Small parts, expertly delivered

February’s books have reached some subscribers, but not everyone: plenty are still in transit —and since they ship from here in California, that means it’s mostly folks on the East coast who are still waiting for theirs, thanks in part to the cold weather.

So I wanted to take a moment to point out a few things that stood out for me: things which won’t give anything away for those still to crack the spine, but that can help explain some of what I loved about it.

Each vignette builds into something bigger

Back when I was growing up in the UK, there were these things called “partworks”—essentially glossy non-fiction books that had been split up into a series of magazines, with parts released and sold on a monthly schedule. The aim was to eventually combine them into a large single publication, usually held in a special binder. I never managed to stick around for the whole set (the economics were brutal). 

Things is a book in many small parts, although they aren’t essays or even quite episodes. They are vignettes, most no more than a couple of pages, and each one readable in its own right but combining into something bigger and richer. The paint goes on in layers until it gains depth and dimension. It’s a work of parts, even if it’s not a partwork.

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His descriptions work hard

Mod’s descriptions of the landscape are spare and evocative, bringing a clear-minded sense of Zen or Shinto that reflects the book’s contents. He has a wonderful, compact style. But it’s the people who stood out to me. Each brief, specific description lifts them off the page, breathing life into a character—an innkeeper, a farmer, a woman grabbing lunch. Sometimes in a line or two he manages to tell you about other things in his life: one kissa owner with symptoms of Parkinson’s shakes in a way that triggers a memory: the same disease “curled my grandmother into herself” he writes.

Voices, too, are part of this. He captures the way people speak in a colloquial that helps you understand how these people live: remotely, rurally, honestly. There are ain’ts and laughter and curses (not what you usually get in Japanese translation, I find.) One elderly former ironworker “Use your body when you’re young, he barks, and your mouth when you’re old! Ha ha!”. A young kissa owner shows Mod a picture of “my grandpa standin’ out front”. It’s a simple tactic, but delivers the message well.

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It’s written to somebody specific

No spoilers, but the book is written in large part to a childhood friend of Mod’s called Bryan. Sometimes in memoir I find this approach a little overcooked, but it’s a thread through this story rather than the entire framing. That means learning about Bryan, and what happened to him, isn’t critical to understanding the book, or understanding Mod himself. But it does provide a pivot and point of comparison. 

Bryan is like Mod’s twin, a person who came from the same place but went in a different direction. And considering how far that journey has gone, having this point of comparison is a way of keeping things grounded. Things works better because of this approach, but isn’t consumed by it.

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Next week I’m going to share some other books that you might enjoy if you appreciated this one. If you have any suggestions, drop me a line by replying to this email.

Onwards

Bobbie