If ever there was a book cover that didn’t match the pages within, it’s this one! Attracted by both its National Book Award win, and its vibrant, lurid design, I thought I’d give this slim read a go. It is a surprisingly dreary affair, a poignant and elegiacal narrative about a ghost who haunts Ueno Park, stuck in the liminal space between life and death, past and present.

The somber stream-of-consciousness narrative is a slippery affair, as Miri takes us back and forth through the memories and ruminations of Kazu, a man whose life on the margins has left him with a profound sense of regret and loss. From his estrangement with his family through to his eventual homelessness, Kazu is a pitiable protagonist and one who, as a ghost, is only slightly less visible than he was in life. The narrative contrasts Kazu’s impoverishment against the wealth and privilege of the Imperial family, as well as the many citizens who pass under the sakura of one of Tokyo’s most iconic parks.

Rich in symbolism and layered critique, the book also draws upon Tokyo’s bid for the 2020 Olympics and the devastation left in the wake of the 2011 Tsunami.

There is a lot going on for a book of only about 160 pages and it’s slim and taut enough to get through in just a couple of sittings. However, it didn’t resonate with me quite as powerfully as I was hoping it would and I’m left with muted intellectual appreciation, but not much else. Those covers are damn pretty though!