An Understated Gem of a Book

Donald Keene’s memoirs, Chronicles of My Life: An American in the Heart of Japan (Columbia University Press, 2008), have an understated eloquence that befit the modest, witty and profoundly knowledgeable professor. This is one of the best books I’ve read about a person intimately connected to — and in a sense, between — two countries.

In Keene’s case, of course, those two countries are Japan and the US; even today, the octogenarian splits his time between New York City and Japan, typically teaching the spring term at Columbia, then spending the rest of the year in Japan. Though his love for that country is deep, he is a man of two cultures, as is revealed when friends prompt him to spend his last years in a Japanese retirement home. He confesses that one of the reasons he can’t do that is the thought of having his coffee and croissant replaced by a bowl of miso soup every morning.

As anyone interested in English translations of Japanese literature will or should know, Keene is one of the best translators of his (and I would argue of any) generation. His work spans the ancient classics to 20th Century giants such as Kobo Abe and Yukio Mishima, perhaps Keene’s favorite writer. In fact just about the only chapter of Japanese literature not covered by his many translations is the current one, headed by Haruki Murakami.

Keene is an adept storyteller who understands the power of a quiet voice. Nothing about this 183-page book is overwrought, and even embarrassing or awkward moments — as when author Kenzaburo Oe suddenly turns a cold shoulder to Keene at social events — aren’t sugarcoated. Nor do we feel that Keene is fixing things in his past for the sake of the story. He tells his life tale without sentiment or nostalgia, and we readers are the luckier for it.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Keene in his New York City apartment a couple of years ago for an inflight magazine. These memoirs are like a more considered and detailed version of our chat, and I assume that he had either just finished the manuscript or was in the midst of writing it while we talked because he recounted events that happened decades earlier with such ease.

There are dramatic moments in Keene’s life — especially during World War II or later on his personal quest to get the world to acknowledge Mishima’s genius — but what struck me most about this work is his description of the quiet, everyday things — his daily lunches with a Chinese student at Columbia; his long, monotonous subway rides in from Brooklyn; the house in Kyoto in which he rented a room; the slowly blossoming friendships he had with most of Japan’s leading writers. After Mishima’s suicide in 1970, as many of Japan’s writers were calling Mishima their kokoro no tomo (bosom friend), Keene had a more humble and thus more resonating remembrance of their friendship:

I was not a kokoro no tomo of Mishima. From the beginning of our friendship seventeen years earlier, he had made it clear that he did not desire what he called “sticky” relations. We did not share secrets or ask each other for advice. We enjoyed meeting and conversing, whether about literature, the state of the world, or mutual acquaintances. It was a working friendship as well. I translated not only Mishima’s serious works of fiction and plays but also amusing essays he wrote for American magazines.

Our relations were always rather formal. This was mainly my doing. He once asked that we drop the polite language and talk in the informal manner of old friends, but I found this difficult and somewhat unnatural. I did not grow up in Japan and never spoke Japanese to my family or classmates. Therefore, calling Mishima kun instead of san would not have made me feel any closer and might have sounded affected. Mishima, noticing that I did not respond to his request, never again asked to speak more informally.

Finally, being a publisher of books that blend art and text, I would be remiss not to mention — and praise — the illustrations of Akira Yamaguchi that appear throughout the book. Some are in the style of woodblock prints, others in watercolor; some are fantastic, as in the illustration of a book (The Tale of Genji) cover opening to reveal Keene inside talking with Arthur Waley; others comical, as in the picture of a Dutchman peeing like a dog (you gotta read the book!). It was a smart decision by the university press to include this artwork and make this memoir an even more precious gem of a book.