Gail Tsukiyama reveals the depth of emotion, feeling and experience of a young Chinese man with tuberculosis and three friends he makes in Japan, one of whom has leprosy.

“Today I tried to draw, but nothing that made any sense found its way onto the paper. It was as if the dark charcoal lines were simply interrupting the whiteness of the sheet”. Stephen’s parents have sent him from the hustle and bustle of Hong Kong and University life in Lingnan to their holiday house at Tarumi by the sea in Japan to recuperate. In his early days there he is struggling to adapt to the quiet and loneliness that wraps around him like a blanket. He reflected: “It’s harder than I imagined, to be alone. I supposed I might get used to it like an empty canvas you slowly begin to fill.”

Stephen comes to know and make friends with Matsu, who takes care of his family’s seaside home. Matsu is a quiet character. But he is the rock of the story. In Japanese gardens few features can have such a strong character as a rock. The Japanese have a belief that rocks are a focus of energy, the vital “ki”. Stephen suspects that Matsu must have a story that no-one has bothered to discover.

Matsu introduces Stephen to Sachi, who is not unfamiliar with the sting of loneliness. Leprosy has enforced isolation on her from her family and friends. Were it not for Matsu’s energy Stephen learns that the leprosy village of Yamaguchi is unlikely to have been built. Matsu alone carried the materials up the mountain so they could construct homes for people affected by leprosy, who have come from all over Japan. Matsu is standing by Sachi while all others have abandoned her and even wished she would commit suicide to save their honour. Matsu gently encourages Sachi to garden and spend time in it, transmitting to her his love of gardening.

Whilst raking the pebbles and rocks in her garden in Yamaguchi Sachi experiences how it is possible to create a work of art with just a few elements, which can be turned into the suggestion of infinite landscapes. These scenes can move her spirit, without any recourse to embellishment. As the sun moves over the stones at different times of the day and in different seasons her mind is filled with peace and meditative tranquillity. Her garden brings her the patience and acceptance that only time can bring.

A flower can create a certain magical effect. But it is some time before Sachi is happy to tolerate the presence of flowers in her garden. Initially, as Matsu was bringing items to make her garden, she refused to allow him to plant any for her. They would have been too stark and painful a memory of all that is beautiful and short lived. 

In Zen a profound paradox is that a stone is a stone is a stone, while at the same time being so much more. Gail Tsukiyama’s story is at once a story and more besides. Her writing style may appear effortless, but it is indicative of a natural story teller. Its sparseness and gentleness makes the impact of the novel all the greater. There may seem to be inevitability about parts, but there is also a sense of harmonious perfection. If anyone has ever wondered about the reality of having leprosy in the past, this novel depicts it most movingly and with great understanding. It also examines the nature of loneliness, beauty, friendship, loyalty and coping with life’s challenges.

 

The Samurai’s Garden
Gail Tsukiyama
Published by St Martin’s Griffin, 1994
ISBN 0-412-14407-5
Out of print, but available through Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk

 

 

Categories: Book reviews, China, Japan, News and Notes