If only I could concur with Margaret Atwood's enthusiasm for 'A Jest of God' and her boundless admiration for Margaret Laurence, who had the power to If only I could concur with Margaret Atwood's enthusiasm for 'A Jest of God' and her boundless admiration for Margaret Laurence, who had the power to reduce her to 'a quaking jelly'.
If only I had a time machine. It would take me to year 1966 and I would reread 'A Jest of God' then. At that point I would probably look like that, while writing this review:
[image]
Alas, the year is 2017 and as it seems, some charm of this novel has evaporated. It made me think of a long-forgotten bottle of once-alluring perfume.
The concept behind Terry Watada’s collection of poems is brilliant: a literary transposition of an old Japanese parlour game. Its rules are described The concept behind Terry Watada’s collection of poems is brilliant: a literary transposition of an old Japanese parlour game. Its rules are described in the blurb: 'In this game, popular during the Edo period (1603-1868), participants gathered at night to sit around 100 lit candles. Each player then told a ghost story in turn. After each story, a candle was snuffed out. The last candle to burn out represented the end of a spiritual evocation, which the participants hoped would summon a supernatural being from another world.'
[image] Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797 - 1861), 'The Spirit of Oiwa Tōkyō', 1847 - 1848. [Image source]
Sounds fascinting, doesn’t it? With such a premise, the author was ahead of the game as far as my interest and motivation were concerned. The blurb and the cover enticed and intrigued me right from the start. Unfortunately, everything ended up with a mild disappointment. I wouldn’t say that game was not worth the candle though.
The lesson Terry Watada taught me: the less concrete expectations you have when you approach a book, the better. Most probably I am at fault, not his poems. It’s up to you to decide who is to blame.
What did I wish for when I started reading 'The Game of 100 Ghosts'? A collection of narrative poems with a coherent and robust framework, full of glimpses of Japanese culture, a kind of lyric family saga.
What did I receive? Loosely connected, heart-rending, modern elegies devoted to Terry Watada's family members and friends, who had passed away. Mostly Japanese immigrants living in Canada but there was a man with a Polish surname too.
[image] Shotei Takahashi (1871-1945), 'Night scene of Mabashi, near Tokyo' [Image source]
I believe creating these poems must have had a deep therapeutic effect on the author, who tries to come to terms with his loss. It turns out to be really tough: 'I hate the silence of missing you'. He attempts to clarify and overcome some misunderstandings between him and the loved ones who died. Frankly speaking, it felt as if I was eavesdropping strictly confidental confessions of a complete stranger. It made me feel quite uneasy, although I was filled with compassion for the author's grief.
Terry Watada’s poems are full of harrowing anguish. Death is omnipresent in them, often depicted as lack of light. According to the poet there is only one comfort. Like a tiny gold lump in the swamp. His dead brother asks him: 'don’t cry te-bozu my love is still with you that is what remains of me'
What's the point of all these visitations the author describes? What do the ghosts want to convey? Their message is simple: 'listen to the words of our past & realize the gift you have been given'
The author, who appoints himself the role of a family chronicler, portrays also loneliness which paradoxically 'looks for company in a city of 5 million', Toronto.
[image] Kobayashi Kiyochika (1847–1915), Detail, 'Sumida River by Night', 1881. [Image source]
The author's poetic insight is moving. I found the tone of his poems natural and genuine. He achieves it with truly simple, almost basic language. As it seems, the naked truth doesn't have to hide behind elaborate metaphors. The artistic value of Watada's poems is uneven though, from beautiful and haunting ones to clichés. The passage I especially enjoyed: 'Come with me warmheart let me
feel your sea-breath hand in mine as it flutters and smoothes my fears away come with me
as the light disappears at the sunset horizon like all sensation save your sadness persisting as perfume on a hot summer’s day'
I like the author's fascination with Edward Hopper's painting. The sprinkles of Japanese culture were interesting too, the glossary at the end of the book included. As Terry Watada is not only a poet, novelist, playwright, essayist and historian but also a musician and composer - no wonder you can feel his fascination with the sounds and the rhythm of words when you indulge in his poetry.
The author tinged his poems with such overwhelming sadness that it really persists 'as perfume on a hot summer’s day'. After a few days I still can smell its intense scent.
[image] Eiho Hirezaki (1881-1968), 'Ghost in front of the mosquito net' [Image source]...more
