Final Thoughts

It's the ordinariness of the characters in The Makioka Sisters that made the novel engaging on a simple level for this reader. For example, the four sisters themselves, Tsuruko, Sachiko, Yukiko and Taeko. None of them especially impressive or special in any way. All decent enough individuals, and loving to each other, though prone to bouts of irritation given the usual points of difference likely within any family. Yukiko's passive-aggressive behaviour in the various elaborate attempts to secure a decent marriage for her as she moves into her thirties is mildly puzzling, I suppose, and it's not at all clear the extent to which the most obviously 'modern' of them, Taeko, has exploited her various boyfriends, especially the weak-minded, over-privileged Okubata. But the ladies seem likable enough such that the reader wants things to turn out well for them.

And the family's sense of the importance of following their socially-sanctioned but semi-private customs results in sequences that are easy to relate to, despite their particularity to Japanese culture: the viewing of the cherry blossoms; the capturing of the fireflies. The reader is happily drawn into the significance of it all.

But why does the writer so subtly undercut their sense of family importance? And why hint at terrible things happening at the borders of the family's reasonably comfortable lives - in China, in Germany? And why so feature so much physical illness, sometimes genuinely deeply painful, as in the case of Itakura losing his leg and, eventually, life to the gangrene that sets in as a result of a simple operation?

I just can't figure it out. But what I can say is that the blending of ordinary, everyday aches & pains & sadness & happiness is balanced against the gathering dark in a way I don't think I've come across in any other novel. Perhaps the uncertainty is the whole point?

The Big Finish

It's always slightly nerve-wracking when we arrive at the homestead here in KL as to the condition the place is in. I harbour less than fond memories of arriving here years back with various nieces in tow only to find that there was no power at all on the premises. We ended up spending the night in a hotel much to their delight. But, happily, we experienced no such trauma yesterday. Indeed, we even found ourselves with an ample supply of hot water which I'd not expected at all given what I assumed was the failure of our solar panels the last time we were here. When we departed in December last year we did so in the belief that we were lucky to have enough tepidly warm water left to allow us to shower without freezing and that we'd most likely struggle on returning until we could get the company who installed the panels to do some fixing. Mind you, the hot water we enjoyed yesterday wasn't exactly of the red-hot variety so it could be the panels have only partially failed. Or the days have been hot enough to heat whatever water is stagnant in the tank. We'll see.

But we were able to enjoy a reasonably seamless transition to these quarters, which meant I found myself with time enough to read the final pages of Junichiro Tanizaki's The Makioka Sisters. This was quite a relief, I can tell you, and not just because I was able to tick off Item 3 on yesterday's checklist. The relief stemmed from now being able to set aside a novel that paradoxically I very much enjoyed yet somehow became something of a trial for me.

When I last posted here about it at the end of April it was with some enthusiasm for a great read and I can remember thinking then that I'd probably finish the tome towards the end of a busy May by reading a few pages every evening as a way of winding down. That was not to be, and it wasn't the fault of the novel. Being impossibly busy meant not reading anything at all of literary note other than what was required for work. Which meant that I was only able to pick up the book again in late May having forgotten ninety percent of the detail I needed to remember of an extremely detailed text.

So getting going again was difficult and, unfortunately, I was still busy. And I also realised it wouldn't be wise to spread my reading over the June break since at some deep level I was fed-up with the book despite its rewards. The possibility of abandoning my reading faintly occurred to me, but I felt that would be to let Mr Tanizaki and his engaging characters down. So I got down to some deliberate, forced, I will-concentrate-and-get-through-this reading and that worked, I suppose. 

Since I've been able to close the book I've found myself considering with quite a degree of puzzlement just what kind of novel it is. At one simple easy-going level, a soap-opera-ish tale of a typical Japanese family doing what families do in a way that means the reader feels you come to know them almost as friends and want the best for them. But then there's so much to contradict that way of seeing the text, not least the implication that there's something deeply wrong with these people and they're wilfully, witlessly, walking through the years into a kind of disaster. How many stories end with a key character about to be married (finally!) yet suffering from persistent diarrhoea?

On The List

I'm continuing to operate on a checklist each day, despite now being well into holiday territory. Partly this is out of habit; but mainly it's because if I didn't it's likely that nothing would get done.

Today's list comprises three items. The first, accomplished this morning, involved completing my examiner's report for IB, rounding off my work for them in this session. It's not exactly an onerous task as I try and reduce it to statements that might be genuinely useful for all, but trying to ensure the generalisations involved have some real weight and are not just fueled by temporary irritations takes some thought. This time round I needed to ask myself was my perception that there was a distinct quantitative deterioration in the quality of handwriting real, especially since I'm well aware that I've been moaning about the challenges of reading poorly written scripts for several years. My answer to myself was, yes, it has. And I said so.

The second item, now ticked off the list, was attendance at Friday Prayers - in this case, walking down the road to the masjid at Sungai Petai. It was raining as I set out, and I expected to be a bit damp after the ten minute walk, but the rain eased and I enjoyed a refreshingly dry session.

The third task involves completing the novel I'm reading at some point in and around making our way to Maison KL. More on this tomorrow, since we're now packing up our bits & pieces here ahead of the move north. (I didn't include the big move on the checklist for some reason. Which just goes to show the limitations on lists and plans and such like, even for a semi-addicted lister like myself.) 

At Ease

16.07

We're notably in no rush to set off for Melaka today. Noi decided this morning it was better that she supplied an order of her famous curry puffs today for Kak Kia, which she's now preparing, so we'll be travelling in the evening. All very fine by me. After a month spent rushing it's time to ease up as much as possible.

Mind you, if we end up in a jam later on we might regret this display of insouciance.

23.30

As it turned out, no regrets at all. Now safely ensconced at Mak’s house, munching pizza (me) & mee goreng (Noi.) Easy journey - for a change.

Almost There

Just three scripts left to mark and I'll have cleared my allocation for this May. But I'm not rushing these since I'm still within the deadline, something I didn't really expect when I set out, given the number I needed to deal with, the tightness of the deadline, and the concern that my team of examiners might need lots of help along the way. Happily I've rarely had to deal with issues arising, which helps to account for the fact I've managed my load with a reasonable amount of sweat rather than the bucketfuls I was nervously expecting to shed.

And I've just completed the digital arrival card the immigration authorities will be checking on tomorrow as we make our way north yet again. I'm hoping to grab some degree of R&R in the next couple of weeks. But I'm not counting on smooth-sailing all the way. Too old & wise (sort of) for that.

Simplicity

Just drank a glass of deliciously cold water. A kind of perfection. Sometimes that's all you need.

Real Weakness

Now back into my regular routine at the gym after the hiatus resulting from my cranky back (left side of). On a hot & sweaty day it was all predictably hot & sweaty and I didn't enjoy it one bit, except for being able to stop. But I managed the full hour on the trainer at full resistance without real strain.

Unfortunately I can't say the same for my routine on the weights. Whatever upper body strength I manage to build up over a few weeks rapidly dissipates as soon as I stop working out. It's pretty depressing to be confronted by one's weakness, I can tell you. But all part of keeping it real, I suppose.

Ah No, The Years

It's a bit of a thing for me to read John Donne's masterful poem The Anniversary  on this date, and this end of May was no exception. It's a reminder of the sheer joy of discovering JD back when I was a callow sixteen-year-old. So many years have gone by since then, but the genius of the great poet has not dimmed in any way.

And many years of anniversaries have now gone by for me in the happiest of bonds, a lot more than the second of Donne's reign. He looked forward to Years and years unto years with his beloved, whomever she might have been, if she were real at all. I'm neither hoping for nor expecting quite as long as that with my very real and present beloved, but I'm definitely settle for the slightly shorter passage of Years and years, thank you,

Not Really Necessary

Threw out a lot of expired medicines this morning and was deeply glad to do so. I was given a clean bill of health after my back doc checked me out, which was a bit of a relief considering just how cranky my left side has been of late, and I thought I'd better check on the status of the various un-popped pills to deal with back pain in my possession. These dated back to appointments in 2022, but I hadn't realised the expiry dates appeared on the tabs. The doc checked them through and declared only a few to be still efficacious. So I left with a new supply of the key tablet - which I am perfectly happy not to end up taking.

Funny really, happily paying for something I'm determined to avoid taking, if at all possible. But at my age you can't take a lack of medication for granted. Better to see it as a kind of gift.

On Target

May has proved to be my cruelest month, predictably so. And as it lurches to a conclusion I remain in thrall to stiff targets for marking, but now these concern solely work for IBO. So some small relief there.

The funny thing about these targets is that I never feel any sense of achievement in reaching them. Just an empty relief that the key nagging pressure of the day has been released and I can feel free for an hour or so, until tomorrow arrives. Which is where I am now. And where I'm hoping to be this time tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. (And tomorrow and tomorrow.)