A Hundred Years and a Day: 34 Stories
By Shibasaki Tomoka
Translated by Polly Barton
MONKEY by Stone Bridge Press (2025)
ISBN: 979-8988688730
Review by Renae Lucas-Hall
Shibasaki Tomoka’s latest collection is a masterful exploration of life’s quiet moments, rich with vivid imagery, deep emotional insight, and cultural nuance. As an acclaimed novelist and winner of the Akutagawa Prize for Spring Garden, Shibasaki’s skilful storytelling shines through every story, beautifully rendered in Polly Barton’s precise and evocative translation.
The collection’s core themes revolve around family, friends, fleeting encounters, and the ebb and flow of everyday life. Each story, whether brief or layered, captures moments of connection, change, and memory; offering a nuanced portrait of universal human experiences.
From the outset, the writing invites readers into a world of delicate, often understated beauty. In one early story, the image of a bare wisteria branch conjures both fragility and latent splendour: ‘It was a wisteria, he said, but it being winter, the plant had neither flowers nor leaves, just a splay of frail-looking branches. It was hard to imagine a plant like this ever bearing ornate purple clusters of flowers like those that dangled from traditional hairpins.’ (p. 22). This elegant imagery resonates beyond the physical, evoking cultural associations with the ephemeral grace of a maiko’s blossoms.
In the third story, Shibasaki’s affinity with nature is clear, as a summer scene describes trees and vines shielding a hidden cave, framing a quiet meditation on survival and human kindness.
Family and workplace dynamics weave throughout the stories with warmth and insight. One tale humorously sketches a daughter’s reflections on a quirky colleague and office life, capturing the subtle absurdities and camaraderie familiar to anyone who has spent time in a modern workplace. Another follows Hoody, a homeless man with quiet determination to save enough money to leave Tokyo and start anew. Through his eyes, the bustling cityscape morphs into a sea of faceless spirits, revealing how isolation and hope coexist amid urban crowds.
Food plays a comforting role, too, grounding memories and cultural identity. The narrator’s nostalgic love for daikon, a staple winter vegetable, evokes sensory details of taste and texture, from simmered roots to crunchy takuan pickles. These culinary moments enrich the stories with warmth and tangible connection to heritage.
Several stories dwell on places and their passing, blending nostalgia with social change. A ramen shop called House of the Future endures amidst a shifting landscape, a symbol of resilience amid modernization. The patrons’ youthful dreams and small triumphs echo the city’s vibrant energy, while the shop’s steady presence offers a touchstone of continuity.
War and its aftermath are addressed with profound sincerity. One story chronicles the escalating hardships during wartime: the rising prices, scarcity of goods, and quiet anxiety of a family sheltering through it all. The narrative crescendos in vivid, harrowing descriptions of bombings and destruction, culminating in the emotional toll visible on a returning husband’s aged face. These scenes are a sobering reminder of conflict’s human cost, conveyed with compassion and stark realism.
Japan’s unique cultural elements also enrich the collection. The twelfth story anchors itself firmly in place through details like udon noodles on a ferry and the Obon festival, while another traces the fading tradition of naming male children with a shared kanji, reflecting shifting values and the slow disappearance of family-run bathhouses. These glimpses into customs and changing social landscapes deepen the collection’s texture.
A charming ghost story stands out, rooted in Japan’s rich folklore. A spirit in the form of a long-haired woman appears by a fountain to those who linger too long, weaving an eerie yet touching narrative that circles back to earlier themes of presence and absence. Alongside this, a tale of a young girl evacuated during a typhoon concludes with a mysterious encounter with a kappa, a mythical river creature, blending everyday life with quiet magic.
The author’s light touch is evident in stories centred around cats, which will resonate with many readers who appreciate these gentle companions. One such vignette captures the feline’s subtle grace with a simple yet vivid image: ‘Feeling bad for staring so intently, the tenant looked away and the cat continued walking, as if it had just been on pause and now someone had hit the play button.’ (p. 111).
The author’s writing at the end of Chapter 19 reads like a haiku as it is simple, vivid, and deeply atmospheric, though free of formal syllable constraints. On page 124, this poetic moment unfolds: ‘As the last child was still staring down the passage, a cat ran across the end of the alleyway where the stone steps were. The last child gasped in surprise, and stood up. A cicada flew in through the window, attached itself to the wall, and began to screech.’ The scene is quiet yet charged with life, capturing a fleeting moment with lyrical precision.
Shibasaki also revisits the theme of names, their significance, and cultural weight in a story reflecting on the importance of auspicious kanji stroke counts in naming ancestors. This is a quiet meditation on identity and tradition.
The collection does not shy away from the imperfections of everyday life. One story gently challenges the notion of Japan as an immaculate society by portraying a weathered café. ‘The building itself was pretty ramshackle... the plastic models of cream soda, pancakes, sandwiches, and so on had faded and acquired a layer of dust... Coffee in a plain cup and saucer, curry and rice with fukujinzuke pickles, shaved ice in summer, azuki bean porridge in winter.’ (p. 135) This story captures the quiet life cycle of cafés; how they open, evolve, and eventually disappear.
There is a lot in this book about people and their connections as well. Three chapters focus on family trees and three on daughters’ tales, exploring belonging, alienation, and the choices families make. These narratives foster a sense of identification, reminding readers of the complex ties that bind siblings, friends, and generations, along with the inevitable arrivals and departures of people and places in our lives.
One unexpected tale features Mako, who becomes the first female astronaut to walk on the moon, an inspiring tale that demonstrates Shibasaki’s range and ability to captivate to the very last page. Another tender narrative looks back in time to a great-great-grandfather who, after many years of marriage, discovers the true depth and charm of his wife and begins to finally speak to her with respect and genuine interest, offering a poignant meditation on love and understanding.
The collection also includes stories grounded firmly in place and dialect. A café serving only coffee and buttered toast, visited by a customer with a Kansai accent, gradually expands its offerings to tropical juice and cheesecake. The reader becomes engrossed in small details that evoke regional character and evolving tastes.
The range of stories, from the traditional to the modern, from urban to rural, from the mundane to the mystical, ensures the reader remains engaged throughout. Each chapter offers something fresh and unexpected, making this collection ideal for all readers, especially travellers and nomads who enjoy dipping in and out of a book during travel or quiet moments.
Overall, Shibasaki Tomoka’s collection is a finely wrought tapestry of life in Japan and abroad, imbued with universal themes of family, memory, resilience, and change. The stories capture moments both fleeting and profound, rendered with precision, warmth, and a gentle but unflinching eye. Polly Barton’s translation faithfully preserves the beauty and subtlety of Shibasaki’s prose, making this book a rewarding read for anyone interested in nuanced literary fiction, Japanese culture, or simply stories that linger long after the final page.