Phantom Lights
By Miyamoto Teru
Translated by Roger K. Thomas
Kurodahan Press (2011)
ISBN-13: 978-4902075427
Review by Lachlan Evans
Phantom Lights by Miyamoto Teru is a short story collection comprised of eight stories, the last and longest of which being the titular story. Mirroring Miyamoto’s own life, the book is entrenched in the Kansai region, and the stories are linked thematically by personal hardship, all employing a nonlinear narrative structure to describe how these hardships affect characters on a lifelong timescale.
The first story, ‘A Story of Tomatoes’ struck me as an intriguing look at the intersection between capitalism and humanity, grappling with the tension between a heartfelt personal struggle and the swarm of infrastructure and machinery which makes up the story’s backdrop. The image of the letter encased in concrete is a clear and potent statement about the apathy of a capitalist society. Some drawbacks I found with this story lay in details which came across as needless throwaways, for example the entire expositional conversation in the advertising agency added nothing to our knowledge of the character, and tomatoes seemed to have no literary purpose, not being explained or given as much importance as would be expected of a titular detail.
The next story, ‘Evening Cherry Blossoms’, is perhaps the most vivid example of the thematic motif of beauty abounding from tragedy. After seeing a beautiful view of cherry blossoms against a black night sky, Miyamoto writes “she had a feeling that at that very moment she was capable of becoming any sort of woman” (36). Outside of this heartwarming character transformation however, it seems as though much of the story has no relevance to any other part. This gives a somewhat realist effect in which we feel as though we are following a very regular human life, but in terms of emotion, this style didn’t have much impact at times. Additionally, the prose read as dryly translated, taking sentences very literally with not much attempt to translate the poeticism of the original Japanese—which could be sensed through the barrier of the translator, but which did not carry over in effect.
The third story, ‘Eyebrow Pencil’ takes a more linear approach to describing tragedy, this time surrounding the failing health of the narrator’s grandmother. The story cuts off on a quiet domestic moment rather than at the traditional end, making for a feeling of appreciation for the present moment and a more optimistic outlook on the future, which is outside of our or the narrator’s control. Unlike the previous stories, this instalment also gives literary meaning to the style of Miyamoto’s writing. The modest, undramatic prose becomes a strong symbol of the outlook of the grandmother when faced with tragic circumstances.
The story ‘Strength’ specifically mentions the word ‘stagnating’ (p. 60), recalling the economic stagnation of the ‘lost decades’ in Japan’s recent history. Within this context, Miyamoto focusses on inter-generational dynamics, introducing both the narrator’s parents and children through its nonlinear timeline. We are shown how troubles in his parents’ relationship manifest as poor behaviour in both him and his children, the latter being an echo of the narrator’s childhood self. We follow an account of the narrator walking to school without his parents for the first time—an intriguing perspective of someone who is lost in the world—highlighting the ways in which all generations are navigating the world in their own manner.
‘The Lift’ is a very parable-esque tale about a seemingly mentally ill cyclist being the only source of transport for the narrator who runs out of money for a train and is forced to walk miles home in the freezing cold. Still saturated by Miyamoto’s themes of destitution and unemployment, the story is atmospheric and the character of the man on the bike is enigmatic and captivating. He is described as ‘divine’ (p. 82) which carries an interesting weight in a world struck by misfortune and desperation. He is a momentary beacon of hope for someone stuck in miserable circumstances, even though he himself is volatile and capricious, constantly shifting between bouts of intense suicidal thoughts and mental clarity—a behaviour which worries the narrator greatly.
‘The Stairs’ is another story that centres on the idea of cycles of abuse, painting a vivid picture of the narrator’s fractured family and the apartment block in which they live. The goings-on in this setting are presented as a direct result of the lower socioeconomic class the residents belong to. Miyamoto writes: ‘he […] wanted to get far away from the stench of apartments where poor people live and from the unhappiness that unfolds in such places’ (p. 86). This is yet another example of characters desperate to escape circumstances brought upon them by the failures of capitalism and stark wealth inequality. One feature I enjoyed in ‘The Stairs’ was the lucidity with which the action in the stairwell was described. Miyamoto has shown in this collection his aptitude for writing from a child’s perspective, and we once again feel very close to the narrator as he sits observing the people in his building. However, once again I feel the authorial sheen on the language of the story is somewhat lost through the translation, which came across as largely plain and uninspiring.
The penultimate story, ‘Vengance’ was perhaps my least favourite of the collection, with its only redeeming quality being that it utilises the time-skipping narration for some kind of narrative purpose, which cannot be said for some other stories. However, what particularly frustrated me was the careless and insensitive handling of the theme of rape in the story. The logic behind the story is that a group of former students seek to get ‘revenge’ on their old teacher, who it is later revealed raped the narrator as a child, by luring him with a high school girl into sexually abusing her and being fired from his job. This disturbing plot shows no empathy towards the main character—who this ‘revenge’ will help in no way whatsoever—or the high school girl, who is distressingly coerced into this with no clarification as to what knowledge she had of the other characters’ intentions. This is a story in which I could find no literary value and preferred not to think about any longer as soon as I had read the last word.
On a more positive note, the final and titular story ‘Phantom Lights’ was naturally one of the strongest in the collection, primarily due to how much more fleshed out it was than the other stories. It was the only instalment in the book which I felt gave the characters the space needed for us to grow to care about them. The main character specifically is shown from childhood to adulthood, and this longitudinal storytelling gives us a glimpse into her development as a person. The second person narrative style also worked well, adding another dimension to the prose which served the short story well and portrayed in its tone the quality that the main character was describing her innermost thoughts which she would only confide in her husband. The ambiguity of the ending also came across as a strength as we never really find out what happened to either her grandma or her husband after they both disappeared at different points in her life. This kind of mysticism gave the story an edge of magical realism at times, which I felt worked very harmoniously with Miyamoto’s style. This final story was written noticeably more sharply too, indicating a much more well thought out translation in this instance. Despite the many strengths of the story however, a small number of minor details left something to be desired. There were still some instances of seemingly pointless sections which had no bearing on any other part of the story, particularly the family being blamed for the murder of their neighbours as well as the scene where the narrator recalls her first period. These scenes show us traumatic events in her childhood but don’t serve any other meaningful purpose beyond that, an example of places where the story is not as tightly wound. Themes are also left unresolved, for example the parallel of the husband, grandma and the old fisherwoman’s disappearance is never really explored, with the latter returning after she was thought dead, but nothing being said about want this means to the themes being tackled.
Overall, the short story collection Phantom Lights was an intriguing look into the work of Miyamoto Teru, and clearly a very personal body of work to him. At its best, this collection is a great interweaving of fantastical elements with the grounded reality of class struggle, poverty and personal tragedy. The tone is reserved and contemplative, offering a less dramatic approach to these humanist dramas. At its worst, the prose can read as mechanical and dry—suggesting some literary magic was lost in translation—and the narratives can lack direction, often featuring plot devices, events and themes that could have just as easily been omitted, or say nothing at all about the characters, world, or ideas with which they share the page.