I didn’t want to go into my sense of dread, so I purchased and read Mieko Kanai’s novel Mild Vertigo, whose title perfectly describes my well-being. I had never heard of her until a few weeks ago, but I had been exploring literature outside my comfort zone, and somehow, her name and this novel came up. Both Fitzcarraldo Editions and New Directions published Mild Vertigo. I generally love Japanese literature from the 20th century, and my history of being in and out of Japan for the last 35 years makes me curious about the names I don’t know enough of.
2023 is a significant period of time for me. I have been working steadily on my writing but mostly watching my wife, Lun*na Menoh, have a great year, art-making-wise. I have been to the entrance of anxiety, which is due to grief, but also, the uncertainty of our times has been weighing on me. I think I have a slight medical issue that needs to be taken care of, and it’s a problem itself, but the dread of visiting doctors for the next six months or so is a big fear of mine. I think it is primarily because I had to deal with issues with my mom and uncle in 2022, where they had to visit numerous doctors. And now, they are gone, and I’m fearful that I have replaced them with my health issues. In a sense, it is now my turn.
Reading literature helps me navigate my feelings within the real world. I separate my inner life from the things outside my door and body. It dawned on me that all my favorite books deal with this issue in some fashion or manner. I’m thinking of Marcel Proust, Jeremy Cooper (my current obsession), and, for many years now, Patricia Highsmith, who exposed the idea that we can all be murderers under our skin if we ignore our good side.
A film I saw last year, and twice in a row, was Jeanne Dielman, 23 quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles by Chantal Akerman. I have heard of this movie, but no one told me how brilliant and vital it is. I discovered that by mistake, and once I sat through its three and a half hours, I became obsessed with its star, Delphine Seyrig, and its filmmaker, Chantal Akerman. It's a movie about a woman doing her daily chores for three days straight: nothing seems dramatic, except it gets more intense, and I can feel the anxiety while watching this genius work. I feel the same reading Mild Vertigo because it is also about a housewife/woman who does housework and visits friends in the neighborhood. It also deals with the photographer Kineo Kuwabara in an extended essay within the novel. Beyond that, there is an intense focus on her daily life, in which, on the surface, nothing happens, but in truth, everything is happening. And that is the way I feel when I see a spot on a floor or think of a room’s height and depth; I can feel myself being sucked into the void.