in the mainstream
proper, Yosuga is Kaneko’s first album to break the
Top 20 Apple Music charts in Japan. This is a testament
to her prolific workrate. The album’s first track andmain single, ‘Houyou’ (抱擁) meaning embrace,
encapsulates everything that is great about Kaneko
Ayano. Her voice is at its cutting, soulful best. The
lyrics too weave the melancholy picture that pervades
this album. And then, there is the video. In front of astunning mountain-top scene, coloured with pinks
and whites, the visuals are as striking as the vocals on
top. This combines for what is a truly stellar start to thealbum. From there on, it is a mixed bag.
On her last two albums, Sansan and Shukusai,
Kaneko seemed to really situate herself nicely at theintersection between Rock, Pop and Folk. The result
was albums loaded with loud, energetic tracks thatwere memorable, and replayable. So too were there
songs that were more considered and soulful. On
Yosuga, the balance is somewhat off. Take for instancethe albums third song, ‘Tegami’ (手紙, letter). While
it’s a nicely put together song, and frontlines Ayano’s
incredible vocal range, it’s pretty forgettable anddoesn’t sound dissimilar to a couple of other cuts fromthe album. This is a shame, since I expected an album
like Shukusai in which practically every song lodges
itself into your memory with their catchy, energetic
rhythm.
6

Where Yosuga really comes into its own iswhen Kaneko’s band gets in on the action. The
four-piece band Kaneko has assembled on her way
from playing acoustic sets to a few people in her
hometown of Yokohama to main stage performancesat some of Japan’s biggest festivals have catalysed
her development as an artist. I would urge anyone
beginning to listen to Kaneko and her band forthe first time to watch their performances at Ringo
Festival, available on Youtube. The brash, punk-y
performances are reminiscent of the best of Britishrock music, combined with a distinct Japanese musicalflavour. These performances gripped me as a new fan,
and will do so to any newcomer, I am sure. On thesong ‘Ranman’ (爛漫, glorious) then, the penultimate
from Yosuga, we have the blueprint for what makes
a great Kaneko Ayano song, capturing that uniquespirit. Principally, we have a stellar vocal performance,
spirited guitar riffs and the band’s backing vocals
which have become synonymous with Kaneko’s big
hits over the past few years.
The final song, ‘Tsuioku’ (追憶, recollection) sadly
ends the album with more of a whimper than a bang.
It is short, sweet and melancholy as fitting with thealbum’s theme, but is unlikely to go down as one ofher greatest songs. What remains to be seen is what
direction Kaneko Ayano will take this album. As has
been made abundantly clear throughout this review,she is one of Japan’s great contemporary musicalinnovators. With her previous albums, Kaneko has
totally re-recorded every track and released Hitorideni,or acoustic albums which usually give the songs awhole other feel and sound. With her newest offering
having a gentler sound, there is ample space to reimagine Yosuga.
Overall, this may not be Kaneko’s greatest
album, but that is because that would be hard to do.
If this review sounds at all overcritical or dismissive of
Yosuga, it is only because she has set such consistently
high standards through her music. The highs ofthis album are fantastic, and the ‘lows’ would beconsidered a lesser artist’s best work. I implore anyone
reading this review to take the time to really listen to
everything Kaneko Ayano has released. From electric
live performances to subtle, stripped back acoustic
tracks she is an artist at the top of her craft; Yosuga
is the latest in the discography of one of Japan’s truly
exceptional musical talents.§

Issue 94 Volume 16 Number 4 (August 2021)

Kintsugi: The Poetic Mend
by Bonnie Kemske
Herbert Press (2021)
ISBN-13: 978-1912217991
Review by Eleonora Faina

Kintsugi: The Poetic Mend is a beautifully illustrated
book where artist, Japanese tea ceremony student
and author Bonnie Kemske guides us through theorigins and techniques of kintsugi, a Japanese art form
and repair method to restore broken objects using
lacquer and gold. Born in Okinawa, raised in the US
and currently living in England, Kemske gifts us withher second publication exploring kintsugi’s history, its
metaphorical power and her encounters with artists
and ceramist both in Japan and in the West.
Its 175 pages’ margins are connected by a goldenline and it is immediately clear this book tells a story.
The Daiwa Anglo-Japanese and Sasagawa Foundations
sponsored the research trip Kemske took in 2019 tocollect information and material for this book and I
was lucky to be part of the homonymous webinar they
hosted in late February 2021 which further ignited myinterest in reviewing it.
The book is six chapters long, marked by theirrespective golden kanji: dives into kintsugi’s origins,different types of kintsugi repair, its contemporary use
and different interpretations of its metaphor which
proved to be pivotal in its popularity abroad. Images
understandably are dominant, yet the text is substantial,
beautifully accompanying pictures of kintsugi repairs,
step-by-step technique demonstrations, meetings
with artists and shots of the Japanese landscape andits physical cracks.
Kintsugi literally means “to join with gold” and it
is a mid-16th, 17th century Japanese repairing lacquer
technique. It accentuates the gold seems between
joined pieces. A notion probably not so popular in
the West, mending is seen as inherently important inJapanese culture: affirming the scars, the imperfections
can turn the broken piece into something even more
beautiful than its original form. The original piece is notjust repaired but is an entirely new, unique, stronger
art element. It tells a story of the past whilst drawing
attention to the now.
The technique of joining broken pieces withmetal originated in China but its most articulated andartistic form is certainly Japanese. The first examples ofkintsugi in Japan can be traced back to 1500 BC during
the Jomon era where black lacquer extracted fromtoxic urushi trees started to be employed. With theLatest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/resources/reviews/

discovery of gold in 750 BC a fine powder was addedon top of the lacquer, marking the advent of modern
kintsugi.
The process is described as very time-consuming
and requiring highly skilled artists to deliver the
repaired piece in its enhanced beauty. Urushi trees only
grow in East Asia; its secretions seasonally extracted areapplied one layer at the time at specific temperatures,making its employment protract the repair for several
months. It can be used with several materials likewood, lacquer, and glass but its best recognised form
is pottery, specifically in chanoyu (tea ceremony).
It is really in the latter environment that kintsugi
flourished as an aesthetic: chanoyu started to beconsidered as high art in the opulent Momoyama era(1573–1603) and its political and economic importancebrought this maki-e (sprinkling gold power on urushi)
originated technique to be associated with status andprestige in the Japanese society. Tea utensils were used
as a reward to reinforce loyalty within strict hierarchies.
Japanese concepts like wabi (accepting irregularities
translated as humbleness and simplicity in one’s life),mottainai (do not waste, letting every object fulfil
its function) and mono no aware (acceptance andappreciation of the impermanence of life) were pivotal
in the establishment of kintsugi to this day.
Yet, Kemske reveals kintsugi constituted a“hidden art” in Japan; the artists, kintsugi-shi, haverarely been mentioned in the repairing documentationand this is mostly recognised as a “side-line job”. Many
kintsugi-shi back in the Tokugawa era were essentiallymakie-shi who employed their lacquers skills. Only
recently kintsugi artists are embracing this as a proper
profession in and out Japan although gold repairs arestill offered by the majority of makie-shi.
Why, then, this Japanese art form got such a gripin Western societies in recent years, spurring artistic
interpretations by Page Bradley, Ono Yoko, Paul Scott,Claudia Clare and endless publications of self-help
books based on its concept? That is, according to theauthor, because of the power of a good metaphor: avisual one that also entails transformation. It is often
referred to ‘the art of resilience’ in the West [1] oraccepting imperfection and irregularities as part ofsomething natural. In Japan honouring the fractures,the process towards renewal is more aestheticallypowerful than a brand new, perfect, possibly massproduced item.
Not surprisingly, the book points out kintsugi is
deeply related to earthquakes as people in Japan are
accustomed to living with over 150,000 earthquakes
7

per year. Its demand usually rises in their aftermath toremember lost ones or rebuild family tokens. Livingwith cracks and breaks is just natural and if anything,reinforces the precariousness and imperfection of theworld we live in, stimulating a renewed appreciation
for the beauty surrounding us.
I really enjoyed diving into this rich, weighty book.
It is visually gorgeous, its selection of pictures exquisite
and it taught me a great deal of kintsugi. I particularly
appreciated the interviews and artists’ personal stories
such as Raku Kichizaemon XV’s Nekowaride andthe encounters with Suzuki Goro in Japan and John
Domenico in the US. Each interpretation was different
in style, size, concepts, and type of kintsugi used. Someof them broke items on purpose, some decided to turninto art a particularly unlucky pottery batch, others had
their wives mending items of great sentimental value.
Those are stories of redemption translating as lengthy,
emotional projects.
Kemske’s description of her time in Japan werequite vivid too: in her narration of surroundings
and encounters with the artists she manages toreproduce a specific sense of tranquillity, measured
movements and Shintoist reverence towards theenvironment (houses, trees, ceramics, and quality oflight). Japanese literature connoisseurs and those whohave experienced the country first-hand will be able
to really visualise her description and appreciate how
authentic they feel.
The author also refers several times throughout
her book to Westerns spreading incorrect info andusing kintsugi “promiscuously”. Yet she recognises thebeauty of kintsugi becoming more mainstream, largely
more accessible, relevant, and exposed to audiencesin different parts of the world. Timothy Toomey - UKcoordinator of the Kintsugi Project and working at the
Embassy of Japan in the UK - said in 2014 the aim of
the project ‘is to stimulate an interest in kintsugi in theWest, leading to a commercial interest which will help
revive a craft in Japan that time and a changing wayof life have caused to be in danger of disappearing’.[2]The last chapter, dedicated to kintsugi’s
symbolism opens with remarks of re-invention andrenewal especially in the current pandemic’ climate.
It could be argued living throughout a pandemic has
been a shared metaphorically seismic experience thathas reminded us of human frailty, the importance of
reinventing ourselves and cherish what we have. It has
triggered emotional and physical scars in each of us
and the significance of kintsugi could be more relevant
than ever nowadays. It encapsulates the renewed
creativity, resilience, and innovation many of us had toturn to as a coping mechanism, transcending its purest
art form. It also transcends the individual experience:companies like Forbes recognized it and NKD pointedout ‘through the hardships we all weathered, theorganisations who have been successful ‘instead ofyearning for the old days have filled the gap created by
the pandemic with something better’,[3] reinventing
themselves.
The book is a testament of a narrative of loss andrecovery, breakage and restoration, tragedy and ability
to overcome it in respectful acceptance of loss andhardships. In her very last pages Kemske introduces the
only ceramic bowl she ever made during a chanoyu
class in Japan, over 30 years ago. The bowl brokeshortly after, its remains kept away by an old friendof hers. Recently kintsugi repaired and delivered inconjunction with this publication, the bowl represents
something much more meaningful that it would show
at a first glance. It brings closure, it enriches loss andcelebrates the past, encapsulating kintsugi’s metaphor
perfectly.
As the drive to repair is universal so it is the drive
towards catharsis: ‘a scar does not form on the dying.
A scar means I survived’[4]. The gaps filled with gold
represents the acceptance we need to exercise towards
things not looking nor feeling like they used to. Learn
how to heal our wounds and unapologetically reverence
them might represents today’s ultimate art form.
Notes[1] Serge Maillard, ‘“Kintsugi” or the art of resilience’,
Europa Star, Editorial, May (2020).
[2] Quoted in Tony McNicol, ‘What is kintsugi?’,
WedoJapan, 15 May (2014).
[3] Laura C, ‘Coming out the other side of thecoronavirus pandemic – not just stronger, butdifferent’, NDK (2021).
[4] Quoted in Kemske from Chris Cleave, The Other
Hand (2008).§

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