![]() ![]() ![]() Suzuki used simple, even crude tools to shed light on the less accessible corners of the heart: alien invasions and time warps, but also gossip, domestic disputes, and (yes) sex. I don’t know much about her, only that I believe she was very lonely. ![]() Someone no one knew, whose only voice was her writing. I’m leaving out her biography because I want to talk about her work, and ultimately about a different Suzuki. What I mean is that the life of the avant-garde writer Izumi Suzuki (1949–86) is a distraction too massive and glamorous to be omitted – though that’s what I intend to do. Let’s say you’ve already done these things, so there’s no need to talk about them. ![]() You’ve even read a French translation of the Mayumi Inaba novel that Wakamatsu based his film on, the one that caused her orphaned sixteen-year-old daughter to sue Inaba for invasion of privacy. You’ve downloaded Endless Waltz (1995), director Koji Wakamatsu’s smutty, juvenile, charming dramatization of her suicide and relationship with the jazz saxophonist Kaoru Abe (in that order, oddly). Let’s assume you’ve watched her porn and looked at her portraits by Nobuyoshi Araki. Translated into English decades after her death, the sci-fi stories of the avant-garde writer Izumi Suzuki gently twist modern Japan into tales of unspeakable loneliness. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |