The Japan Society Review 86
Book, Stage, Film, Arts and Events Review

Issue 86 Volume 15 Number 2 (April 2020)

The arrival of spring this year has been marked by
the lockdown and difficulties due to COVID-19, butnevertheless the bright light and colours of the season
have arrived in our streets, gardens, and parks. This issueof The Japan Society Review hopes to bring some of thatbeauty also into your homes featuring the review andsome astonishing images of the exhibition Kimono: Kyoto
to Catwalk opened at the Victorian & Albert Museum in
London last February. Although temporarily closed now,the exhibition aims to present the kimono as a dynamic
and constantly evolving icon of fashion. It displays rare
17th and 18thcentury kimono alongside pieces by major
designers and iconic film costumes, together with otherclothing and art works.
While we wait for museums and galleries to reopen,
books are one of the most inspiring and easily available
distractions. In this April issue we have reviewed four
fictional works written by female writers. Rather thanoffering a unified ‘feminine’ approach or style, thesereadings show a wide range of literature created by
women, in this case by Japanese authors Onda Riku andMatsuda Yoko, Japanese American writer Julie Otsuka andthe collaboration team of British author Kerry Drewerywith Japanese illustrator Natsko Seki. Through their works,
we can explore the trauma and legacy of the atomic
bombing in Hiroshima, the past experiences of Japanesemigrants to the US or the contemporary twist of genres
such as crime fiction and ghost stories.
To finish, just a reminder that you can findmore reviews and all past issues on our website
www.japansociety.org.uk/reviews where you can search
for them by type (books, films, theatre & stage, events)
and download past issues in pdf.
Good reading and please stay safe and well.
Alejandra Armendáriz-Hernández

Contents
1)

The Last Paper Crane by Kerry Drewery

2)

The Buddha in the Attic by Julie Otsuka

3)

The Aosawa Murders by Onda Riku

4)

Where the Wild Ladies Are by Matsuda Aoko

5)

Kimono: Kyoto to Catwalk Exhibition at the Victoria &Albert Museum

EditorAlejandra Armendáriz-Hernández
Reviewers
Duncan Bartlett, Jill Dobson, Charlotte Goff, Laurence Green and
Azmina Sohail.
Image: Fashionable brocade patterns of the Imperial Palace, woodblock
print, made by Utagawa Kunisada, 1847-1852, Japan. Museum no. Circ.636
to Circ. 638– 1962. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

The Last Paper Craneby Kerry Drewery
illustrated by Seki Natsko
Hot Key Books (2020)
ISBN-13: 978-1471408472
Review by Laurence Green
There is an interesting trend occurring in popularliterature right now that one could reasonably
approach as kind of writerly equivalent to the welldocumented observation of so-called ‘dark tourism’ the visiting of places historically associated with deathand tragedy. Perhaps the most prominent example is
the recent runaway success The Tattooist of Auschwitz
and the numerous spin-offs and copy-cat releases thathave followed in its wake. The atomic bombing ofHiroshima in 1945 has not been immune to this trend
either, with the recent release of The Complete Story of
Sadako Sasaki and the Thousand Paper Cranes, a slim
tome aimed at middle-schoolers with an attractive
manga-style cover that aims to retell the true-life storyof Sasaki Sadako, the Japanese girl famous for folding
one thousand origami cranes prior to her death fromthe aftereffects of the atomic bomb.
Kerry Drewery’s The Last Paper Crane at firstglance finds itself slotting neatly alongside this kindof material, although the author is keen to note andacknowledge in the book’s introduction the sensitivities
around who has the right to retell these stories. Most
interesting is her description of how her awareness ofthe subject was born, in fact, from a very British kindof atomic fear. Growing up in the Cold War climate of
the 1980s, she writes about how her consumption of
iconic atomic-themed narratives such as the TV movie
Threads, David Bischoff’s WarGames, Raymond Brigg’s
When the Wind Blows and even songs like Frankie
Goes To Hollywood’s Two Tribes fostered an interest in
the topic. ‘Fear pushed me to try and understand,’ sheclaims, before stating: ‘I kept thinking that if stories are
only told by people who were there, then gradually
everything will fade from time and memory’. That may
be so, but when there are already so many remarkably
powerful documentations of the disaster across a wide
variety of media formats, the question remains - what
can this incarnation add to the wealth of material thatcurrently exists?
The answer, it seems, lies in a combinatory
approach. Told through an interweaving of haiku,
free verse and standard prose, The Last Paper Crane
delights in flitting between mediums in an attempt
to convey the essence of the Hiroshima story beyond
2the simple historical facts. There is even a how-to
guide and sheet of origami paper included in theback of the book so the reader can attempt to maketheir own paper crane. The guidance helpfully notes:‘You will probably need to make several paper cranes
before yours looks really good, so you might want topractice on plain paper’. As novel as the inclusion ofthis interactive element is however, it is the haiku that
initially offer the most impact as the book lays out its
opening gambit. A young Japanese woman, Mizuki,
sits with her grandfather and discusses the importanceof stories, of memories - how they offer a precious
opportunity to glean insights into a past that will soon
be lost to time: ‘Our memories weigh / Heavy on oursoul, like leaves / On a dying tree’.
After just eighteen pages, the perspective shifts- narration nestled within narration. The central prose
component of the book - told from the point of viewof Mizuki’s grandfather - throws us almost immediately
into the hot, white heat of the atomic blast itself andthe terrors of the immediate aftermath. The question of
how to handle the narrative significance of a historicalcertainty that we all know will occur has presented
an interesting challenge to a multitude of writers andartists who have approached the story of Hiroshima.
2016’s critically-acclaimed anime feature film In This
Corner of the World was notable in its masterful‘teasing’ of the inevitable day, the days almost
torturously unfurling, calendar-like as we warmed
to the movie’s characters, all the while knowing thehardships that awaited them just around the corner.
The Last Paper Crane’s decision to largely jump straightin to the impact of the bomb itself arguably means theopportunity for this kind of slow build is lost; the focus
instead turned to the intensely personal reconciliationof the main character’s guilt over his actions after thebomb hits.
The tone of this prose segment is hard to judge.
Perhaps it is the author’s background as a Young Adult
writer that shows here, but the overriding feeling is anattempt to rewrite or recast John Hershey’s seminal
Hiroshima into a guise suitable for a new, younger
audience. The language is simple, blunt and unadorned- a symptom of its narrator’s youth perhaps, but then,this never held back Nakazawa Keiji’s peerless Barefoot
Gen from the unimaginable devastation depicted inboth its manga and anime incarnations. Beautiful as
they are, the illustrations supplied by Seki Natsko here
feel hushed and muted, a contemplative Hiroshima
cast in silhouette. The most striking is three small,human-sized shadows laid out on a scratched, concrete
Issue 86 Volume 15 Number 2 (April 2020)

backdrop. One is clearly a child, arms outstretched,angel-like. Projected in a stark monochrome of blackand grey, this is a world sucked of all life. ‘They look likeshadows of people’, we are told, ‘It’s as if their souls arestuck to the ground’.
This is the narrative of Hiroshima we haveencountered again and again. But The Last Paper
Crane is not without its surprises. The first arrives as
our narrator passes out in the ashes of the ruined city,
only to awake weeks later in a Tokyo hospital. He is
tended to by a young Japanese-American nurse called
Megumi, who informs her unbelieving patient thatwhile he has been comatose, Japan has surrendered.
While the existence of Megumi as a character within
the plot feels a little contrived - is she merely a foil toarticulate a point about America occupying Japan? what is harder to digest is the sudden blossoming ofromance between her and the narrator. This culminates
in an impossibly soppy denouement as the narrator
proclaims his undying love for her: ‘She is my friend,
my girlfriend, my future hope, my sounding board, mycompass when I’m lost, my shining light when times
are dark. She is my everything, as I, I hope, am hers’.
The second surprise comes in the dawning
realisation that throughout the book we have neverknown the name of its protagonist. When it is finallyrevealed, the narrative payoff is significant, andcomes with all the weight caught up in the value ofnames themselves, as a personal identifier for a single
individual, a survivor amidst countless lives renderedanonymous by the bomb. The book’s last surprise issaved for the final, and without a doubt strongest,
third as the book returns to its free verse format for the
final one hundred pages or so. The importance of thisreveal is made obvious to readers well in advance, weknow exactly what it will be, but this in many ways only
adds to its resonance. While the book’s earlier flirtation
with romance arguably falls flat, the emotional weight
here feels genuine. What is most striking about thissection is just how alive it feels in contrast to the staid,monochrome feel of the prose segment - the flow of
the pages feels untethered, often with merely a single
word per line, and we are quickly caught up in the
sheer essence of pure, unfiltered emotional essence.
The poeticism is striking in its energy; the rhythm
enforced by the placement of the words on the page
conjuring up a thrum of intensity that the book feels
like it has been searching for from its very first page.
Here, it finally finds it.
One is left wondering whether this is specifically astory about Hiroshima, or rather an intriguing authorial
exercise in mixing artistic mediums, filtered throughthe lens of Hiroshima. While the narrative content of thebook is questionable, its existence as a kind of poetic,
artistic ‘object’ is fascinating - the author’s creative
impulse moulded into a shape that just so happens to
be designated ‘Hiroshima, 1945’. Ultimately, The Last
Paper Crane feels impossible to pigeon hole. It is its
own unique creation. A little rough round the edges
perhaps, but thoroughly individual in its existence as athing of many component folds and layers. There aremany tales of Hiroshima. This is merely one of them.§

The Buddha in the Attic

Otsuka’s novel is essentially a story by women for
women. With a distinctive poetic narrator, she traces the
migration of Japanese women from their homeland in
the East to the West with the promise of the “American
Dream.” Travelling across oceans with the intention ofa successful marriage, their transition into domesticity,
the difficulties and fear of integration and their slow
demise, evacuation and eventual disappearance, thisstory is essentially the voice of the voiceless immigrant.
What stands out is Otsuka’s rhythmic narrative
style; with the narrator’s all-seeing, all-knowing
persona, it has the ability to detail the experiences ofdifferent women into one collective story. As if one
woman is telling the story of hundreds of others. As
if one woman is telling only her story. And as if one
woman is listening to several stories at once; a peculiar
amalgamation of them all. It is this and the pluralityof pronouns used that evokes a poignant sense of

by Julie Otsuka
Penguin (2013)
ISBN-13: 978-0241956489
Review by Azmina Sohail
The title of Julie Otsuka’s novel The Buddha in the Attic
is reminiscent for many literary critics of the noted
feminist book, The Madwoman in the Attic, a studyof the representation of women in the nineteenthcentury and their struggle for autonomy in the literary
world. Otsuka, now over three decades later, uses
this title to present in fictional form the struggle forJapanese identity in America at the height of theSecond World War.
Based on the real life stories of Japaneseimmigrants who came to America in the 1900’s,
Latest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/reviews

3sisterhood. When travelling ‘on the boat we had tomake choices,’ when having children ‘our husbands
had nothing to do with them’ and when leaving ‘someof us left weeping.’ The style is an underestimated andpowerful literary tool that illustrates a collective senseof isolation and fear in a foreign land.
Thematically Otsuka’s story makes use of andpersonifies Edward Said’s theory of the ‘Oriental
Other.’ Said’s stance of the Western perception of the“strange” and “exotic” Easterner is skilfully reversed.
It is the immigrants who question their Westerncounterparts; ‘in the beginning, we wondered about
them constantly ... how were they able to tell eachother apart ... did they really hang dishes on their walls... and have locks on their doors.’ They wondered ‘towhom did they pray? What did they dream of?’ andif they ‘saw a man in the moon and not a rabbit?’
Perhaps in both defence and defiance of orientalism,
Otsuka is conveying the questions of these immigrants
in a respectful and intelligent manner. Instead of
acknowledging any “barbaric” and “savage” practices,
the Japanese women question the simple everyday
practices of the “Other.”
The tactful exploration of immigrant cultural
assimilation also allows the reader to reflect on its
relevance today. With a recent resurgence of racism in
the West and ethnic cleansing in the East, The Buddha
in the Attic shows us that the problems with social
integration is still very much alive. The novel reminds usthat ethnic minorities, religions and cultures – notions
that very much exemplify the diversity of life – havesomehow become “incompatible” with the modern
world. Dictatorial leaders and governments akin to
those of the Second World War have embedded thisidea into the masses causing a widespread fear andrejection of people.

In the novel, the propaganda becomes so strongthat the Japanese soon begin to suspect their own
people of political play; ‘they said our houseboys wereintelligent agents in disguise’ and ‘our gardeners were
all hiding shortwave radio transmitters.’ Despite theirhusbands help, ‘still, we were unprepared. Suddenly tofind ourselves the enemy.’ In the same manner, various
ethnic minorities today have become distrusting ofeach other; people who once held the same sharedvalues and beliefs now become suspects to not only
the outside world but to themselves.
In its final chapter the narrator switches its
perspective to the “everyday” American citizen who
carefully conveys the disappearance of their immigrantneighbours. Their traces being left behind with‘abandoned cars on driveways ... houses are boarded
up and empty’ and businesses ‘shuttered ... with official
notices nailed to telephone poles ... already beginningto tatter and fade.’ Some miss them and some arerelieved but over time the memories of their Japaneseneighbours begin to fade until eventually they can nolonger recall their names; a haunting reflection of thereality of death.
Julie Otsuka’s novel of the immigrant experience isbeautifully written. Its powerful narrative encapsulates
the lives of a forgotten people still alive in the memories
of Japan. It confronts the issue of immigrant integration
head-on, holding up a mirror to contemporary society
and its treatment of displaced populations. It tells usthat no matter what, all immigrants experience thesame sense of fear and hope; two emotions every
human being will face. The novel is a salute to all thepeople who have experienced this type of fear and aneerie reminder that history is repeating itself. Ethnic
cleansing is a reality and must be combatted, even
if it means defying the biggest and most dangerous
powers the world has ever seen.§

The Aosawa Murders

how could she have carried out a mass poisoning?
The rest of the novel unfolds from this basic premise,
following multiple viewpoints, a technique that recalls
Akutawaga’s 1922 story In a Bamboo Grove, theinspiration for Kurosawa’s Rashomon.
The Aosawas, a prominent local family in an
unnamed but atmospherically described coastal town,
hold joint birthday celebrations for several family
members. A gift of sake is delivered, along with softdrinks for the children, in the name of a friend of thefamily. The drinks are used for the birthday toast. A
local girl, Saiga Makiko, and her two brothers arrive lateby Onda Riku
translated by Alison Watts
Bitter Lemon Press (2020)
ISBN-13: 978-1912242245
Review by Jill Dobson
The first novel by prolific and award-winning author
Onda Riku to be published in English is prefaced bya transcript of a police interview with Aosawa Hisako,
the sole survivor of a mass murder that has claimed therest of her family. Hisako, the obvious suspect, is blind;
4

Issue 86 Volume 15 Number 2 (April 2020)

to the celebrations and find a ghastly scene of writhingbodies and the stink of vomit. Seventeen people die. An
extensive police investigation begins. The family friend
has no connection to the delivery and the enquiry
stalls. Then, a man known to be mentally disturbed
hangs himself and leaves a suicide note claiming tohave delivered the poisoned drinks. Despite the lackof motive, the evidence confirms his confession. The
case is closed, and yet local people are left empty
and dissatisfied, even ‘depressed’, because ‘they still
couldn’t make sense of why all those people had died’(p. 35). The logistics of the murder have been clarified,
but the truth of it remains essentially unresolved, andat its centre is the blind Aosawa daughter Hisako andher memory of the old, dark, blue room.
As a young woman, Saiga Makiko is still haunted
by her childhood discovery of the horrific crime scene.
She is driven to return to her former hometown andresearch the murders as way of dealing with the trauma,
which ‘was still with me, like a sediment that had settled
deep down inside ... Over time, this sense of uneasebuilt up and felt more solid’ (p. 19). She publishes abook about the murders, The Forgotten Festival, which
she frankly describes as ‘fiction’: ‘Nobody knows what

the truth is. It never even occurred to me to wonder ifwhat I wrote was the truth’ (p. 23)’. In the first chapter,an older Makiko reflects on her experience at the timeof the murders and the process of writing the bookeleven years later, responding to questions posed byan unnamed interviewer.
The meandering narrative moves throughconversations between people who are linked invarious ways to the event and the interviewer, an
excerpt from Makiko’s book, file notes and firstperson reminiscences. There is no clear single pointof view, although the reader has the impression thatthe mysterious interviewer is working through all theevidence at a much later date, as if piecing together
an intricate puzzle. Every viewpoint is partial and open
to question; does the passing of time blur memory or
does distance from the emotional impact of events
provide a clearer view? Onda seems to undermine
the convention of (much, although by no means all)crime fiction that there is a truth to be neatly revealed,
whether by logical deduction, old-fashioned shoeleather or fancy forensic techniques. The truth of amurder, she seems to say, goes much deeper thansimply who did it.§

Where the Wild Ladies Are

film’s most chilling images. In a more mundane way,
‘unruly’ hair has come to be feared by women the world
over. To ride the Tokyo underground is to be stared
down by ubiquitous hair removal ads, and in 2018 a
Japanese advertising agency made international news
for repurposing models’ armpits as marketing space.
For our narrator in Smartening Up, the rejectionof this ideal is a moment of triumph. This is a ghost
story but, more than that, it is a love story. Learning
to embrace the power of her hair, our narrator swaps
self-hatred, and a longing for everything western, for arenewed love for herself and her Japanese-ness: we see
her move from consuming Dean and Deluca groceries
from a Scandinavian-style table while watching a‘romantic comedy starring Michelle Williams’, todrawing inspiration from the tale of Kiyohime, visiting
the local sento, and nourishing ‘the black mass’ insideher.
It is typical of Matsuda’s tales that thetransformation she undergoes is as open to the living as
to the dead, and the two worlds are so interconnected
throughout these tales that it can take time to workout which characters are dead. When they appear,
Matsuda’s ghosts are more likely to be helping the
mortals than haunting them. They are benevolent,by Matsuda Aoko
translated by Polly Barton
Tilted Axis Press (2020)
ISBN-13: 978-1911284383
Review by Charlotte Goff
What’s stopping you from getting the life you want?
For the protagonist of Smartening Up, the second in
Matsuda Aoko’s newly translated ghost stories, it is her
hair. If only she had remembered to epilate, she would
surely never have been dumped. If only she had long,
golden locks, the rest of her life would fall into place.
It takes a visit from her dead aunt to make her rethink
her relationship with her hair, her ideal self, and thewisdom of locating her self-esteem in the approval ofothers. These are not your average ghost stories. They
probably won’t leave you chilled to the core – though,as translator Polly Barton points out, their chilling
effect is one reason that Japanese ghost stories are
traditionally told in summer – but will instead leave
you amused, moved, and hopefully empowered.
Of course, what we consider scary is subjective.
In Nakata Hideo’s Ring, Sadako emerging from the TV
with long, black hair hanging before her is one of theLatest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/reviews5

if preternaturally persuasive. They might turn up at
your apartment unannounced, but the worst thatwill happen is you feel obliged to share the expensive
red bean sweets you had been saving for a special
occasion, or end up with a few unnecessary toro
lanterns. Best case scenario, you – you who are fed up
with men and dumped your boyfriend after realisingthat living with him felt like accumulating a moundof pebbles inside – may land a spectral girlfriend who
will massage your feet each night and disappear bymorning. Unlike ghouls who spend their afterlives
avenging past grievances, Matsuda’s ghosts havedreams and aspirations, and we see them working
towards these under the guidance of the mysterious
Mr Tei.

Matsuda’s tales are a joy to read, and more thanlive up to their promise to be feminist retellings. The
real monsters in this collection are not the ghosts
themselves, but the spectres created by a capitalist,
patriarchal society: workplaces where women arechronically under-valued, vicious rumours whichhound a single mother, and the beauty industrial
complex which produces and profits from women’s
self-hatred. Matsuda retains key elements of Japanesetraditional folklore, such as shapeshifting, and theharmonious relationships between living and dead,while reimagining the issues they might have incontemporary Japan.§

Kimono: Kyoto to Catwalk
exhibition at London’s Victoria & Albert Museum(29 February - 21 June 2020 / exhibition postponed)
Review by Duncan Bartlett
Europe’s first major exhibition of the kimono is acelebration of the garment’s unique place in the storyof global fashion. The Victoria and Albert Museumin London is showing more than 350 creations inKimono: Kyoto to Catwalk, which opened to the public
on February 29th, 2020. Speaking at the opening of
the exhibition, its curator Anna Jackson said:‘We want our visitors to gain an appreciation of
the significance and the sheer beauty of the kimono
and we want to show that fashion is able to transcend
geographic borders.’
The exhibition includes many treasures, such as
an 18th century summer kimono, which is yuzen-dyedand embroidered with golden-hued cherry blossoms.
It is valued at around two million yen (about £14,000
or $18,000 USD) and it is too delicate to wear.
Despite being seen as uniquely Japanese, thekimono has had an influence on international clothingstyles for nearly 400 years.The Director of the V&A, Dr
Tristram Hunt, believes its allure stems from its simple
structure which he believes invites people to create
intricate designs upon its surface.
‘When we talk about kimonos, we often thinkof a beautiful and remote garment, a long way fromordinary people. This exhibition challenges thatperception and it reveals that the kimono is highly
dynamic. It’s been the focus of a vibrant fashion culture
which has existed in Japan since the 1660s,’ Dr Hunttold reporters.
6

Kimono Times, Akira Times, 2017. © Akira Times

National treasures
The first part of the exhibition examines the historyof the kimono, with many precious examples from
Kyoto and Edo, the city which later became known asTokyo. Some of the clothes come from the museum’s
own archive – the V&A has been collecting JapaneseIssue 86 Volume 15 Number 2 (April 2020)art and design since it was founded in the early 1850s.
There are also pieces which have been borrowed fromall over the world, including loans from the Tokyo
National Museum and the Kyoto Costume Institute.
People have been wearing kimonos in Japan for
more than a thousand years. However, it was not until
the 17th century that nearly everybody – regardlessof their social status, wealth or gender – began to usethem on an everyday basis. By that stage, there were ahuge range of styles, patterns and materials. Each type
carried much significance, according to curator Anna
Jackson. Speaking in front of the some of the exhibits
to a group of international journalists, she said: ‘The
surface was really important and, of course, the choiceof pattern and the colour. That’s how you showed otherpeople how wealthy you were, what your social status
was and, most importantly of all, how fashionable andtasteful you were.’

known as sakoku “the closed country.” Despite thisisolation, some entriped Dutch traders purchased
kimonos in Japan and shipped them back to Europe,
where they tried to sell them on at a vast profit. ‘At thattime, Japanese manufacturers couldn’t keep up withdemand, so kimonos were made in India to supply theEuropean market,’ according to Anna Jackson, who is
responsible for the V&A’s Asian collection.
When Japan reopened its borders, western
dress became popular. Yet even during the early 20th
century, the majority of Japanese women continued
to wear kimonos. The cut of the garment remained
unchanged, but the designs were modernised. One
charming painting in the V&A shows a kimono-clad
woman as the epitome of modern sophistication, witha clutch bag under her arm and a fox fur draped overher shoulders.

Outer-kimono for a young woman. Probably Kyoto, 18001830. Image Courtesy of the Joshibi Art Museum

Overwhelming demandSome of the most fascinating exhibits date from theperiod between 1639 and 1853, when Japan’s borders
were largely closed to the rest of the world and it was
Latest reviews: www.japansociety.org.uk/reviews‘Kaidan’ ( staircase) by Kobayakawa Kiyoshi (1899-1948),
hanging scroll, ink and colours on paper
7Installation shot of Kimono: Kyoto to Catwalk © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Although painted in 1935, she looks strikingly
contemporary. One can easily imagine her sharing aselfie on social media.
Celebrity culture
The final section of the museum emphasises thatkimonos have been much appreciated internationallysince the end of the Second World War. There areexamples of costumes worn by celebrities such as
Freddy Mercury, Madonna and Bjork.
‘The kimono’s timelessness and ambiguity
has always made it popular with performers,’Anna
Jackson said during the opening. ‘It’s still having a big
influence internationally. There are always ways it canbe deconstructed and redesigned.’
She particularly admires recent works by a newwave of designers from across the world – including
many from Japan, such as Rei Kawakubo – who arepart of a global a “kimono renaissance.”
Olympic link
The V&A’s Director, Tristram Hunt, enjoys drawing
visitors’ attention to an intriguing link between acelebrated kimono and the logo of the Olympic
Games, scheduled to be held in Tokyo in the summerof 2020. The logo includes a checkered pattern, shownin the traditional Japanese colour of indigo blue. It
was designed to convey a feeling of elegance andsophistication. The pattern is known in Japanese as
Ichimatsu the name of a kabuki actor who performed
during the 1740s.
Dr Hunt said: ‘The checkerboard on Ichimatsu’s
kimono was influenced by fabrics from South Asia,
which were imported into Japan by Dutch traders.
I believe that this is eloquent proof that the story offashion is so often a blurring of the unique and theuniversal, the familiar and the foreign.’§

Belted wrap coat, designed by Duro Olowu, Autumn/Winter2015, England. © Duro Olowu