[REVIEW] Daffodil by Dazai Osamu
I feel so blessed to have stumbled onto this translation and Maplopo! Dazai really is a gift that just keeps giving. This genuinely was such a treat. I thought Daffodil would be a quick and easy read, but it actually made me sit and think a lot about totally boring and inconsequential literary things that I'm nevertheless going to yap about on here.
I haven't been able to find an English translation of "Daffodil" until now (I've read Ralph McCarthy's translation of "Wish Fulfilled"), and at first I was hesitant because I hadn't heard of Maplopo before (Is that a name? Is it an acronym? Huh?), but I was delightfully surprised. I bought an (affordable) physical copy from Amazon and was saving reading it for when I had a day off to just savor the text. Today I finally got through it. I sat myself down in a cozy cafe with my iced mocha and read the whole thing in one sitting.
This copy is a bit awkwardly compiled (I don't really understand why "Wish Fulfilled" was included other than the fact that it's another story Maplopo has translated), but I find it charming in its experimentalism. (It's independently published too). I will admit the Introduction (that wasn't really an introduction in the traditional sense) threw me out for a loop since I found it a little goofy and disorganized. And, while it is unconventional, my pretentious self was really just being pompous and bratty: "Hmph! This isn't a good introduction to Dazai, it barely even mentions him and his life's context. It just talks about the translators' eccentric interpretation and childish enthusiasm for the story. They're just patting themselves on the back, but they don't really know much about Dazai! Bah! I don't like it! So unprofessional! So pedestrian! And what's this?? The 'Aftertalk' section is longer than the Dazai stories themselves? More verbal bumbling from these translators! Ugh!" I never spoke these words out loud, of course, but I'm writing them down now in shame, so once I post this review I fully expect someone to whack me across the head for being such a gatekeeping tart.
This little book made me rethink my prejudices on what a translator's role is in bookmaking and storytelling. The old questions I spent years asking while pursuing my English degree and master's slammed back into my head: Should a translator take a "seen, but not heard" approach in their work, letting the author's work speak for itself with little to no interference, liberties, or even editing? Or should the translator shatter that veil of mystery -- the degrees of separation we unconsciously perscribe to the ones working behind the scenes of a book -- to fully engage with the reader like Maplopo tries to do with this edition? Where does the "author's" credit end (if it does end), and how much of it is partly (or fully?) due to their translator(s)?
Despite my initially highfalutin attitude (which, in my defense, I quickly got over because I don't have much of an intellectual appetite for snobbery), I actually found the "Aftertalk" section of this book to be the most enjoyable. Aside from a few surface-level conversations and inquiries with people online, I've never really talked to anyone about Dazai in a more formal setting. (Lord knows no one in my university's very white and very old-school English Department even knew anything about Japanese literature before I made the ridiculous proposal to write my master's project on it). Whenever I talk about Dazai, it's usually just me telling yet another poor soul about the embarrassing amount of trivia I know about him, or, on the other side of the coin, I have to put on my very serious, very professional Dazai Scholar Persona and relate his literature to stuff like adaptation theory or the context of the Meiji Restoration on Japanese literature or even animanga studies. I've never found a balance between these two poles -- a midpoint between the informal and the formal.
Of course, Daffodil's "Aftertalk" section wasn't me literally talking to the translators Reiko and Doc, but their conversation -- which was rough around the edges, unserious, and altogether very heartfelt -- was a discussion in motion that I was able to watch unfold. Unlike the stuffy (albeit still informative and very educational) academic readings and scholarship I read of Dazai, with this story I had the privilege of "seeing" two people actually talk about him and his story who are both simultaneously well-informed on his literary background, as well as just plain old fans (like me!). Reiko and Doc chat about Dazai's life, his stormy reputation in the Japanese canon, and a bunch of other topics that relate to "Daffodil" and its themes. Even though the trajectory of the conversation felt a little segwayed snd random at some points, I think the choice to keep their discussion's natural flow without much editing or "polishing" was very charming. Reiko and Doc -- for the most part -- used informal language and spoke honestly about why they like Dazai. They didn't claim to be experts, yet still allowed themselves the quiet dignity to speak on him in a way that demanded both respect and human engagement. They even kept in their shared laughs, which gave the "Aftertalk" section a more interview-esque kind of atmosphere, making it a bit more intimate and plain fun to follow along.
I've never really encountered that kind of space where translators talk about their work so frankly; where they specify in detail why they made the decisions they made with the final draft or make references to how gruelling (and equally rewarding) the process of translation is. It's really something we take for granted, and I think a part of that is because of the general (and unspoken) expectations we have for translators and their "role" in an overall narrative. In most of the translations I've read, the translators are very meticulous in erasing their involvement in the book. (I think about how the "Translated by . . ." subtitle is almost always in a font ten times smaller at the bottom and always below the author's and the text's title, as if they're afterthoughts and not active participants in this thing we call a "story"). And to an extent I understand the urge to do this -- to not take up too much of the "spotlight" and draw the readers away from the "original" author. But a book or a story -- this thing I'm physically holding in my hands -- isn't just the person who wrote it at first. Once art is published -- once it has made contact with the outside world beyond the artist's mind and first conceptualization -- then it's no longer "owned," it is simply "ours." With every new creature that interacts with it -- editors, translators, readers, haters, reviewers, etc. -- it transforms, because art is never static. Hence things like new editions, new translations, and media adaptations are so fascinating to me -- a story is never just the work of one storyteller; it takes so many people to even produce one word in print. So I commend Reiko and Doc for owning up to that, and, while not exactly shaking their fists in the air and calling for the death of the author (in typical Barthes fashion), I still appreciate their de-centering of Dazai, of taking him down from that literal authorial pedestal everyone puts him on so that they can have an authentic conversation about him.
I think if Dazai read the "Aftertalk" section he would've blushed in embarrassment, but still would've been secretly pleased. I smiled when Reiko and Doc mentioned Dazai's more comedic and silly side. That's an aspect of him I find a lot of people (at least from the West, where I am from) tend to overlook in favor of the dark, depressing, and angsty portrait of the tortured artist who wrote No Longer Human, but even in his more tragic stories like "Daffodil" there're glimmers of Dazai's humor. The translation itself really captured that well, I believe. A lot of English translations of Dazai's feel really stiff, which isn't necessarily wrong, but I really do love it when translators retain Dazai's Dazai-ness and not just reduce him to a caricature of sadness and death that popular culture still insists on maintaining. Yes, Dazai's stuff can be very sad and emotionally overwhelming. No, it's not all just darkness.
Reiko and Doc's discussion made me really excited; I found myself wishing I was in the room with them having this talk too. I've gotten so used to reading Dazai's stories by myself, posting about it to The Void (social media) with little to no response, and then just moving on, but "Aftertalk" made me reconsider a lot of narrative themes that, while I did notice them, I hadn't really given them more thought or consideration beyond my first fleeting impressions of the story. For example, Doc and Reiko connected "Daffodil" to some of Dazai's other works and had an amusing little blurb about his relationship with women and his female narrators.
I can't emphasize enough how much of a delight it was to just observe these two people -- who obviously have dedicated much time and care into translating this story -- talking about one of my favorite authors. Once I finished the book, I looked up Maplopo online and read a bit about their mission. I read about Reiko and Doc (who are married!), as well as their dog/mascot Chiro and students, alumni, and staff. I really wish my book included more about Maplopo though. I hope their future publications will be more vocal with their organization and what they do. Reiko, Doc, Chiro, and their staff are doing really amazing, inspiring, and cool work. (That's an understatment, it's really cool work!). I honestly wish I could be a part of their team, but I doubt my (little) knowledge of Japanese literature and Dazai will be helpful. Plus I can't read or speak Japanese. I think I will try and get in contact with them though, just to say thanks for doing a great job with "Daffodil" and to voice my support!
