The first time I read Kitchen in 1993, I knew I was
experiencing something very special. Not since my initial reading
of Catcher in the Rye have I witnessed such a perceptive
look at the joys and pains of growing up. These coming-of-age
novels first capture our attention with plots that, while twisting
and turning in creative, off-beat ways, remain believable no matter
how outrageous they may seem. The writers of these novels tell
us their stories with a subtle style more exciting than that of
textbooks and assigned reading, a style not unlike a good one-sided
conversation. Finally, within this great style of writing, the
authors infuse honest insights, often humorous and sometimes poignant,
which do not carry a lecturing or authoritative tone. Banana
Yoshimoto, as translated by Megan Backus, incorporates these three
elements of a successful coming-of-age novel into Kitchen
skillfully. The result is magnificent.
To keep a young person interested, an author must weave an interesting
story. Kitchen is fascinating because the premise of the
story is original: A Japanese twenty-something's grandmother
dies and is taken in by an employee of her grandmother's favorite
flower shop and his transvestite mother. Along the course of
the story, the heroine discovers a passion for cooking, the young
man dreams a dream with the heroine, and a crazy admirer kills
the transvestite mother. In the end, the heroine and the young
man realize their love for each other, without even having shared
a passionate kiss. Such a plot is interesting to the average
teenager who craves the out-of-the-ordinary; she wants escape.
Kitchen certainly provides something different, but it
does so in a familiar way. When the heroine Mikage finds out
that Yuichi's mom, Eriko, is really a man, we share her shock.
After telling Mikage that his mom has had plastic surgery, Yuichi
says, "'And that's not all. Guess what else--she's a man.'
He could barely contain his amusement. This was too much. I
just stared at him in wide-eyed silence. I expected any second
he would say, 'Just kidding.' Those tapered fingers, those mannerisms,
the way she carried herself... I held my breath remembering that
beautiful face; he, on the other hand, was enjoying this"
(p. 13).
Later, when Mikage recounts the time Eriko shared with her the importance of a particular pineapple plant, eyebrows may be raised as the words "In this world, tonight, only the pineapple and I understand each other" are read. (p. 81) As strange as they sound out of context now, these words are actually moving when you have already learned the meaning Eriko placed on the plant. Yoshimoto arranges unique scenarios such as these in expressive ways that, in the hands of less talented authors, would otherwise appear simply ridiculous. She touches young adults because she is able to bring realism to these strange stories.
Once the reader has accepted her unique storyline, he is drawn to her subtle writing style. There is no doubt that Yoshimoto is proficient at setting the scene. "Chilled-looking people walking along the riverside, the snow beginning, faintly, to pile up on the roofs of cars, the bare trees shaking their heads left and right, dry leaves tossing in the wind" (p. 103). At times, the Japanese life she describes seems familiar. What is more important in a coming-of-age novel, however, is how Yoshimoto's eloquent voice also strikes a gentle chord in young people. She knows just how to express emotion. She writes in a way that makes one truly understand what it means to be happy. "I was not afraid of burns or scars; I didn't suffer from sleepless nights. Everyday I was thrilled with pleasure at the challenges tomorrow would bring. Memorizing the recipe, I would make carrot cakes that included a bit of my soul. At the supermarket I would stare at a bright red tomato, loving it for dear life. Having known such joy, there was no going back" (p. 69). Happiness can also be found in "the sight of [Mikage's fellow assistants] giggling, their white aprons brilliant in the light.... Working side by side with them was a pleasure that put[s her] at peace with the world" (p. 69). As Mikage addresses the envelopes for her change-of-address cards with Yuichi, Yoshimoto describes a feeling of serenity: "The scratching of our pens mingled with the sound of raindrops beginning to fall in the transparent stillness of the evening" (p. 28). The privacy and intimacy of that moment is truly felt within those words.
Her special combinations of words are also able to evoke feelings
such as grief and jealousy. When Mikage is on the bus observing
the interaction between a child and her grandmother, she says:
"Isn't that nice, I thought. Hearing the grandmother's
gentle words and seeing the child's face suddenly turn adorable
when she smiled, I became envious. I'd never see my own grandmother
again. Never again" (p. 34). Regarding how it feels to
cry: "As I walked along under the starry sky, my keys jingling,
the tears began to flow one after the other. The street, my footsteps,
the quiet buildings, everything seemed warped. My breath became
painfully blocked; I felt like I was choking. My eyes were stung
by the lashing wind, and I began to feel colder and colder....
I felt powerless to stop the energy from rushing out of my body..."
(p. 48). Teenagers would rather "listen" to someone
with whom they can relate. The classic reading assigned in most
English classes, although excellent writing that expresses feelings
universal to human nature, are sometimes not contemporary enough
to reach today's youth. The first-person narrative of Kitchen
shares a variety of emotions in a modern way. These are emotions
often experienced by young adults who are thankful that Yoshimoto
can put them into words with which they can connect.
Having caught their attention with interesting plots and accurate
words, Yoshimoto teaches her readers little lessons from time
to time without any hand-holding. Although teenagers yearn for
independence, they also unconsciously desire some guidance in
life and reassurance that everything will be okay. In Kitchen,
Mikage has the foresight to understand her shortcomings. As she
discovers her passion for cooking, she humorously notes: "Because
my biggest flaw is lack of precision, it didn't occur to me that
dishes turn out badly or well in proportion to one's attention
to detail.... That sort of triviality (or so I thought) was precisely
reflected in the color and shape of the final product" (p.
58). Earlier in the novel, just after her grandmother died, her
moving realization on loneliness expresses a feeling most people
have felt at some time in their lives. "When was it I realized
that, on this truly dark and solitary path we all walk, the only
way we can light is our own? Although I was raised with love,
I was always lonely. Someday, without fail, everyone will disappear,
scattered into the blackness of time" (p. 21). Despite this
bleak outlook on life, Mikage later finds her self-confidence
when she finally understands life. "As I grow older, much
older, I will experience many things, and I will hit rock bottom
again and again. Again and again I will suffer; again and again
I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated. I won't
let my spirit be destroyed" (p. 42). Young people learn
similar lessons in their life experiences. To know someone out
there has felt the same way and to agree that life is difficult
yet mostly bearable can bring much relief to the life of someone
who feels he "hasn't figured it all out."
From this comes the measure of success of a coming-of-age novel. Not only does Kitchen capture our attention with its unconventional story line, it captivates our imagination with feelings of love, loss and tenderness. In the end, all of "it" has not been figured out, but Kitchen does what a coming-of-age novel is supposed to do. It expresses the growing pains of experiencing life. When I read Kitchen, I sympathized with Mikage's loss of her grandmother. Until now, I still do not truly know how such a loss feels. So, in some ways, to read a coming-of-age novel is an identification with what you have experienced and a preparation for that which has yet to come. Some may argue that Kitchen is interesting simply because it is written by a foreigner. Without speaking Japanese and reading the original material, we may not know how close the translation is. I argue that it doesn't matter. No matter from where you have come or how far in life you have gotten, after spending a little time in the Kitchen, you will have learned without feeling you have been taught. In the world of those who are still growing up, that is the best way to learn.
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Questions? Brian McKinney
(bmckinne@home.com)