November Summary

Time seems to have expanded somehow since I arrived in Berlin and I seem to fit so much into each day, week, month, that I sometimes wonder how much longer I can carry on like this. The answer, of course, is that I’m being very active now, while I still don’t have part-time work or other obligations to drag me down, and also to figure out just what I most enjoy doing here in my new hometown and how to organise my time best. Just like getting used to my new kitchen and to all the different spices and ingredients is going to take some time, so is the sampling of things from the Berlin taster menu.

You’ve heard all the jokes about the Germans being big on walking – and that certainly seems to be true, particularly of my friends. One of them goes on hikes on Sunday regardless of the weather and I’ve been able to join her on a couple of them, discovering beautiful landscapes (yes, flat, but with lakes and forests, enhanced by autumn foliage) around Wandlitz. On the weeks when I couldn’t join her, I explored the parks around my area: Schiller Park, Rehberge and Schäfersee, while also admiring some architectural masterpieces in social housing (dating mostly from the 1920s). Temperatures have dropped but there have still been some days with sunshine, so I’m making the most of them.

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Bruno Taut was the architect who designed the Schillerpark development in the 1920s, now UNESCO World Heritage site.

Going to the cinema five times in one month used to be unheard of! But this is not just because there are so many arts cinemas and festivals going on in Berlin -but also because it’s much easier and cheaper for me to go to cinemas all over town than having to pay a fortune to go into London on the train every time.

I’ve seen a couple of new releases which were interesting but didn’t necessarily wow me: The Mastermind and Franz K. I appreciated the intention (and cultural references) of the filmmaker in each case more than the execution and found the main actors – Josh O’Connor and Idan Weiss – to be the best thing about the respective films. I also enjoyed a Q&A with Margarethe von Trotta after the screening of her film about Rosa Luxemburg, although I wasn’t entirely won over by her portrayal of the woman (once again, very well acted by Barbara Sukowa). As part of the French Film Week, I failed to find tickets for L’Etranger by Ozon, but I did get to see another adaptation of a novel, namely Winter in Sokcho, which had a beautifully dreamy, glacial quality that captured the spirit of the book rather well. But the highlight of my filmgoing experience was seeing Metropolis on the big screen with a live orchestra. An amazing and hugely influential film anyway, but one that I’d previously only ever seen on TV.

I’ve also been to two concerts recommended via the Romanian Cultural Institute newsletter – the Târgu Mureș Symphony Orchestra with a great programme combining Romanian and Hungarian music (it’s a city with a population made up of roughly equal numbers of ethnic Romanians and Hungarians), and a chamber music concert in the Villa Elisabeth. I greatly enjoyed both of these – and even more so that I went to see them with my new-found friend Brigitte, who at the interval proceeded to take out a tupperware filled with chocolate bonbons from her bag. A very civilised way to enjoy the concert!

Two other memorable events were: the readings at the exhibition about the Romanisches Café, the meeting place of the cultural elite in Berlin in the 1920s; and the Dreigroschenoper performance at the Berliner Ensemble (the company founded by Bertolt Brecht after the war, and now situated in the building where the premiere of the Three Penny Opera had originally taken place). A very simple but effective backdrop and witty performances, in the vision of Australian theatre and opera director Barrie Kosky.

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In between all my sporty activities (hip-hop classes, gym, table tennis) and bed frame building, kitchen installation, fire alarm checks, window blinds fitting, job applications and joining the organising committee of the streets clean-up operation in our neighbourhood, I’ve also managed to get some reading done. Nine books, three novellas, three normal-sized and three doorstoppers and all of them with some German connections. I obviously took my #GermanLitMonth seriously.

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I did fall down a Volker Kutscher rabbit hole and devoured the massive three tomes (volumes 6-8) of the Gereon Rath series. I expect I might finish the whole series (only two more to go) by the end of the year: my little guilt-free pleasure! I was disappointed both by Doris Knecht and Yoko Ogawa (whose Memory Police I loved so much, but this had none of the poignancy of The Makioka Sisters or Setting Sun or other Japanese family sagas). The short, amusing and lesser-known works by Camenisch and Fallada were delightful, but the most memorable books were The Wall Jumper and Fabian, both of which are so dense that they will require rereading. Too late to make it into #GermanLitMonth, but I’ve just started reading another book published in 1931 and describing the chaos and poverty of the late years of the Weimar Republic, Glückliche Menschen (Happy People) by Hermann Kesten, so will report back to see how it compares.

Back to the UK and Kasper Update

Last week I went back to the UK, to see one son settled in at university, to pick up another (furry) son, to sort out some final admin, see friends again and of course also go to the One OK Rock concert in London. Sadly, I didn’t get any tickets for the sumo wrestling at the Royal Albert Hall, but it was a productive and fun trip nevertheless. Lots of pictures to follow in this post, and then normal book reviewing blogging will resume at last.

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My son was not convinced by my assertion that Cambridge is one of the driest places in the UK, since it has been drizzling ever since he got there – and it did the whole time I was there with him. Nevertheless, autumn on the Backs is lovely!
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I had to admit that my son’s college is more conventionally pretty (classically beautiful), but it was such a delight to be back in my beloved Wolfson.
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I was less impressed with my return to Maidenhead, where the England and Union Jack flags are still flying all over the place for no (proper) reason at all
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What can I say? One of my favourite bands and the first time I saw them live: a dream come true
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The way I like the Union Jack – with fan signatures and messages and wrapped all around Taka
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Took the opportunity to see the Lee Miller exhibition at Tate Britain (it was completely sold out that day, but luckily I’m still a member). Was expecting to see some of her most famous photos as a war correspondent, but this one of a soprano singing in the ruins of the Vienna Opera House did surprise me
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As did this one entitled: You will not lunch in Charlotte Street today (1940). I had just dined the previous evening with a friend in Charlotte Street – a new Portuguese restaurant Luso, highly recommend it by the way, though pricey
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And I had no idea Lee Miller had been several times to Romania. This photo shows the ‘Walking the Bear’ tradition (nowadays used as an expression for ‘get lost’)
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I also had a look at the Edward Burra exhibition, since it was the final day for it.

Then, yesterday, both Kasper and I had the longest day: non-stop in car, airport, airplane, train, underground for over 9 hours (flight back to Berlin via Frankfurt). It all went very smoothly, thanks to Kasper’s impeccable behaviour, but, understandably, we were both exhausted after all that.

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September Summary and Settling In

Well, it’s been a busy and dramatic month, and here I am with a new flat, a new hometown and lots of new friends and activities too.

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A quick glimpse into the room I used to consider my favourite in the flat, but which is now mostly a storage area.

I am also still drowning in boxes, as my flat is only half-furnished, so it will take a while to feel human again. I also still have lots of things to organise and resolve, including moving Kasper over (there have been some vet-related delays) and resolving the ‘small’ matter of my desktop getting damaged in transit. And this might explain why I prefer to spend as much time as possible outside the house for the time being – this blog post is written at the local library, by the way.

My reading has been a bit sporadic and haphazard under the circumstances. I needed some light relief and also things that were close to hand: on my Kindle, borrowed from friends and then available in the first box I opened.

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Of the eight books I read, four were in German, two of them set in Berlin and two with links to Austria. The autobiography of Karl Boehm was at times mostly a listing of operas and names of singers, and there was a little glossing over some of his wartime activities (I don’t think he was a Nazi sympathiser, but he was no rebel either, and for that he was not allowed to conduct for a while after WW2). However, his anecdotes about Richard Strauss and his insights into the music of Mozart were very worthwhile. Tonio Schachinger’s book won the German Book Prize a few years back, and it depicts life in a posh private school in Vienna (the Theresianum for anyone who cares to dig a little deeper) – enjoyable enough, especially for those of us familiar with Viennese culture and politics, but written in a bit of a bland style. I also read two crime novels set in Berlin, mostly to get a feel for the place names and the native humour: not particularly memorable perhaps, but great fun to read and with two instantly recognisable landmarks: the gay neighbourhood around Nollendorfplatz and the city rats (real rats, rather than the police).

The two Kindle books were YA (When Haru Was Here) and non-fiction (Intimacy), never a big hit with me at the best of times, but they provided a bit of a break, an occasional smile or nod of the head. At least it gave me a better understanding of what an intimacy coordinator actually does and how they work – sometimes I think we could all do with one in our private lives as well!

Finally, a return to two favourite authors: a reread of Tove Jansson’s short stories (more like fragments really, some of them felt like sketches) Letters from Klara and another novel by Javier Marias, one that felt very accessible compared to some of his others. I continue to be fascinated by his wit, intelligence and dazzling sentences, like muttering to myself but of a much higher calibre.

Mostly, however, this month has been spent on administrative tasks and waiting for deliveries. But I really can’t complain, as I’ve socialised quite a bit, had a brief visit from my older son and his girlfriend, have done touristy things as well as merely exploring the surrounding area and generally been bowled over by the endless amenities and opportunities that a big city can provide. It feels like the first year when I moved to London.

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We kept coming across the Berlin Marathon runners
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We even welcomed them at the end of the race
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I discovered an amazing park with woodland just ten minutes away from my house
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I attended a music, food and drink festival on the Tegel Lake
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I watched the latest Christian Petzold film (very good, I thought) at the French Institute
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I was invited to a concert with the Berlin Chamber Orchestra in the famous sailing-ship shaped Philharmonie building

New Kid in New Town

Johnny-come-lately
The new kid in town
Everybody loves you
So don’t let them down…

Well, I don’t know if everybody loves me like in this (ironic) Eagles song, but certainly everyone is making me feel very welcome in Berlin. The city itself seems to be at its best, on the cusp of summer to autumn, not too unbearably hot, with some leaves already turning picturesque, but still lots of summer festivals happening. While I wait for my busy admin and unpacking period to kick in, I’ve been making the most of what the city has to offer in terms of cultural events, as well as just ambling aimlessly through town and stumbling upon some beautiful sights. Please allow me to share some of them with you.

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Christopher Isherwood’s home in Berlin, and the neighbourhood that inspired the stories that were filmed as ‘Cabaret’. This area is still hugely popular with the gay community.
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Just a short walk away: David Bowie’s flat during his Berlin years, which gave rise to some of my favourite albums
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Typical Berlin side street with old buildings and trees providing some shade
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The famous/infamous Landwehrkanal
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Love the creative repurposing of the railway lines in the Gleisdreieck (Rail Triangle) Park, a welcome spot of greenery in the middle of town
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The New National Gallery designed by Mies van der Rohe has reopened after extensive renovations and looks stunning
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Fujiko Nakaya’s fog sculpture installation in the sculpture garden of the New National Gallery was very atmospheric, although perhaps not quite as revolutionary as her first one at Osaka Expo 1970
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My friend’s boyfriend is an architect so he could tell me all the details about the amazing 1930s architecture of the Shell House designed by Emil Fahrenkamp
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A hidden gem: a former petrol station turned into a cafe, next to the former George Grosz Museum
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Thanks to a brief exchange with translator and publisher Katy Derbyshire on Bluesky, I heard about the summer festival at the Literary Colloquium in Wannsee, which happened to also be celebrating the 75th anniversary of one of my favourite publishers, Suhrkamp
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One open-air stage, one indoor stage, and lots of fascinating readings and debates, plus food and drink aplenty. I was equally happy to see Samanta Schweblin talk about the craft of short story writing, and hear discussions about the future of German politics.
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What could be more delightful than to hear poetry while overlooking the romantic Wannsee? (Yes, I know its problematic associations too)

I know that real life will kick in very shortly, but so far I’m enjoying my little holiday and bout of tourism.

Wrapping up August: not the most productive month

Although August also brought a few weeks of relative quiet (the eye of the storm), it was not the most conducive month for ambitious reading or film watching or other events.

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Seven books, of which only three were suitable for #WomeninTranslation Month. Not an impressive number of books, bearing in mind that at least three of these were very slim volumes, and that I got tricked into thinking that two of the books might have been in translation, but were actually written in English. I barely reviewed any books either, only five of them quite briefly: China Mieville, Hema Sukumar and MMilena Michiko Flašar altogether in one post and a quick paragraph each for Anais Nin and Claudia Pineiro.

The last two books I read were coincidentally both about complicated families and young women discovering and pursuing their identities as lesbians. Mamele by Gemma Reeves was set in contemporary Britain and therefore (perhaps unsurprisingly) had a thread about cultural identities and social class running through it, as well as a really fraught mother-daughter relationship. For Cecilia by K-Ming Chang, I had that ‘OMG what have I just read???’ reaction throughout. Although it captures that febrile state of obsession and possessiveness of teenage infatuation well, there is a little bit too much blood, gore and yuckiness for my taste. In its surreal approach and frankness, it reminded me of Gabriela Ponce’s Blood Red, but this one did not feel sexy, merely disgusting. Although it’s not a long book, I think I’d have liked it better as a short story.

I didn’t have the desire to focus on any long films either this past month, so my Letterboxd diary is looking rather bare. However, they reflect my interest: two things about Japanese rock bands, one a TV series about a fictional band, directed with a lot of passion and commitment by Sato Takeru, and the other a documentary about the rock band One OK Rock, that Takeru is friends with and probably helped to inspire the portrayal of the characters in the series. I also finally got to see the animated film Flow, although it was hard to watch a cat in peril at a time when I was separated from my darling Kasper. The last of the films was also a documentary at my beloved Bertha Dochouse (I will miss that place!), about professional teams in China who go about breaking a husband’s affair: amazingly candid conversations, but also a great opportunity as an anthropologist to notice cultural differences when it comes to ideas about love, family and kinship.

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Above all, August and now the beginning of September were the times when my friends really stepped up for me and I’m so grateful for having so many wonderful, supportive and reliable people in my life.

Then, on Wednesday this week, I came over to Berlin with a suitcase and a backpack, much like I first arrived in the UK 30 years ago. (Except now I have a whole removal lorry that will follow me soon.) I’ve already been to see a film here, the Cannes Jury’s Prize winner Sound of Falling (in German: Looking at the Sun, In die Sonne schauen), an odd, slow-moving yet very atmospheric and sad look at the lives of four girls in an old farmhouse in a rural area of Germany over the course of a century (particularly their fascination with death and their burgeoning sexuality). Directed by a relative newcomer and female director, Mascha Schilinski, so I’ll be curious to see what she does next. I was also excited to see that a new Christian Petzold film will be out soon with the unusual title Miroirs No. 3 (based on a piano piece by Ravel), as will the Kafka biopic directed by Agnieszka Holland, and I’ll now have easy access to all of these ‘foreign language’ films.

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Beautiful old-style cinema, looking like a proper theatre
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And an atmospheric walk home to digest the film’s heavy content…

Monthly Summary June 2025

Another very busy month, and, as always, a joyous birthday month too. In spite of my trip to Berlin to find a flat, and in spite of lots of other admin matters that required my immediate attention, I got quite a bit of reading done, and have now done nine of my planned #20Books of Summer (although I haven’t reviewed all of them yet).

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11 books, of which six were in other languages or in translation, a further one was about life in translation, and yet another was about life as an immigrant in Britain in the 1950s. Of the translated books, four were from Japanese and two were in the original German. Several of the books on my #20Books of Summer list were crime fiction, such as All the Other Mothers Hate Me, and I also read an additional one The Chemist that I got in my goody bag at Capital Crime, but I found them only so-so. The Chemist was interesting as a concept and I quite enjoyed the plot, but found the style a bit bland, while I found the characters in the book by Sarah Harman rather infuriating and the plot simply full of holes, as well as predictable. I’ve also decided that Hirano Keiichiro’s style is not for me, as this was the second novel by him that I attempted and just found a bit sentimental and dull. However, I did enjoy horror manga writer Ito Junji’s loving descriptions of his cats Yon and Mu. I will write a review of Hangover Square in the near future, and I may also review The Dilemmas of Working Women if I have time, as it was a fairly fun collection of short stories about modern Japanese women, although it wasn’t necessarily anything ground-breaking.

I haven’t had much time to watch films either this month, but the few that I saw were very interesting. I discovered Korean film-maker Hong Sang-soo, thanks to my blogger friend Jacqui, and watched two of his films, Yourself and Yours and The Novelist’s Film (really enjoyed the latter). I rewatched Shoplifters by one of my favourite contemporary Japanese directors Kore-eda, a film that is both tender and brutal in its depiction of family relationships. Finally, I was intrigued by the anthropological exploration of Jia Zhangke’s Caught by the Tides, but found the narrative structure a bit confusing and loose.

I also attended some excellent events this month. Capital Crime in London, such a fun crime festival, and an absolute delight to meet our latest Icelandic author Jon Atli Jonasson, could have talked about plays and scripts with him all day! A wonderful session on translating onomatopoeia with Polly Barton and a generally fantastic time with fellow translators at the Oxford Translation day. Last but by no means least, falling in love with the music and unruly, high energy stage presence of Korean indie rock band The Rose (and having our K-pop trio of ‘mature ladies’ reunion) at the O2.

But of course the main event of this month has been finding a flat in Berlin, and, after viewing so many of them that my head whirled, I realised none was going to be absolutely perfect.

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The balcony makes this seem like a green oasis, but it’s in the dreariest part of town in a non-descript grey building
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Beautiful balcony, beautiful part of town, but the traffic noise from the nearby Autobahn and S-Bahn was so extreme that you had to shout to hear one another
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What could you possibly fit into a pointy cornered kitchen like that?
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A flat that was really a shell, requiring complete renovation
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The volume and proportions were superb in this one, but it was on a busy and unpleasant road, and the communal areas were so poorly maintained that I feared everything might collapse before I could even move in

But I think I’ve found a good compromise in terms of price, location, number and sizes of rooms: it will be all systems go from now on to try and complete the move in 2 months.

Monthly Summary for May 2025

This month has passed in a whirl of events, and this is reflected in my rather meagre reading. Nine books, of which three are anticipatory for my #20Books of Summer challenge, and six of them fall more or less into the crime fiction genre. Normally, I’d read books like these in a day or two, but this time it has taken a bit longer, and the only long book that I can claim I’ve been reading throughout this period is Genji Monogatari, but it’s slow reading, only a chapter or so a week, so not too onerous a task (thanks again to Tony Malone for initiating this slow read, which I’m enjoying tremendously).

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Of the crime novels, my favourite was The Wooden Library by Barbara Nadel, and not just because it features some secondary action in Romania (and mentions me and two Corylus authors in the acknowledgements), but because it is always a genuine pleasure to reconnect with Istanbul and Ikmen and Mehmet (and I can’t believe Mehmet is now my age, as to me he will always remain in his early 30s). I wouldn’t start with this book if you are completely new to the series, though, and I heartily recommend watching The Turkish Detective on BBC iPlayer if you can. Although it changes some elements, it is nevertheless a very atmospheric adaptation of the first few books in the series. I also read Lex Noteboom’s action-packed thriller (political coups, rebel forces and horrifyingly plausible deepfake scenarios) The Man with a Thousand Faces, in preparation for Capital Crime: Lex is a Dutch author and this is his first novel to be translated into English, and he will be on a panel with our Icelandic author Jon Atli Jonasson.

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I really enjoyed the non-crime novels I read this month too, although it could be argued that they too all fell within genre fiction: speculative, dystopian, horror? Wildcat Dome was a rather unexpected change in theme and style from one of my favourite authors Tsushima Yuko, while the two Korean books were witty, tongue-in-cheek and quite surreal.

I ended up watching quite a bit of J drama on Netflix, which I’ve tried to justify in a post earlier this month, and also ended up watching or rewatching some good films. Cate Blanchett is one of my favourite contemporary actresses (I have a terrible crush on her), so on her birthday I rewatched Carol. I laughed upon rewatching the crazy antics of Clue (take that, Knives Out universe!), sobbed a little at Monster and Your Name Engraved Herein, and squirmed in recognition at the quiet but nevertheless powerful little film Good One – thank you to Jacqui for inviting me to see it. I remember an American girl introducing us to ‘we must, we must, we must increase our bust’ at my international school when I was about ten, so that’s how we heard about Judy Blume and Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, so it felt quite nostalgic to watch the film adaptation of this. It seemed to show a great deal more of the grown-ups’ perspective – or did I just completely ignore that when I read the book, in typical self-centred child fashion?

For a cosy, warm feeling when collapsed in exhaustion, I also recommend the charming K-Foodie Meets J-Foodie on Netflix, where two celebrities in their respective home countries (a Korean singer and a Japanese actor), both of them very keen gourmets, introduce each other to their favourite eating places in their home countries and compare traditions and cultures as they go along. Mouth-watering, but also a soothing way to heal the terrible historical wounds between these two nations.

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A wooden filigree screen from the Japan House carpentry exhibition
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Inside the traditional tea house
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Ready-made models for non-standard shapes when constructing a wooden temple or shrine

As the realities of house-selling start to hit me, I also treated myself to a few non-literary events, for no other purpose than entertainment. The traditional carpentry exhibition at Japan House in London is remarkably detailed and fascinating.

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A concert at the Royal Albert Hall is always a delight, especially when featuring a seldom-performed symphony by Richard Strauss, featuring dozens of French horns and tubas, two harps, six percussionists, cow bells and even the giant organ. As for the new wunderkind on the block, South Korean pianist Lim Yunchan, he has a wonderfully gentle touch, perfect for Chopin.

My Tate membership will expire at the end of next month, so I finally took advantage of Tate Members’ Night (also celebrating 25 years since the opening of Tate Modern) and even attended a kombucha tasting event. I got talking to a beautiful tall Amazon dressed in flamboyant pink clothes, an 85 year old ex-squaddie (and former De Beers employee) who was fanatical about ballet and art, and a couple from North London who were equally as enthusiastic about the small-batch kombucha production of Momo. I’m truly becoming one of those little old ladies who’ll start chatting to all and sundry!

No spring/summer is complete without attending at least one end-of-year performance of the students at RADA, and this year it was Paradise Now! by Margaret Perry. This time I went with a new friend, someone I met at the rather wonderful theatre translation workshops run by Foreign Affairs (currently celebrating their 15th anniversary). We both left feeling that, although the students acted really well, we weren’t quite sure what the play was trying to say: ‘beware of pyramid schemes?’, ‘it’s really hard to be a female entrepreneur?’ ‘capitalism sucks?’.

Busy Weekend: Translation, CrimeFest, Eurovision and Elections

What a busy weekend I just had, the crowning delight of a busy yet happy week. During the week, I had the pleasure of organising and hosting the Indie Press Network Spring Showcase on two separate nights, one dedicated to literary fiction and poetry, the other to genre fiction and non-fiction. If you’ve missed these sessions, you can catch the recordings and slides on the Indie Press Network website, and you can also sign up to be regularly updated about forthcoming ARCs or blog tours. I always say that the most interesting and varied types of books are now predominantly coming from indie publishers, and I know I personally want to read several of the titles presented on those two nights.

In fact, I already read one on the train on the way to Bristol (and in my hotel room). I was there for the last-ever CrimeFest, where I had the pleasure of chairing a panel on crime fiction in translation and also seeing two of our Corylus Books authors, Icelandic author Solveig Palsdottir and Catalan author Teresa Solana on other panels. Here are some pictures that I took from those sessions.

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Solveig on a panel about police procedurals in countries as different as Greece, Botswana, Scotland, Iceland and war-time Britain
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Teresa on a panel with Michael Ridpath, Barbara Nadel and Emma Styles about the long shadows of past crimes
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Our panel on the delights and challenges of translating crime fiction, maintaining good relationships with your translator, and how to steer clear of AI: with Peter Bush and Teresa Solana for the Catalan contingent, Solveig Palsdottir and Quentin Bates for the Icelandic contingent

On Saturday evening I also attended an event in the brilliant initiative Translated by, Bristol, launched by Polly Barton and two independent bookshops in Bristol, and got to see the translators of the shortlisted International Booker titles read from their books. I got my copies of Perfection and Under the Eye of the Big Bird signed by Sophie Hughes and Yoneda Asa respectively and gushed about how I look forward to being the cringey person who moves to Berlin to the first, and about how much I adore literature by Japanese women to the latter. I also found it funny that, when one person from the audience asked the perfectly justified question about how the translators dealt with the emotionally often gruelling aspects of these books, it was Sophie Hughes of all people who replied, saying that she thought Perfection was a bit sad. (However, I can’t help thinking that it must have been a nice break for her after translating Fernanda Melchor and the like.)

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Poor quality picture, but it’s Polly Barton introducing the event. Seated, from left to right: Helen Stevenson (Small Boat), Yoneda Asa (Under the Eye of the Big Bird), Barbara Haveland (On the Calculation of Volume), Fiammetta Rocco, administrator of International Booker Prize, Deepa Bhasthi (Heart Lamp) and Sophie Hughes (Perfection)

Later that evening, I watched parts of the Eurovision Song Contest with a few blogger friends that I made at CrimeFest. It’s something that you can’t really take all that seriously unless you are drinking and partying with friends, but I realised once more that I support so many countries, simply because I either lived there or have good friends there. However, I may have a slight bias towards my childhood home, Austria, who presented a very intricate and different song with a countertenor and black-and-white effects… and won! I also thought the German song (my future home) was a banger (which is exactly what the title ‘Baller’ hints at), even though it didn’t score that highly. The Icelandic song was pure fun too, they were outrageously robbed!

Sunday marked a return to serious matters: a very close-run election for Romania’s president (a president is a much more significant political position in Romania than in other countries, closer to France and US style). Phew, happy to say that the far-right candidate did not win, although the voting patterns of the Romanian diaspora in Europe were rather discouraging. I suppose this is partly the result of decades of being humiliated and perceived as cheap, disposable workforce who should do the jobs no one else wants to do and then bugger off home (but yes, there are many other reasons too, including the fact that populist right-wingers promise you the earth until they get elected and offer you easy solutions and convenient scapegoats, in Romania as everywhere else).

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I won’t start worrying just yet about how Nicusor Dan will be able to work with government and parliament when he has no party support (he was an independent candidate), or how impatient people get when things don’t improve in two weeks. Let me enjoy this just for a couple of days!

A Discussion about History at the Romanian Cultural Institute in London

Last week I attended an event that was a bit more unusual for me, namely a discussion around a book of modern history, an academic book that I’ll never be able to afford, but which sounds really fascinating. The book is entitled Foreign Aid and State Building in Interwar Romania: In Quest of an Ideal and the author is Romanian academic Doina Anca Cretu, currently Assistant Professor in Modern European History at the University of Warwick. She was being interviewed by Dr James Koranyi from the University of Durham. It turned out to be a very timely event, just as USAID is being cancelled and (just shortly afterwards) we witnessed the disgraceful White House meeting with Ukrainian President Zelensky. Instead of a photo opp (to be followed by real diplomacy behind closed doors), it turned into washing-dirty-linen scandal TV show.

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But back to the event. Here is the official information about the book:

The decades following World War I were a period of political, social, and economic transformation for Central and Eastern Europe. This book considers the role of foreign aid in Romania between 1918 and 1940, offering a new history of the interrelation between state building and nongovernmental humanitarianism and philanthropy in the interwar period. Doina Anca Cretu argues that Romania was a laboratory for transnational intervention, as various state builders actively pursued, accessed, and often instrumentalized American assistance in order to accelerate reconstructive and modernizing projects after World War I.

What the author argues is that very little has been written from the point of view of foreign aid recipients, and what she hopes that people will take from this book is the understanding that financial aid has always been political on both the donors’ and the recipients’ side, that it’s never been a smooth process, nor is it to be perceived as good or bad thing in and of itself. Since Romania was only officially unified (in more or less the form we see it today) after the Treaty of Paris and Versailles in 1919, state-building was very much on the agenda of politicians, educators, intellectuals within the country and foreign aid (which really means US aid, and that was the period when the United States emerged as a superpower) was one of the tools for accelerating the process, but by no means the only tool.

At first the aid came in form of emergency aid (feeding people and bringing medicine) after the war, then it evolved into rehabilitation (building schools, training medical expertise) and finally it became about philanthropy rather than humanitarian aid. The Rockefeller Foundation had initially not been eager to get involved in projects in Romania but there were specific requests from Romanian agencies for it to do so. And all this may have contributed to the positive view that Romanians generally had of the Americans at least until the Cold War started (and even then, there was a bit of hero worship, and hope that the Americans might come to the rescue at some point – unlike the Romanian Germans, for example, who had a more ambivalent view of America).

While the conversation did not turn towards current trends or views, I couldn’t help wondering about the current situation. The EU is now the main funder of projects in Romania, but there is a love-hate relationship with foreign aid and foreign investment. ‘Nu ne vindem țara – We’re not selling our country’ has been a battle cry of certain parties and their followers and has even become a folk song, but if you go to a supermarket in Romania, there are barely any native brands left.

All in all, it was a very interesting event, a high-level discussion (and some great questions from the audience too) and nice Romanian wine to round off the evening. There was even an exhibition about Constantin Brâncuși and the installation of his works in the 1937 in his hometown of Targu Jiu.

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Overdosing on Japanese Films

If the definition of ‘overdosing on something’ is ‘consuming more than is safe’, then perhaps I should find a better title for this post. I don’t think I’m watching more Japanese films than is healthy for me – it just so happens that most of the films I watched so far this month have been Japanese. Perhaps instead of #FrenchFebruary, I should have continued the #JanuaryandFebruaryInJapan challenge.

It started off with a bang thanks to the Japan Foundation Touring Film Programme 2025, an initiative that has been going on for years but of which I seem to have been blissfully unaware. This year’s theme was Justice, Justification and Judgement and most of these films were very recent releases and highly unlikely to ever be shown in mainstream cinemas in the UK or even on streaming services. So I saw three in one day on Saturday, 8th February, and I was by no means the only one to do so. I spoke to a couple of Japanese ladies who were also watching several that day, while one man (who had not even studied Japanese but was simply a film fanatic) had booked himself onto all 26 films that were being shown over the two week period. That’s dedication for you! I wish I could have gone to see more of them myself, but trips into London are a bit expensive.

The three that I saw were all very different, and I’m so happy that the Japan Foundation and Sasakawa Foundation (who both contributed to my undergraduate and postgraduate studies in Japanese, incidentally) are showing the great variety in contemporary Japanese cinema, since it’s all too easy to start typecasting the films of any country when we get such a limited selection over here.

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To Mom, With Love directed by Hashiguchi Ryosuke is the director’s first film in eight years, and is quite different from his previous works, which he usually wrote himself and also frequently dealt with LGBTQ issues or outsiders (A Touch of Fever, Like Grains of Sand or Hush!), or struggling marriages (All Around Us, Three Stories of Love). This film is a domestic comedy-drama based upon a play by Maki Peyounne and the original title in Japanese is Okaasanga issho (Together with Mother), which is a nice play on words on the long-running children’s TV programme on NHK Okaasan to issho (same meaning, except that in the film title the mother is more of an active subject – which is significant). If I had to describe it in one sentence I would say ‘Imagine Chekhov’s Three Sisters rewritten as a farce, meeting Italian comic opera’.

Three sisters decide to take their elderly mother to a spa resort for her birthday. We never actually get to see the mother, but everything is centred around her and what she might like or, above all, dislike, since she seems really hard to please (I have to say, it all sounded extremely familiar to me, except I had no sisters to share the burden with). The three sisters in question are Yayoi (nearly 40, acutely feeling her spinster status despite her comfortable lifestyle and high-earning job, nearly as pedantic and critical as her mother), pretty but messy Manami in her mid-30s, without any professional ambitions and in a relationship with a married lover that isn’t going anywhere, and Kiyomi, in her late 20s, who has to bear the brunt of still living at home to look after Mom, but who is planning her escape by getting engaged to a local lad. It was a fascinating look at how societal expectations and family pressures can wreak havoc on independent young women in Japan even today, and exposes all the sibling rivalries and family discontent. Highly enjoyable, with a lot of physical comedy as well.

In the Wake was quite the depressing contrast, but I have to admit that I was eager to see it because of the two main actors, Sato Takeru as someone recently released from prison (who sadly did not look as pretty as he usually does in this one) and the tall, brooding Abe Hiroshi as a policeman (who did do a good job on the brooding front). The director was a bit of a surprise to me, since Zeze Takahisa is known for his ‘pink’ (i.e. soft porn) films, but in recent years he has started making films with a pronounced component of social critique. In this film, which is disguised as a crime drama, he exposes the flaws in Japan’s social welfare system, which became woefully apparent after the earthquake and tsunami of 2011. The scenes of refusing benefits, suspecting vulnerable people of fraud, the long-lasting effects of catastrophes and temporary housing etc. seemed horribly familiar to those of us in the UK in recent years, so I can see why this proved to be a popular film at screenings here. Reminiscent of Mike Leigh or Ken Loach.

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Still from the film Tea Friends

Tea Friends is based on real events and directed by the youngest of the three directors Sotoyama Bunji. Despite his youth, he seems preoccupied with the problem of Japan’s ageing population, both of his previous two feature-length films are about the loneliness of old people, either stuck in care homes or trying to find some connection, no matter how late in life. In this film, they become members of an exclusive ‘tea club’ – under the innocent guise of selling tea to elderly people between the ages of 60 and 88, it’s actually a prostitution club with elderly call girls catering to the needs of elderly men. The real-life club operated for over a decade until 2013. In the film, the organiser Mana is presented as not just an efficient businesswoman, but someone who genuinely cares both for her workers, whom she regards as family, and her elderly clients, considering she is providing a vital service for lonely people (even those in nursing homes).

The film challenges our own assumptions about the elderly, sexuality and right or wrong. While I felt that the last few scenes (at the police station, once the club is busted) were a bit too preachy, and the film could have ended with Mana crying all alone, abandoned by her ‘family of choice’, it was certainly a thought-provoking film that dealt well with contradictions and subjects many still find taboo, but which will become increasingly urgent in our ageing societies. This film is (or has been) available on Mubi.

I was also scheduled to watch two Japanese films at the Prince Charles Cinema, which is in danger of being kicked out of its current location thanks to greedy landowners, who are making the whole area around Leicester Square an unappealing wasteland of casinos and tacky souvenir shops – please sign the petition to save it. The two films are part of their Kurosawa season. Kurosawa is one of my favourite film directors, and these two films in particular are good to see on the big screen.

Dersu Uzala is a bit of an outlier in Kurosawa’s film catalogue. It’s his only non-Japanese language film and was commissioned by Mosfilm in the early 1970s, at a low point in Kurosawa’s career after the failure of his film Dodesukaden. It was filmed in the taiga and is based on the memoirs of Russian explorer and topographer Vladimir Arsenyev, who hired and then befriended local nomadic hunter Dersu Uzala, who represents the traditional way of life, in harmony with nature, but a way of life that is clearly under threat. It’s a long, contemplative, beautifully shot film, you feel that you are living every moment together with the explorers, and reminded me in parts of Tarkovsky’s Stalker. This was the first time I watched it, following a friend’s recommendation, and it was quite mesmerising.

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Still from the film Dersu Uzala

Kagemusha is the film that Kurosawa made immediately after Dersu Uzala, a return to his samurai films but on a grand scale, depicting the final stages of the Sengoku (Warring Countries) period in Japanese history. It was apparently quite a problematic production, in terms of securing funding, actors leaving or being replaced, and the director being increasingly irascible and using 5000 extras for the battle scenes to then just cut them out ruthlessly. I think I prefer Ran from the late Kurosawa period; nevertheless, the film remains an epic masterpiece which needs to be seen on the big screen – I’ve only ever seen it on video before. Sadly, it was not meant to be: for the second time this year, the screening of Kagemusha was cancelled (this time because of a leaky pipe). Since I was already in London, I had to make do with shopping, cake and meandering through Foyles’ bookshop, because the queues at the National Gallery and British Museum were just too massive for me to brave them.

Speaking of alternate history, I also watched the animated series Ōoku: The Inner Chambers, (first and only season so far is available on Netflix), which explains the closing of Japan to foreigners as the result of an outbreak of a special kind of smallpox which only affects young men, leading to a parallel version of Japanese history where the Shogun and all the key positions (and labour in the fields etc.) are held by women, while men are just used for procreation. The only 18-rated anime I’ve ever seen, it did show some hardcore scenes of sexual violence, but it’s a fascinating blend of historical fact and speculative fiction.

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The last Japanese film I saw was also on Netflix, and one of the few remaining Ghibli Studio productions that I haven’t seen (other than My Neighbors the Yamadas and the universally-panned Tales of Earthsea). Ocean Waves (the original Japanese title translates as I Can Hear the Sea) is one of the animated films directed by the younger talent at Studio Ghibli, at a time when Miyazaki and Takahata were searching for a successor. It feels like any number of Japanese coming of age in high school movies, and, although the animation was pleasant enough, and the teenagers charmingly confused and difficult, it was not the most memorable or delightful of the studio’s offerings. Perhaps that’s why it was only released on TV in Japan and went straight to DVD abroad.