This was the first Japanese book I read apart from the works of Murakami, my first Japanese "classic" so to speak. I've always had some misgivings about these works often receive qualifying Oriental as slow, stylized, elegant, all adjectives that have little to do with my personality. So it was a relief to find myself in this book with a story that can certainly be described as stylish and elegant, but I've had a slow.
The story of a stereotypical situation: Painter Otoko at sixteen had a relationship with Oki, a married writer and quite older. After years of separation he will look to Kyoto, where the painter lives with his student Keiko, and when Keiko Oki go home to take a few pictures Taichiro know your child. Fumiko, the wife of Oki complete this five-sided love triangle in which the characters hear the church bells, rocky overlook gardens or take tea served by geishas in kimonos while playing a tug of war for power, attraction and eroticism within the highest standards of styling and elegance.
Without any psychological explanation, with all the aesthetics of the cruelty of the Japanese who are able, the action is being woven into an ending that seems as inevitable is more blame. These kimono artists who call themselves weak and subject to the impulses of the heart, freed from the yoke appear more masculine than their London colleagues at the time that Doris Lessing portrayed in another great novel in the 60's, The Golden Notebook . But we know that comparisons are odious.
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