J-horror, it's a thing

My love for Japanese horror, or J-horror, knows no boundaries. We've always known that the Japanese can come up with weird shiz, but the horror stories they're able to conjure is simply inexplicable. But in a good way. In a horrific kind of good way. It's not for everyone though, especially if you're turned off by body horror or perverse sexual elements. But hey, if you're reading horror, then shouldn't you be expecting to be disturbed and made uncomfortable with the story?

I'm not really big on manga, the comics made by Japanese writers and artists, but I will make an exception to Junji Ito, who is now one of my favorite writers and storytellers. I just discovered him this year, when I randomly pulled Shiver, his 2017 collection, from the shelf of a local bookstore. I say randomly because whenever I'm in a reading slump, I usually turn to the graphic novels section of the bookstore and check out titles without any rhyme or reason. I discovered lots of wonderful graphic novels this way—Mazzucchelli's Asterios Polyp, Beauchard's Epileptic, and Brosgol's Anya's Ghost, to name a few. Interestingly, it was the bf who got me into reading graphic novels. Before the bf (B.B.F.), my middle class upbringing taught me to look down at these works, which is totally the fault of my parents.

Perhaps the only reason why I don't have much love for manga is that its stories are terribly slow. I'd probably have more fun watching paint dry or looking for wrinkles slowly develop on my face. But with Junji Ito though, I just never know what to expect. Well, I've read only his short fiction collection so far, but what I've read lets me get my horror fix, which I've been rarely getting from the horror novels I've finished lately. There's just something off right from the first page of the story that you could subtly detect, whether it's the oddly proportioned face of a character, the too-perfect veneer of a house, or the cheery friend who seems to be hiding her broken self. I revel in these stories. It's not at all like "The Twilight Zone," but more like the copulation of Hitchcock (for the suspense), Stirling (for the speculative aspect), King (for the jump scares), and Barker (for the out-of-this-world body horror).

I can't get enough of the body horror that Ito tells in some of his stories. In one story titled "Glyceride," a man pops his many pimples and lets the oil drip onto his sister. In "Dissection Girl," a girl dreams of being dissected alive and goes through great lengths just to make it happen. And those are just the "tame" ones, dear reader. There are far darker and grosser instances of this kind of terror in Ito's work.

Another thing I find unsettling in many of Ito's horror stories is his depiction of women. The way he draws his female monsters amd ghosts gives you that slight icky feeling. The blank eyes and facial expressions, the uncomfortably svelte figure, their hair which seems to have a life of their own—stuff of nightmares, I tell you. And it's because of this that I'm really glad that I'm gay. Anyway, check out these "ladies" in the pictures below. Note how the style of the illustrations also give them both a sexual and a predatory feel. But again, these do nothing for me, sexually I mean.

"Blackbird" from Fragments of Horror (2013-2014)

"Whispering Woman," also from Fragments of Horror

I love J-horror in all its forms. Ju-On and Ringu still remain as two of my favorite horror movies. Coincidentally, both also have elements of body horror and female antagonists. One other thing to note about J-horror is that the horror just happens without having the need for an explanation. So there's usually no tedious back story that we all have to painfully go through. It's the same thing with Junji Ito's stories. Weird stuff just happens, like people being chased by floating heads, a woman being turned on by a house and eventually having sex with it, and a man having all the heads of his ancestors living on top of his head. It's just is, man.

The books in my bag last weekend

Feels like Hitchcock

I've always wondered why there hasn't been a global Japanese crime fiction phenomenon. We all see Scandinavian crime novels everywhere. I say the Japanese ones should be just as popular. There's a certain darkness, an edginess bordering on the crazy, that make me love them.

Keigo Higashino's The Devotion of Suspect X is a different kind of mystery. For one, you know early on who committed the murder and how. Another, you read the novel to find out if the Japanese detectives will eventually find out who the killer is and weed out one red herring after another. It's very stimulating, this novel is.

The murder in question involves Yasuko, a single mother to Misato who works at a food stall. Enter Togashi, her ex-husband, a man whom she hasn't seen in 5 years. One day, Togashi walks into the lunch box shop where Yasuko works. For Misato, it's all deja vu, remembering the countless times Togashi has asked her money. Naturally, the meeting leaves a bad taste in Yasuko's mouth.

When Togashi goes to the apartment where Yasuko lives, he harasses her. Things get pretty ugly to a point when Misato, out of anger, clubs Togashi in the head. Togashi then retaliates and a skirmish ensues. Yasuko panics and ends up killing Togashi by strangling him. And this is where things get a bit complicated when they receive a call from Ishigami, their neighbor, with his offer to help dispose of the body. Ishigami is the novel's Suspect X, and his devotion refers to his affection for Yasuko. We learn that he doesn't frequent the lunch box shop where Yasuko works because of the food; he is just deeply infatuated with, nay, adores Yasuko.

The body is eventually found near a river and it's identified as Togashi. Of course, we should have a smart detective, and that comes in the person of Kusanagi, who becomes dedicated to finding out the killer. Everything points to Yasuko though, despite her weak alibi. Things get complicated when the detectives discover the connection between Yasuko and Ishigami, who we now learn is a math genius. While we do know that Ishigami was the one who crafted Yasuko and Misato's alibi, we are left to question how will the police look beyond the clues and finally get Yasuko.

But Higashino still has something up his sleeve in his novel. In The Devotion to Suspect X, we are introduced to Yukawa, a brilliant physics professor at the Imperial University, who serves as an unofficial consultant to the police regarding the cases that confound them. Yukawa, who is also affectionately known as Detective Galileo, somehow comes up with his own theory regarding who really did kill Togashi and how Ishigami, who appears to have been just an accomplice in getting rid of the body, could have actually committed murder. The ending is just too priceless to spoil.

What really made the The Devotion of Suspect X truly enjoyable is the apparent battle of minds between Ishigami and Yukawa. We learn that both went to the Imperial University and who were once good friends. Ishigami becomes a master of creating a deception, a veneer, which Yukama sees right through. As I said, how Yukama reveals the whole workings of the mystery is just too juicy to spill here.

I've heard that there a new Detective Galileo novel. And if it's half as good as The Devotion of Suspect X, I will happily gobble it up. Yukawa can be so charmingly geeky.

Read this book if:

1. You love elegant plot twists.
2. You have the patience to wait until the end for that satisfying reveal.
3. You have a thing for Japanese crime fiction.

So many questions

Reading Haruki Murakami's latest novel, 1Q84, feels like having your favorite dish at an expensive restaurant and then realizing that the chef has changed the recipe. The chef might not have scrimped on the ingredients, but he certainly has changed the flavor. You expect to be satisfied but end up really wanting.

I love Murakami. One of my favorite books is The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, and I enjoyed Sputnik Sweetheart and Dance Dance Dance. But 1Q84 is a totally different animal. It's as if Murakami is taunting us: "Yes, I can write something completely different. Why? Because I can."

To think that 1Q84 is more than a thousand pages, Murakami at least could have answered some of the questions the reader would have in his mind. Instead, we are left wondering. Who are the Little People? Why do they make air chrysales? What's that alternate universe all about? What the hell is the problem with Fuka-Eri?

At heart 1Q84 is a love story involving the two protagonists: Tengo, the writer and mathematics teacher, and Aomame, the assassin who first realizes that they're living in another parallel universe. We do realize that Tengo and Aomame are destined to be together, as Murakami drops not-so-subtle hints that these two will become a couple. But must it really take a thousand pages?

If you're a Murakami fan, there are still lots of familiar elements in 1Q84 to make you feel at home. There's the weird sex, the weird goings-on, the weird fascination with earlobes, the weird inclusion of cats in the story. However, 1Q84 feels distinctly different from his other works. It feels a lot like it was done by a Hollywood writer drunk on sake.

Read this book if:

1. You love Murakami.
2. You like all things weird.
3. You've been a ghostwriter at one point in your life.

Dusk

Finishing a really thick book is like saying good-bye to an old friend. That's exactly how I felt when I turned the final page of Haruki Murakami's 1Q84.

This novel isn't Murakami's best work, I feel. But I took my time with it, spending a few chapters every night, slowly reading each word. I got lost in the make-believe world of 1Q84, with its 2 moons, little people coming out of dead people's mouths, and the frequent references to Janáček's Sinfonietta.

I think that's the allure of doorstops, those thick books that require commitment and stamina. Since you spent a great deal of time with them, you're very much sad to let them go. 1Q84 had 1,150 pages, and there were indeed times when I felt that I might as well throw the book in the air unfinished.

I'll stop posting my further thoughts on this book for a later entry. We're still meeting this week to cap off the discussion of this book, which was our selection for a read-along lasting for more than 2 months. I sure would love to hear the thoughts of the other members of the book club on this much-sensationalized work by one of Japan's contemporary novelists.

Now I'm scanning my shelves on which doorstop to read next. Should I read Proust's Remembrance of Things Past? Or Cervantes's Don Quixote? Decisions, decisions...