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The Box Man
Kobo Abe, the internationally acclaimed author of Woman in the Dunes, combines wildly imaginative fantasies and naturalistic prose to create narratives reminiscent of the work of Kafka and Beckett.
In this eerie and evocative masterpiece, the nameless protagonist gives up his identity and the trappings of a normal life to live in a large cardboard box he wears over his head. Wandering the streets of Tokyo and scribbling madly on the interior walls of his box, he describes the world outside as he sees or perhaps imagines it, a tenuous reality that seems to include a mysterious rifleman determined to shoot him, a seductive young nurse, and a doctor who wants to become a box man himself. The Box Man is a marvel of sheer originality and a bizarrely fascinating fable about the very nature of identity.
Translated from the Japanese by E. Dale Saunders.
In this eerie and evocative masterpiece, the nameless protagonist gives up his identity and the trappings of a normal life to live in a large cardboard box he wears over his head. Wandering the streets of Tokyo and scribbling madly on the interior walls of his box, he describes the world outside as he sees or perhaps imagines it, a tenuous reality that seems to include a mysterious rifleman determined to shoot him, a seductive young nurse, and a doctor who wants to become a box man himself. The Box Man is a marvel of sheer originality and a bizarrely fascinating fable about the very nature of identity.
Translated from the Japanese by E. Dale Saunders.
178 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1973
534 people are currently reading
18270 people want to read
About the author
Kōbō Abe
220 books2,082 followersKōbō Abe (安部 公房 Abe Kōbō), pseudonym of Kimifusa Abe, was a Japanese writer, playwright, photographer, and inventor.
He was the son of a doctor and studied medicine at Tokyo University. He never practised however, giving it up to join a literary group that aimed to apply surrealist techniques to Marxist ideology.
Abe has been often compared to Franz Kafka and Alberto Moravia for his surreal, often nightmarish explorations of individuals in contemporary society and his modernist sensibilities.
He was first published as a poet in 1947 with Mumei shishu ("Poems of an unknown poet") and as a novelist the following year with Owarishi michi no shirube ni ("The Road Sign at the End of the Street"), which established his reputation. Though he did much work as an avant-garde novelist and playwright, it was not until the publication of The Woman in the Dunes in 1962 that he won widespread international acclaim.
In the 1960s, he collaborated with Japanese director Hiroshi Teshigahara in the film adaptations of The Pitfall, Woman in the Dunes, The Face of Another and The Ruined Map. In 1973, he founded an acting studio in Tokyo, where he trained performers and directed plays. He was elected a Foreign Honorary Member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1977.
He was the son of a doctor and studied medicine at Tokyo University. He never practised however, giving it up to join a literary group that aimed to apply surrealist techniques to Marxist ideology.
Abe has been often compared to Franz Kafka and Alberto Moravia for his surreal, often nightmarish explorations of individuals in contemporary society and his modernist sensibilities.
He was first published as a poet in 1947 with Mumei shishu ("Poems of an unknown poet") and as a novelist the following year with Owarishi michi no shirube ni ("The Road Sign at the End of the Street"), which established his reputation. Though he did much work as an avant-garde novelist and playwright, it was not until the publication of The Woman in the Dunes in 1962 that he won widespread international acclaim.
In the 1960s, he collaborated with Japanese director Hiroshi Teshigahara in the film adaptations of The Pitfall, Woman in the Dunes, The Face of Another and The Ruined Map. In 1973, he founded an acting studio in Tokyo, where he trained performers and directed plays. He was elected a Foreign Honorary Member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 1977.
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December 10, 2025
Are you up for some weird fiction? I mean REALLY weird fiction. Reading this Kōbō Abe novel, I had the feeling I was floating six feet off the ground - reader as artist of the floating world. If you are up for existentialism of the oddball variety, The Box Man may count among your all-time favorite novels.
The core of existentialism is the opposite of abstract theory; rather, artists and writers of the existential school tend to focus on a particular individual facing the very human dilemma of living in a world frequently absurd and alienating, a world where two men wait for Godot or a teacher walks the streets of a French town with a sense of nausea. So, keeping within the spirit of existentialism, I will refrain from generalizations and zero in on specific passages of Kōbō Abe's 1974 one-of-a-kind novel.
“This is the record of a box man. I am beginning this account in a box. A cardboard box that reaches just to my hips when I put it on over my head."
The narrator of the tale is a writer who sheds his past identity to become a box man. I agree completely with Jerome Charyn's statement from his 1974 New York Times review: "The action of the novel seems to take place inside the box, which has become a kind of labyrinth for the box man, a porous, breathing skin."
“The most important reason to use the standardized form is that it is hard to distinguish one box from another.”
Here the box man shares a key concept for others who might consider becoming box men: if you want to shed individual identity, go all the way; become a box man who cannot in any way be distinguished from other box man; become as indistinguishable as humanly possible. He goes on to provide advice on the ways one can deal with useful objects within one's box - thermos, flashlight, towel, pens, change of clothing.
“To construct your box there is no particular procedure to follow. . . . The greatest care must be taken when making the observation window. . . . Last of all, cut the remaining wire into one-, two-, four-, and six-inch lengths, bending back both ends, and prepare them as hooks for hanging things on the wall.”
Indeed, the most important aspect in being a box man is viewing the world through the slit you've cut on the side of your box. Curiously, the box man sounds as if he has developed his own distinctively creative way to become a voyeur, so imaginative that he views himself viewing through his slit as much as the people and objects of his gaze. I recall Ernesto Sabato saying "hell is being looked at." So, for the box man, he can create hell for others via his own gaze while not becoming the subject of the gaze of others.
“As soon as anyone gets into this simple, unprepossessing paper cubicle and goes out into the streets, he turns into an apparition that is neither man nor box. A box man possesses some offensive poison about him.”
I can imagine the reaction of others in the city to the box man. Back in the 70s I recall a college student who wore a black cloak over his body down to his shoes and called himself "The Black Bag." He said after a few days the other students on campus got used to him. Actually, I thought this fellow was rather cool.
“He squeezed the trigger. The barrel of the gun, and then the box, made a noise like that of a wet trouser cuff snapped by an umbrella handle. . . . The lead bullet must have bored into the fellow’s body with great force. But neither the screams nor the jeers he had anticipated were forthcoming.”
Ah! The box man reports a number of case studies, including how one box man was attacked by a gunman. Not everybody in society will remain passive when confronted by a box man.
“The rebounding bullet flying about inside his cranium would doubtless set his brain functions askew. After observing the neighborhood for a while, he drew the curtains over the windows and gingerly crawled into the box. . . . The place seemed very homelike. . . . He wanted to stay like that forever, but in less than a minute he came to his senses and crawled out.”
So the gunman tries out the box for himself. Sorry, it might appear like an appealing way of life conceptually or for the first five minutes, but, as he soon discovers, not everyone is cut out to be a real, live box man.
“I want to spy on all sorts of places, and the box is a portable hole that occurred to me under the circumstances, it being impossible to punch holes throughout the world.”
Now that's worth chewing on. The "ordinary" way of moving around in the world, you are part of the outside thus nothing like looking through a slit in a box. No question - the only way to gain first-hand experience of the box man is to do it yourself.
“The reason men somehow go on living, enduring the gaze of others, is that they bargain on the hallucinations and inexactitude of human eyes.”
Very true. Could you take being seen as you truly are, with all your foibles and quirks? If it wasn't for others' misperceptions we might be running for our boxes. Or so thinks the box man.
“I personally feel that a box, far from being a dead end, is an entrance to another world. I don't know to where, but an entrance to somewhere, some other world.”
But one has the distinct impression the box man has not succeeded in his desire to be in the world without a particular identity. In his box, he actually goes about inventing his own past life and future dreams. But then again, perhaps the box man has a past he wants to hide.
“Clinging to one’s outward appearance interferes with living.”
How much weight do you put on your outward appearance? Would you gain or lose freedom if you chose to live in a box? I recall one of my roommates back in college said if he had a continuous supply of LSD, he'd be more than happy to live his entire life in a closet. How about that - a closet. At least with a box, you can move around.
Recall I said this novel is REALLY weird back there. I wasn't kidding.
Japanese author Kōbō Abe, 1924-1993
August 13, 2025
It was a real revelation for me. It is a revelation of the absurd, of the pain of living, of a society where the individual no longer exists, especially in Japan.
In the 80s, it was common to see tramps in Tokyo conscientiously sweeping in front of their cardboard shelter (box?), their only home. Kobo Abe starts from a concrete reality: people live in a cardboard box, their only possession. From there, the extrapolation leads us to a semblance of a plot that is either incredible or not. What do we see of life, the city, and the crack dug in a cardboard box? How can we truly love and experience emotions?
To appreciate it, one must place this novel in the Japanese social reality where the individual must conform, even abstract himself, within the community.
Kobo Abe offers us a metaphor for existence with his usual extravagance and sense of the absurd.
All of this writer's work fits into this perception. I also see a lot of humor in it, which helps to convey the tragedy.
One of my favorite books.
In the 80s, it was common to see tramps in Tokyo conscientiously sweeping in front of their cardboard shelter (box?), their only home. Kobo Abe starts from a concrete reality: people live in a cardboard box, their only possession. From there, the extrapolation leads us to a semblance of a plot that is either incredible or not. What do we see of life, the city, and the crack dug in a cardboard box? How can we truly love and experience emotions?
To appreciate it, one must place this novel in the Japanese social reality where the individual must conform, even abstract himself, within the community.
Kobo Abe offers us a metaphor for existence with his usual extravagance and sense of the absurd.
All of this writer's work fits into this perception. I also see a lot of humor in it, which helps to convey the tragedy.
One of my favorite books.
February 2, 2026
A haunting, surreal exploration of identity and isolation. With poetic prose and philosophical depth, Abe invites readers into a world where a man chooses to live inside a cardboard box, severing ties with conventional society. The novel challenges perceptions of reality and selfhood in a unique, thought provoking way. Strange, unsettling, and brilliant, The Box Man is a masterpiece of modern Japanese literature that lingers in the mind long after the final page.
March 21, 2025
Christopher 'Alexander Supertramp' McCandless cut up all his cards, destroyed his passport, set fire to money, and went on an all American epic road trip in search of himself; in search of a great freedom. The box man likewise destroyed his own identity papers, but took to a cardboard box in search of losing himself; in search of naked ladies to spy on.
It was difficult not to read Abe's The Woman in the Dunes and not think of Kafka. Here, the Kafkaesque vibes are still evident, but this was more like a mash-up of Samuel Beckett and the Nouveau Roman master Alain Robbe-Grillet. Most of the time we are inside the box; inside the anonymity condition, with the narrative made up of hypothetical voices and events, where things for our box man may or may not have happened.
How can a simple cardboard box be also like living in a labyrinth?
Does the box man have a schizo of multiple identities?
Is he on a quest to have no identity at all?
Did a murder occur?
Emotionless as the novel was, with more questions than answers, I do like voyeuristic narratives, so a good chance I was always going to like this. Here though, it's not peeping from behind the blinds or spying through binoculars. It's...er...a box. With a nice little observation window, and even a vinyl curtain and a plastic shutter for when it rains. I almost wanted to experience the box man life myself. Put it this way, if the box man life is Tokyo's version of skid row, then I know where I'd rather be.
An absurd and creepy, eccentric and engaging, wholly original and clever piece of Japanese lit. For me, it's even better than The Woman in the Dunes.
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December 8, 2020Kaçıncı okuyuşum oldu Kutuadam'ı?
Öncelikle ''derin okuma neymiş?'' onu anlıyorum. Kurduğum bağlantılardan ördüğüm ağ, delirmiş bir örümceğin ardında bıraktığı izlere benziyor. Bu delilikten mamül ağın karşısına geçip, profesör gözlüklerimi takarak bilgiç bilgiç çıkarımlar yapıyorum. Ama gözlüğümü takar takmaz yaşadığım ilk aydınlanma, tam olarak o deliliğin içinde yaşadığımı görmek oluyor. Öyleyse hangi gözlük koruyabilir beni bu deliliğin karşıkonulamaz ağından? Körleşme'yi düşünüyorum; Kien'i, Therese'nin kitap okurken kullandığı plastik eldivenlerini. Sahi ne oldu Therese'e. Belki ben de Kutuadam'ı plastik eldivenler takıp okumalıydım.
Beket'in Acaba Nasıl'ını anımsıyorum sık sık, çamurun içinde tekme-tokat-yumruklar tiyatrosu. Sırtta taşınan, sadece ağırlık olsun diye taşınan, bir çuval. Pim Pom'a yumruk atarken, arkadan Bam'dan tekme yemektedir ve Bam kafasına yediği yumruğun öfkesiyle bir tokat daha savururuken... Aynanın karşısına gidip aynaya bakıyorum, yüzüm gözüm öyle morarmış ki bu oyun içinde, üzerine bir de ben kırmızı bir ruj sürüyorum. Şaka şaka diyorum, morluklar da boya; gülümsüyorum- bu hüzünle ne yapıcaz? Bilmiyorum.
Yaptığım analizler her ne kadar ''nafile'', hayal ürünü de olsa şu yaşadığımız dünyada kesinlikle bir karşılığı olduklarını biliyorum. Neyin doğru neyin yanlış olduğunu en iyi sen bilirsin, diyor Abe bana, bir de göz kırpıyor ama öyle hafif bir göz kırpması ki; belki de ben uydurdum diyorum. Bedenimi sarsıyorum, şöyle dik durmaya çalışarak- gözümden o akılllık emaresi gözlüğü çıkarıp bi kenara koyuyor- ve sokağa atıyorum kendimi. Sokak, dans etmek için uygun bi yer gibi görünüyor Aslı'nın gözüne. Başlıyorum ritmli yürüyüşüme. Acaba Kobo Abe beni görse, ne derdi diyorum. Kaybolmuş bir romantik; akışkan bir beden; yoksa içinde yaşadığı kutunun duvarlarını ufka kadar genişletmiş bir kent sakini; normal biri işte canım. Gombrowicz iyi anlar bu işlerden ama ortalıkta görünmüyor şimdilik. İçinde yaşadığım evi seviyorum, bazı eşyaları, kitaplarımı... Hiçbir zaman ilk hedefim sahip olmak olmadı, korkularımı bastırmak konusunda cesur davrandım, en azından bunlarla yetinebilirim diyorum. Gözlerimle Abe'yi arıyorum onay almak için, çoktan gitmiş. Beckett 'boşver sen onu' der gibilerinden bir bakış atıyor, 'Onun kimseyi sevdiği görülmemiştir zaten.' Huysuz herif! Canım Beckett diyorum, bir sarılmak arzusuyla uzanıyorum, o da gitmiş.
Hababam dans ediyorum çünkü yarattığım patırtının kutunun duvarlarına açtığı delikler gittikçe büyüyor, açılan deliklerden daha önce görmediğim şeyler görüyorum arada bir. Bir de, deniz kokusu.... Yapma be Aslı diyorum, biliyosun deniz kokusu sadece yüzmeyi bilmedikleri için boğulan balıkları cezbeder. Sahi, ben zaten dereleri seviyorum.
----
Çok kısa bir süre içinde dördüncü okuyuşum ve her seferinde olanca dikkatimle, özet mözet çıkararak okumama rağmen, hep aynı tuzaklara düşüyorum. Kobo Abe öyle bir oyun kurmuş ki;her okuyuşumda kendimi mukavva kutudan yapılma atımın üzerine binmiş, elimde bir pırasa, yanımda da peluştan timsahımla, müthiş bir dedektife dönüşmüş buluyorum. Sisifos ve Don Kişot karışımı bi' ''gerçek'' avcısı oluveriyorum. Bana her seferinde gerçek Kutuadam'ın kim olduğu önemli değil dese de, ben her seferinde arıyorum o ''gerçek'' Kutuadam'ı ve sonunda da turnusol kağıdıyla patates tartmaya çalışan bir marangozdan öteye gidemediğimi keşfediyorum.
Her okuyuşumda mutlaka bir şey keşfediyorum.
Her seferinde aydınlandım sanıp, çabucak sönüyorum.
Bir de Kutuadam'ın paranoid şizofren evreninde göz, görmek, bakış kavramları öyle sivri işleniyor ki, onunla yata kalka yaşantımı bile etkiledi. Bir süredir on kilometre mesafede insan olmayan bir ormanın içinde yaşıyorum ve ormana tuvalete her çıkışımda elinde dürbün beni izleyen biriyle karşılaşacakmışım gibi gerilim yaşıyorum yok yere. Böylece beni izleyen birileri var mı diye sapkınca bir dürtüyle ormana, ağaçlara ve kendini göstermeyi sevmeyen sincaplara bakarken ben de HOOPPP! bir dikizciye dönüşüveriyorum. Sincaplar, çınar yaprakları, umarsız çobanlar ve vöyorizm isimli bir araştırmaya denk gelirseniz, bilin ki bendendir.
Kobo Abe beni eline aldı yoğurdu, ellerinden ve güzel gözlerinden öpüyorum.
Elveda ve bütün tokatlar için teşekkürler.
Öncelikle ''derin okuma neymiş?'' onu anlıyorum. Kurduğum bağlantılardan ördüğüm ağ, delirmiş bir örümceğin ardında bıraktığı izlere benziyor. Bu delilikten mamül ağın karşısına geçip, profesör gözlüklerimi takarak bilgiç bilgiç çıkarımlar yapıyorum. Ama gözlüğümü takar takmaz yaşadığım ilk aydınlanma, tam olarak o deliliğin içinde yaşadığımı görmek oluyor. Öyleyse hangi gözlük koruyabilir beni bu deliliğin karşıkonulamaz ağından? Körleşme'yi düşünüyorum; Kien'i, Therese'nin kitap okurken kullandığı plastik eldivenlerini. Sahi ne oldu Therese'e. Belki ben de Kutuadam'ı plastik eldivenler takıp okumalıydım.
Beket'in Acaba Nasıl'ını anımsıyorum sık sık, çamurun içinde tekme-tokat-yumruklar tiyatrosu. Sırtta taşınan, sadece ağırlık olsun diye taşınan, bir çuval. Pim Pom'a yumruk atarken, arkadan Bam'dan tekme yemektedir ve Bam kafasına yediği yumruğun öfkesiyle bir tokat daha savururuken... Aynanın karşısına gidip aynaya bakıyorum, yüzüm gözüm öyle morarmış ki bu oyun içinde, üzerine bir de ben kırmızı bir ruj sürüyorum. Şaka şaka diyorum, morluklar da boya; gülümsüyorum- bu hüzünle ne yapıcaz? Bilmiyorum.
Yaptığım analizler her ne kadar ''nafile'', hayal ürünü de olsa şu yaşadığımız dünyada kesinlikle bir karşılığı olduklarını biliyorum. Neyin doğru neyin yanlış olduğunu en iyi sen bilirsin, diyor Abe bana, bir de göz kırpıyor ama öyle hafif bir göz kırpması ki; belki de ben uydurdum diyorum. Bedenimi sarsıyorum, şöyle dik durmaya çalışarak- gözümden o akılllık emaresi gözlüğü çıkarıp bi kenara koyuyor- ve sokağa atıyorum kendimi. Sokak, dans etmek için uygun bi yer gibi görünüyor Aslı'nın gözüne. Başlıyorum ritmli yürüyüşüme. Acaba Kobo Abe beni görse, ne derdi diyorum. Kaybolmuş bir romantik; akışkan bir beden; yoksa içinde yaşadığı kutunun duvarlarını ufka kadar genişletmiş bir kent sakini; normal biri işte canım. Gombrowicz iyi anlar bu işlerden ama ortalıkta görünmüyor şimdilik. İçinde yaşadığım evi seviyorum, bazı eşyaları, kitaplarımı... Hiçbir zaman ilk hedefim sahip olmak olmadı, korkularımı bastırmak konusunda cesur davrandım, en azından bunlarla yetinebilirim diyorum. Gözlerimle Abe'yi arıyorum onay almak için, çoktan gitmiş. Beckett 'boşver sen onu' der gibilerinden bir bakış atıyor, 'Onun kimseyi sevdiği görülmemiştir zaten.' Huysuz herif! Canım Beckett diyorum, bir sarılmak arzusuyla uzanıyorum, o da gitmiş.
Hababam dans ediyorum çünkü yarattığım patırtının kutunun duvarlarına açtığı delikler gittikçe büyüyor, açılan deliklerden daha önce görmediğim şeyler görüyorum arada bir. Bir de, deniz kokusu.... Yapma be Aslı diyorum, biliyosun deniz kokusu sadece yüzmeyi bilmedikleri için boğulan balıkları cezbeder. Sahi, ben zaten dereleri seviyorum.
----
Çok kısa bir süre içinde dördüncü okuyuşum ve her seferinde olanca dikkatimle, özet mözet çıkararak okumama rağmen, hep aynı tuzaklara düşüyorum. Kobo Abe öyle bir oyun kurmuş ki;her okuyuşumda kendimi mukavva kutudan yapılma atımın üzerine binmiş, elimde bir pırasa, yanımda da peluştan timsahımla, müthiş bir dedektife dönüşmüş buluyorum. Sisifos ve Don Kişot karışımı bi' ''gerçek'' avcısı oluveriyorum. Bana her seferinde gerçek Kutuadam'ın kim olduğu önemli değil dese de, ben her seferinde arıyorum o ''gerçek'' Kutuadam'ı ve sonunda da turnusol kağıdıyla patates tartmaya çalışan bir marangozdan öteye gidemediğimi keşfediyorum.
Her okuyuşumda mutlaka bir şey keşfediyorum.
Her seferinde aydınlandım sanıp, çabucak sönüyorum.
Bir de Kutuadam'ın paranoid şizofren evreninde göz, görmek, bakış kavramları öyle sivri işleniyor ki, onunla yata kalka yaşantımı bile etkiledi. Bir süredir on kilometre mesafede insan olmayan bir ormanın içinde yaşıyorum ve ormana tuvalete her çıkışımda elinde dürbün beni izleyen biriyle karşılaşacakmışım gibi gerilim yaşıyorum yok yere. Böylece beni izleyen birileri var mı diye sapkınca bir dürtüyle ormana, ağaçlara ve kendini göstermeyi sevmeyen sincaplara bakarken ben de HOOPPP! bir dikizciye dönüşüveriyorum. Sincaplar, çınar yaprakları, umarsız çobanlar ve vöyorizm isimli bir araştırmaya denk gelirseniz, bilin ki bendendir.
Kobo Abe beni eline aldı yoğurdu, ellerinden ve güzel gözlerinden öpüyorum.
Elveda ve bütün tokatlar için teşekkürler.
August 4, 2015
Me: "That book was very strange."
Roommate: "What was it about?"
Me: "It's about a man who lives in a box."
Roommate: "For the whole book?"
Me: "I have no idea."
Roommate: "What was it about?"
Me: "It's about a man who lives in a box."
Roommate: "For the whole book?"
Me: "I have no idea."
January 1, 2020
There is no denying the allure of the cardboard box as a protective carapace. Children know this inherently. It's why they are always building forts out of boxes. When I was a kid, my dad repurposed the same cardboard box several years in a row to make Halloween costumes for me and my siblings. I was a robot one year and a turtle the next. Before that my sister had been a dog. All using the same box! The box fit snug over my body, hanging down to my hips, much like that of the box man in this book. It felt safe and comfortable in the box, despite the severe reduction in peripheral vision it caused.
This novel is a mystery of sorts. Part of the mystery is how many box men there really are. Or rather, how many authentic box men. For there is at least one false box man. He wears a box that is identical to the real box man, and it's set up in a nearly identical manner. But why pose as a box man, particularly when box men are considered to be the detritus of society. Perhaps to win over the affection of a certain nurse. And yet the nurse wants the real box man to ditch his box, and is even willing to pay him to do it. So her attitude towards boxes as coverings for men remains in question.
Another part of the mystery is how does one identify a true box man. What constitutes authenticity in this case. At times the real box man interprets the false box man as simply another version of himself. Both the false box man (coincidentally or not, also a false doctor) and the nurse may not truly exist. The box man is recording his story—the book is a collection of personal notes on his life as a box man. He appears to suffer from an identity crisis, perhaps brought on by his life inside the box. He is reluctant to leave the box, though at one time he lived a 'normal' unboxed life, working as a photographer. This is significant, his being a former photographer, for the best photographer is invisible. The box man is obsessed with appearances and with looking. He does not want to be looked at, but he wants to be able to look at others. Hence the box.
Later in the book we find out more about the false doctor (and false box man) through his written affidavit, which also sheds light on certain previously related events. We are also presented, through case reports, with further insights into what may have made the box man who he is today, e.g., what ultimately drove him into the box. But none of this coheres into a stable narrative.
The book includes photographs of at best peripheral relevance, accompanied by cryptic captions, which enhance the mysterious nature of the text. For despite the attempts at organization in the form of case reports and affidavits, what the text engenders most effectively is perpetual disruptions in perception through disorientation. As we draw near to an understanding, the ground shifts and again we are stumbling in confusion. Much like it feels to wander around, as I once did so many Halloweens ago, with a box covering the upper part of one's body.
This novel is a mystery of sorts. Part of the mystery is how many box men there really are. Or rather, how many authentic box men. For there is at least one false box man. He wears a box that is identical to the real box man, and it's set up in a nearly identical manner. But why pose as a box man, particularly when box men are considered to be the detritus of society. Perhaps to win over the affection of a certain nurse. And yet the nurse wants the real box man to ditch his box, and is even willing to pay him to do it. So her attitude towards boxes as coverings for men remains in question.
Another part of the mystery is how does one identify a true box man. What constitutes authenticity in this case. At times the real box man interprets the false box man as simply another version of himself. Both the false box man (coincidentally or not, also a false doctor) and the nurse may not truly exist. The box man is recording his story—the book is a collection of personal notes on his life as a box man. He appears to suffer from an identity crisis, perhaps brought on by his life inside the box. He is reluctant to leave the box, though at one time he lived a 'normal' unboxed life, working as a photographer. This is significant, his being a former photographer, for the best photographer is invisible. The box man is obsessed with appearances and with looking. He does not want to be looked at, but he wants to be able to look at others. Hence the box.
Later in the book we find out more about the false doctor (and false box man) through his written affidavit, which also sheds light on certain previously related events. We are also presented, through case reports, with further insights into what may have made the box man who he is today, e.g., what ultimately drove him into the box. But none of this coheres into a stable narrative.
The book includes photographs of at best peripheral relevance, accompanied by cryptic captions, which enhance the mysterious nature of the text. For despite the attempts at organization in the form of case reports and affidavits, what the text engenders most effectively is perpetual disruptions in perception through disorientation. As we draw near to an understanding, the ground shifts and again we are stumbling in confusion. Much like it feels to wander around, as I once did so many Halloweens ago, with a box covering the upper part of one's body.
From the human chrysalis that is the box man,
Even I know not
What kind of living being will issue forth.
November 18, 2019
Yıllar önce Ahmet Gürcan çevirisinden okuduğumda bir hayli zorlanmıştım. Çok sebep var. En başta daha acemi bir okuyucu olmakla ilgili. Ancak şimdi Çetin Güven çevirisini okuyunca yıllar önce "ben bu kitabı mı okumuştum" diye düşünmekten kendimi alamadım.
Bir kere genel metin anlamı konusunda çok farklılıklar var. Bu çeviriyi çok daha rahat okudum elbette. Benden kaynaklanan sebepler bir yana çevirinin temizliği ve akıcılığı gerçekten dikkate değer.
Metin zaten oldukça karmaşık, gerçekle kurgunun birbirine girdiği çok deneysel ve kolajlı bir metin. Metin parçaları, f0toğraflar kurgu ile birleşince bir sarmal içinde buluyor insan kendini. Yazarın klostrofobik atmosfer yaratımı inanılmaz. Kendimi yer yer nefes almakta zorlanırken hissettiğimi söylersem abartmış olmam.
Bazı kitaplar sanırım böyle; metin ne kadar karmaşık, ne kadar zor gibi görünse de sizi içine çekip bir kutunun içi kadar bir yer bile olsa orada yaşamanıza sebep oluyor ya işte bunun keyfi sanırım paha biçilemez. :))
İyi ki bir kez daha okudum. Teşekkürler DQ ! :)
Bir kere genel metin anlamı konusunda çok farklılıklar var. Bu çeviriyi çok daha rahat okudum elbette. Benden kaynaklanan sebepler bir yana çevirinin temizliği ve akıcılığı gerçekten dikkate değer.
Metin zaten oldukça karmaşık, gerçekle kurgunun birbirine girdiği çok deneysel ve kolajlı bir metin. Metin parçaları, f0toğraflar kurgu ile birleşince bir sarmal içinde buluyor insan kendini. Yazarın klostrofobik atmosfer yaratımı inanılmaz. Kendimi yer yer nefes almakta zorlanırken hissettiğimi söylersem abartmış olmam.
Bazı kitaplar sanırım böyle; metin ne kadar karmaşık, ne kadar zor gibi görünse de sizi içine çekip bir kutunun içi kadar bir yer bile olsa orada yaşamanıza sebep oluyor ya işte bunun keyfi sanırım paha biçilemez. :))
İyi ki bir kez daha okudum. Teşekkürler DQ ! :)
February 3, 2025
برای اولین بار بود که یه کتاب رو کاملا بهصورت ایبوک میخوندم، اونم بخاطر نسخهی سانسورنشده و چقدر سخت بود! عملا این کتاب ۱۶۰ صفحهای ۴۰ روز طول کشید تا تموم شه! هیچوقت با ایبوکها ارتباط کتابی نگرفتهم. بعد از دو سه صفحه از سرِ خوندن اون کتاب بهکلی میگذشتم. انگار حجابی داشته باشن که مانع لذتبردن من میشن. بوییدن و لمسکردن کتاب رو دستکم نگیریم! البته قلم سردرگمکنندهی آبه هم توی این طول کشیدنه کم تاثیرگذار نبود.
کتاب از نقطهنظر یه راوی اول شخص غیرقابلاعتماد -که از قضا خدا یه ذهن مشوش و آشفته هم بهش مرحمت کرده- روایت میشه که واقعیت و تخیل و خواب و خاطره رو مثل یک کلاف سردرگم درهم ادغام میکنه و هویت انسان رو هدف قرار میده. داستان راویای (یا عدهای از جمله راوی؟) که جعبه رو به عنوان حجاب برتر انتخاب کرده و هر روز دنیا رو از زاویه دید داخل جعبه نگاه میکنه و این جعبه براش یهجور مصونیته. شخصیت کاملا غیراجتماعیای داره و از دیدهشدن خوشش نمیاد. دوست داره از سوراخی که توی قسمتی از جعبه تعبیه کرده همهجاهای درست و غلط رو دید بزنه، بدون اینکه موردقضاوت دیگران قرار بگیره. توی خیابونها و محیطهای کثیف و نمور و تنگ و تاریک توکیو پرسهزنی میکنه، طول داستان با اتفاقات زیادی روبهرو میشه و تراوشهای فکریاش نسبت به اون اتفاقات، ذهن خواننده رو به چالش میکشه.
داستان به صورت کلی اشاراتی به تنهایی و انزوای روزافزون انسان در دنیای مدرن هم داره و این موضوع به وفور در بطن داستان دیده میشه. اینکه چرا هر روز انسان بیشتر از قبل تمایلی برای برقراری ارتباط با دیگران نداره و به دنبال محصورکردن خودش در یک محیط کوچیکه.
راوی غیرقابل اعتماد، عناصر سوررئال و یهجورایی گروتسک و استفادهی موضوعاتی از قبیل همین موضوعات مذکور باعث شدند به کوبو آبه لقب کافکای ژاپنی هم بدن.
کارگردان هیروشی تشیگاهارا که کارهاش رو در سینمای ژاپن میپسندم و تحسینش میکنم چند همکاری با آقای آبه داشته و از آثارش اقتباسهایی کرده که معروفترینشون زن در ریگ روان (woman in the dune 1964) و چهرهی دیگری (the face of another 1966) محسوب میشن که هرکدوم شاهکاریست در عالم سینما. (چرا مرد جعبهای رو نساختی آقای تشیگاهارا؟!!)
پ.ن: کتاب مرد جعبهای که با ترجمهی مرضیه طرلانی در نشر خوب چاپ شده حاوی سانسورهاییه و این نسخهی بدون سانسور الکترونیکی با ترجمهی فردین توسلیان به صورت رایگان در اختیار عموم قرار گرفته و مشکلی از بابت ترجمه نداره.
پ.ن ۲: چه اطلاعاتی توی اینترنت پیدا میشن. جلل الخالق! نوشته آقای آبه عاشق پینک فلوید بوده یا مثلا سمفونی ۹ مالر یا سفر زمستانی شوبرت رو دوست داشته! یا آخر عمری فقط باخ گوش میکرده! مرحبا به سلیقهت آقای آبه، مرحبا! با سید بَرِت خدابیامرز مشحور شی.
کتاب از نقطهنظر یه راوی اول شخص غیرقابلاعتماد -که از قضا خدا یه ذهن مشوش و آشفته هم بهش مرحمت کرده- روایت میشه که واقعیت و تخیل و خواب و خاطره رو مثل یک کلاف سردرگم درهم ادغام میکنه و هویت انسان رو هدف قرار میده. داستان راویای (یا عدهای از جمله راوی؟) که جعبه رو به عنوان حجاب برتر انتخاب کرده و هر روز دنیا رو از زاویه دید داخل جعبه نگاه میکنه و این جعبه براش یهجور مصونیته. شخصیت کاملا غیراجتماعیای داره و از دیدهشدن خوشش نمیاد. دوست داره از سوراخی که توی قسمتی از جعبه تعبیه کرده همهجاهای درست و غلط رو دید بزنه، بدون اینکه موردقضاوت دیگران قرار بگیره. توی خیابونها و محیطهای کثیف و نمور و تنگ و تاریک توکیو پرسهزنی میکنه، طول داستان با اتفاقات زیادی روبهرو میشه و تراوشهای فکریاش نسبت به اون اتفاقات، ذهن خواننده رو به چالش میکشه.
داستان به صورت کلی اشاراتی به تنهایی و انزوای روزافزون انسان در دنیای مدرن هم داره و این موضوع به وفور در بطن داستان دیده میشه. اینکه چرا هر روز انسان بیشتر از قبل تمایلی برای برقراری ارتباط با دیگران نداره و به دنبال محصورکردن خودش در یک محیط کوچیکه.
راوی غیرقابل اعتماد، عناصر سوررئال و یهجورایی گروتسک و استفادهی موضوعاتی از قبیل همین موضوعات مذکور باعث شدند به کوبو آبه لقب کافکای ژاپنی هم بدن.
کارگردان هیروشی تشیگاهارا که کارهاش رو در سینمای ژاپن میپسندم و تحسینش میکنم چند همکاری با آقای آبه داشته و از آثارش اقتباسهایی کرده که معروفترینشون زن در ریگ روان (woman in the dune 1964) و چهرهی دیگری (the face of another 1966) محسوب میشن که هرکدوم شاهکاریست در عالم سینما. (چرا مرد جعبهای رو نساختی آقای تشیگاهارا؟!!)
پ.ن: کتاب مرد جعبهای که با ترجمهی مرضیه طرلانی در نشر خوب چاپ شده حاوی سانسورهاییه و این نسخهی بدون سانسور الکترونیکی با ترجمهی فردین توسلیان به صورت رایگان در اختیار عموم قرار گرفته و مشکلی از بابت ترجمه نداره.
پ.ن ۲: چه اطلاعاتی توی اینترنت پیدا میشن. جلل الخالق! نوشته آقای آبه عاشق پینک فلوید بوده یا مثلا سمفونی ۹ مالر یا سفر زمستانی شوبرت رو دوست داشته! یا آخر عمری فقط باخ گوش میکرده! مرحبا به سلیقهت آقای آبه، مرحبا! با سید بَرِت خدابیامرز مشحور شی.
July 12, 2009
A mystery-filled riff on the nature of identity, the significance of the gaze, the nature of looking and being looked upon and how this defines who we are.
The story is told primarily in the first person but we never know exactly who is doing the telling. Is it the box man (a man who, no surprise, lives in a box he has strapped on over his body so he cannot be seen), the fake box man (a doctor who tries on a box for himself and is a wannabe box man) or someone else - perhaps Kobo Abe who is obsessively scribbling this story on the inside of his own box?
There is a murder, or a suicide or an assisted suicide but we're never sure who the victim is or exactly what goes down.
There is a menage à trois between the box man, the fake box man and a seductive nurse who allows these men to gaze upon her in various states of undress.
There are questions about what it means to be looked upon. How does it define who we are? If you're hidden in a box and nobody looks at you, what are you? Like the proverbial falling tree in the forest, if you're not seen, do you exist? Or does the box become a kind of coffin?
In seeing there is love, in being seen there is abhorrence. One grins, trying to bear the pain of being seen. But not just anyone can be someone who only looks. If the one who is looked at looks back, then the person who was looking becomes the one who is looked at.
The story is told primarily in the first person but we never know exactly who is doing the telling. Is it the box man (a man who, no surprise, lives in a box he has strapped on over his body so he cannot be seen), the fake box man (a doctor who tries on a box for himself and is a wannabe box man) or someone else - perhaps Kobo Abe who is obsessively scribbling this story on the inside of his own box?
There is a murder, or a suicide or an assisted suicide but we're never sure who the victim is or exactly what goes down.
There is a menage à trois between the box man, the fake box man and a seductive nurse who allows these men to gaze upon her in various states of undress.
There are questions about what it means to be looked upon. How does it define who we are? If you're hidden in a box and nobody looks at you, what are you? Like the proverbial falling tree in the forest, if you're not seen, do you exist? Or does the box become a kind of coffin?
In seeing there is love, in being seen there is abhorrence. One grins, trying to bear the pain of being seen. But not just anyone can be someone who only looks. If the one who is looked at looks back, then the person who was looking becomes the one who is looked at.
December 5, 2025
Reading The Box Man felt at first like being served poutine with cold gravy, heavy and not quite satisfying. But as the story went on, things warmed up, the cheese melted, and towards the end it turned into something unexpectedly delicious.
The Box Man is an experimental, Kafkaesque novel that probes themes of identity, alienation, and the nature of reality in modern society. At its core lies the striking metaphor of a man who chooses to live inside a cardboard box, a device through which Abe examines the boundaries between self perception and societal norms.
The nameless protagonist abandons his conventional identity and the “trappings of a normal life” to become a “box man.” The box functions as both barrier and refuge, offering anonymity and a form of self-protection. This radical withdrawal raises questions about what truly defines a person and how much identity depends on social roles and external perception.
His choice to inhabit the box symbolizes a rejection of social conventions and underscores the isolation inherent in modern urban life. From his self-imposed confinement, he observes the bustling city, exposing the paradox of profound loneliness amid constant human presence.
Abe places particular emphasis on the tension between “seeing” and “being seen.” The protagonist peers at the world through a small peephole, feeling invisible and therefore safe from the threat of observation. This voyeuristic existence enables him to perceive the “lies and secret intentions” of others, yet it also reveals unstable human impulses and unreliable narratives.
The novel blurs the line between reality and hallucination, compelling readers to question what is genuine and what is imagined. Its fragmented structure—shifting perspectives, diary entries—creates deliberate ambiguity, suggesting that reality itself is a subjective construct shaped by perception and interpretation.
Stylistically, The Box Man is avant-garde and deliberately disorienting. Abe employs a non-linear narrative composed of philosophical musings, conversations, and metafictional reflections. At one point, the narrator muses: “Perhaps it is I who am going on writing as I imagine you who are writing as imagine me.” Such passages destabilize the narrator’s identity and force readers to confront their own assumptions about storytelling and truth.
Ultimately, the novel can be read as an allegory for contemporary issues such as surveillance, socioeconomic instability, and the anonymity of modern existence. Its enduring relevance makes The Box Man a compelling exploration of existential themes and the complexities of human identity.
The Box Man is an experimental, Kafkaesque novel that probes themes of identity, alienation, and the nature of reality in modern society. At its core lies the striking metaphor of a man who chooses to live inside a cardboard box, a device through which Abe examines the boundaries between self perception and societal norms.
The nameless protagonist abandons his conventional identity and the “trappings of a normal life” to become a “box man.” The box functions as both barrier and refuge, offering anonymity and a form of self-protection. This radical withdrawal raises questions about what truly defines a person and how much identity depends on social roles and external perception.
His choice to inhabit the box symbolizes a rejection of social conventions and underscores the isolation inherent in modern urban life. From his self-imposed confinement, he observes the bustling city, exposing the paradox of profound loneliness amid constant human presence.
Abe places particular emphasis on the tension between “seeing” and “being seen.” The protagonist peers at the world through a small peephole, feeling invisible and therefore safe from the threat of observation. This voyeuristic existence enables him to perceive the “lies and secret intentions” of others, yet it also reveals unstable human impulses and unreliable narratives.
The novel blurs the line between reality and hallucination, compelling readers to question what is genuine and what is imagined. Its fragmented structure—shifting perspectives, diary entries—creates deliberate ambiguity, suggesting that reality itself is a subjective construct shaped by perception and interpretation.
Stylistically, The Box Man is avant-garde and deliberately disorienting. Abe employs a non-linear narrative composed of philosophical musings, conversations, and metafictional reflections. At one point, the narrator muses: “Perhaps it is I who am going on writing as I imagine you who are writing as imagine me.” Such passages destabilize the narrator’s identity and force readers to confront their own assumptions about storytelling and truth.
Ultimately, the novel can be read as an allegory for contemporary issues such as surveillance, socioeconomic instability, and the anonymity of modern existence. Its enduring relevance makes The Box Man a compelling exploration of existential themes and the complexities of human identity.
November 21, 2019
Bu karanlık ve absürd kukla dansı, iplerin kördüğümünü çözmek için mi izlenir? Hiç sanmıyorum. Dansı izliyorum ben. Radiohead'in ünsüz b-side parçası up on the ladder gibi kendi evren bilgisi, kedi gibi gizlisi saklısı olan, herkes için olmayan, keşfedenini ödüllendiren bir başyapıt.
Ben ve öteki, ben ve öteki-ben; bakmak - bakıştan saklanmak; dikizcilik ve teşhircilik; delilik ve karşı-delilik; intihar ve cinayet ve yamyamlık ve üstü - kutu gibi - kapalı irili ufaklı kavramlar üzerine enfes bir eğretileme. Abe'nin kitaba özenle açtığı deliklerden gösteriyi izleyin - dikizleyin.
8,5 / 10
Ben ve öteki, ben ve öteki-ben; bakmak - bakıştan saklanmak; dikizcilik ve teşhircilik; delilik ve karşı-delilik; intihar ve cinayet ve yamyamlık ve üstü - kutu gibi - kapalı irili ufaklı kavramlar üzerine enfes bir eğretileme. Abe'nin kitaba özenle açtığı deliklerden gösteriyi izleyin - dikizleyin.
8,5 / 10
July 17, 2022
آدم جعبه ای یا مرد جعبه ای داستان عجیبی بود خیلی نمیدونم چطور باید در مورد داستان و موضوع بنویسم، خیلی ساده از اسم مشخصه داستان مردی که داخل جعبه هست! اما چرا؟ اصلا کی هست؟ داستان رو کی داره تعریف میکنه؟ شاید بهترین چیزی که میشه براش نوشت یه جمله از متن کتاب باشه
شاید همهی این رویدادها رویا باشد
اما این رویا خیلی طولانی است. آنقدر طولانی که فرد شروعش را بهخاطر نمیآورد… (بخشی از کتاب)ه
اما در نهایت این کتاب جذابیت مورد نظر من رو نداشت تقریبا میشه گفت دو سوم ابتدای کتاب بسیار کند و خسته کننده هست و شاید خیلی ها خوندن کتاب رو بی خیال بشن ولی یک سوم پایانی کمی جذاب تر و مفهومی تر میشه. در آخر تعداد ستاره ها رو با ارفاق و دست و دلبازی بسیار دادم
شاید همهی این رویدادها رویا باشد
اما این رویا خیلی طولانی است. آنقدر طولانی که فرد شروعش را بهخاطر نمیآورد… (بخشی از کتاب)ه
اما در نهایت این کتاب جذابیت مورد نظر من رو نداشت تقریبا میشه گفت دو سوم ابتدای کتاب بسیار کند و خسته کننده هست و شاید خیلی ها خوندن کتاب رو بی خیال بشن ولی یک سوم پایانی کمی جذاب تر و مفهومی تر میشه. در آخر تعداد ستاره ها رو با ارفاق و دست و دلبازی بسیار دادم
November 22, 2019
"Benim ben olamamam gibi bir ihtimal varken, bu denli çaba sarf edip beni yaşatmaya çalışmanın ne gereği var ki?"
Baştan sona kadar kutuadamın varlığını sorgulattığı gibi kendimizin de kim olduğunu sorgulattı durdu sağ olsun Kobo Abe. Çok uzunca bir süre buna benzer başka bir metinle karşılaşmayacağımdan emin olduracak kadar şahsına münhasır bir metin.
Evet yoğun ve zordu kimi zaman. Kimi zaman tam bulduğumu sandığım izleğimi kaybettirip kaybettirip tekrar buldurdu. Bazen vazgeçtim alt metni bulmaya çalışmaktan çok akıllılıktan delirmiş bir adamın bana anlattıklarını dinlemeye çalışır gibi okudum. Yine de en sonunda müthiş bir finalle, kendi kutumun içine hapsolarak bitirdim Kutu Adam'ı.
Tüm kutuadamlara selam olsun :)
Keyifli okumalar.
Baştan sona kadar kutuadamın varlığını sorgulattığı gibi kendimizin de kim olduğunu sorgulattı durdu sağ olsun Kobo Abe. Çok uzunca bir süre buna benzer başka bir metinle karşılaşmayacağımdan emin olduracak kadar şahsına münhasır bir metin.
Evet yoğun ve zordu kimi zaman. Kimi zaman tam bulduğumu sandığım izleğimi kaybettirip kaybettirip tekrar buldurdu. Bazen vazgeçtim alt metni bulmaya çalışmaktan çok akıllılıktan delirmiş bir adamın bana anlattıklarını dinlemeye çalışır gibi okudum. Yine de en sonunda müthiş bir finalle, kendi kutumun içine hapsolarak bitirdim Kutu Adam'ı.
Tüm kutuadamlara selam olsun :)
Keyifli okumalar.
May 7, 2019
"Söz konusu olan bir kutu-adamın günlüğüdür: Kafamda taşıdığım, her iki yandan kalçalarıma kadar inen kartondan bir kutunun içindeyim. İşte o anda, kutu-adam benim."
"Eğer insanlar başkalarının bakışlarından kaçarak yaşamaya devam ederlerse, bunun nedeni insan gözünün yanlışlıklar ve sanrılar yarattığına emin olmalarıdır."
Nasıl açıklayacağımı bilemedim, Abe'nin çok farklı bir kafası var...
🌟
"Eğer insanlar başkalarının bakışlarından kaçarak yaşamaya devam ederlerse, bunun nedeni insan gözünün yanlışlıklar ve sanrılar yarattığına emin olmalarıdır."
Nasıl açıklayacağımı bilemedim, Abe'nin çok farklı bir kafası var...
🌟
November 19, 2019
Seneler sonra tekrar düştüm yolum 'Kutu Adam'a. İlkinin çevirisi ne kadar korkunçmuş, şimdi bunu okuyunca anlıyor insan. Devrim Çetin Güven Hoca en güzel Japon edebiyatı çevirilerinden bir tanesine imza atmış. Nefes aldırdı.
Tabii metin nefes aldırmıyor, aksine nefessiz bırakıyor. Kutu Adam, hakkında isabetli yorum yapmanın ancak çok kere okuduktan, ya da kitap hakkında hayli uzun süre düşündükten sonra mümkün olduğu kitaplardan. Hakkında bir yazı yazacağım zaten önümüzdeki günlerde, o zamana kadar demlenmeye bırakıyorum.
'Kumların Kadını' ile başlamalı, sonra 'Başkasının Yüzü' ile devam etmeli bana kalırsa. 'Kutu Adam' bu ikisinin arkasına gelmeli. Henüz Abe'yi okumamış olanlar için bunu da buraya not düşeyim.
İyi okumalar.
Tabii metin nefes aldırmıyor, aksine nefessiz bırakıyor. Kutu Adam, hakkında isabetli yorum yapmanın ancak çok kere okuduktan, ya da kitap hakkında hayli uzun süre düşündükten sonra mümkün olduğu kitaplardan. Hakkında bir yazı yazacağım zaten önümüzdeki günlerde, o zamana kadar demlenmeye bırakıyorum.
'Kumların Kadını' ile başlamalı, sonra 'Başkasının Yüzü' ile devam etmeli bana kalırsa. 'Kutu Adam' bu ikisinin arkasına gelmeli. Henüz Abe'yi okumamış olanlar için bunu da buraya not düşeyim.
İyi okumalar.
May 26, 2007
This novel messes with your head. Really.
As far as Kobo goes, I prefered Woman in the Dunes for pure entertainment, but the Box Man goes into uncharted territory (whereas Woman in the Dunes grasps at fairly traditional existentialism, albeit from a unique perspective)
Who is the Box Man? Is he one? Two? Three? Everyone? You could read this book a thousand times and still not unravel the mystery. I, of course, have my own opinion, but the beauty of this book is that you just can't stop trying to figure things out. I definitely recommend a read. I can't guarantee you'll enjoy it, but I can guarantee that you'll be either completely befuddled or completely obsessed. And befuddled.
As far as Kobo goes, I prefered Woman in the Dunes for pure entertainment, but the Box Man goes into uncharted territory (whereas Woman in the Dunes grasps at fairly traditional existentialism, albeit from a unique perspective)
Who is the Box Man? Is he one? Two? Three? Everyone? You could read this book a thousand times and still not unravel the mystery. I, of course, have my own opinion, but the beauty of this book is that you just can't stop trying to figure things out. I definitely recommend a read. I can't guarantee you'll enjoy it, but I can guarantee that you'll be either completely befuddled or completely obsessed. And befuddled.
January 23, 2020
Az bir demlensin elbet bir şeyler diyeceğim üzerine. Böyle bir çeviri harikası sus pus bitirilemez.
July 25, 2014
This is possibly Abe's craziest book, which is really saying something. Not necessarily best, as book:Secret Rendezvous|10004] is crazy AND highly coherent, but the ways in which this is flirts with incoherency are extremely interesting. It's got the odd, broken time-frame diary format of Rendezvous but in actually a more ambiguous and complex manner, while the actual story has been stripped back to what first seems sheer bizarre simplicity, but then becomes an echo chamber of variations. There are a few cogent plot organizations, if you dig, but it's really more experiential than that. This isn't necessarily a book to be dissected for clues so much as traveled through, getting jerked back and forth by all the narrative switchbacks and rug-pulling maneuvers.
Any, what's it actually about. As I said, simple:
Put on a box, disappear.
(Also about gaze, looking, being looked at. There's some arguably problematic theory in this, but the structure is so-self-undermining that it's hard to hold Abe accountable, exactly. There's a lot going on, better to just soak it in, reflect, consider.)
In retrospect, perhaps all Abe's books are actually about disappearances. About the thin corrugated cardboard barrier that doesn't always prevent us from falling out of our lives entirely and into some other mode of unheretofore imagined existence. This seems to be Abe at a pivotal point, reflecting all that came before or after in a sanely insane box labyrinth.
Any, what's it actually about. As I said, simple:
Put on a box, disappear.
(Also about gaze, looking, being looked at. There's some arguably problematic theory in this, but the structure is so-self-undermining that it's hard to hold Abe accountable, exactly. There's a lot going on, better to just soak it in, reflect, consider.)
In retrospect, perhaps all Abe's books are actually about disappearances. About the thin corrugated cardboard barrier that doesn't always prevent us from falling out of our lives entirely and into some other mode of unheretofore imagined existence. This seems to be Abe at a pivotal point, reflecting all that came before or after in a sanely insane box labyrinth.
Read
February 5, 2024> What, Exactly, Makes a Novel Memorable?
"Memorable" and "unforgettable" are ubiquitous, often meaningless clichés of reviewing.
But they are also interesting criteria of value. Here at least, "memorable" means prone to uncontrolled, uncategorizable narrative misbehavior.
"Box men" are homeless men who walk around inside cardboard boxes. The boxes are fitted out with viewing portholes, little shelves, hooks, and supplies.
The descriptions of the box are vivid, so precise and unexpected, so that it seems they could only be the result of actually building such a box and living in it. Abe is extremely precise about what goes into the box—what the box man carries around with him—and how such a box is constructed. I would expect that from any realist or surrealist novel; but the details are inserted into unexpected places in the narrative, where they would only occur to someone who has actually spent time in such a box. The stains on the inside of the box, the uses of a small shelf under the observation window, the purposes of a plastic tablet—they outdo Nabokov in their myopic realism, and they produce, for me, a creeping sense that Abe did more than just imagine his subject. I haven't looked into this, but it wouldn't surprise me if there were such things as "box men" in 1970s Japan, and if Abe wasn't one himself. And since "box men" are sociopaths and voyeurs, that's a kind of narrative unreliability that goes well beyond what a reader might infer about the author of Lolita.
(In 2022, a student in a seminar reconstructed a box according to Abe's instructions. We took turns walking around the city in it. I no longer have any doubt Abe did the same. The box was simultaneously empowering, because you can't see the person inside, and embarrassing, because it was about as long as a miniskirt. I used it to stop traffic in downtown Chicago, and I tried walking into a bank lobby.)
The story turns around a "box man," another person who may want to become a "box man," and a nurse they both like. The other man is explicitly a Doppelgaenger and projection of the narrator, so in terms of men's roles, the book is about the nakedness of walking around in public without a box, the temptations of the box's security, and the odd feeling of slipping out of society and living in, and as, a box. In terms of women's roles, the book is substantially more bleak. The nurse only exists in the story to take off her clothes and pose. She is watched by the "box man," once from outside a window, and later from inside a hospital room. The narrator fantasizes about cutting her up and eating her, but that's just a passing thought. Mostly he is stricken with embarrassment about his own body, and the sum total of his idea of relations with women is watching them undress. It's an openly childish, masturbatory fantasy. Over the course of the book, the effect of that relentless, unreflective, supposedly natural way of representing relations is increasingly unpleasant. When he wrote this book, Abe's imaginative universe was so shriveled and poisoned that he could only imagine women as things that are peered at from inside cardboard boxes. I have no problem with violent, misanthropic, deranged or psychotic narratives or narrators, but this one is also unreflective.
The narrative is quirky to the point of opacity, often uncontrolled, wandering, and shapeless. At one point the narrator admits he has made up the other "box man" entirely; several pages are devoted to a fantasy of turning into a fish and drowning; the story is interrupted by notes about the color of the writer's ink or the nature of the paper he is writing on. I take all those shapeless experiments as strategies to keep writing, to get the bizarre story, whatever it is, down on paper. I take the whole novel as a purge: Abe had lived this way, or tried it for a while, or wanted to, and wanted to get past it by writing the book.
What makes all this so memorable? It's the book's refusal to behave. Like Watt or Naked Lunch, two parallels in this regard, it strongly refuses continuity of purpose and imagination. Abe's combination of polymorphic perversions, sociopathic encounters, dry descriptions, inexplicable asides, obsessions with squalor and excretions, grainy street photography, detailed how-to instructions for living in carboard boxes, a plot that veers so often out of the author's control, and small, badly reproduced, disconnected photographs makes it one of the most memorable books in all postwar fiction.
(I have a longer essay on the images in the book, with information about the very rare catalog of Abe's own street photography, here: writingwithimages.com/4-6-kobo-abe-th....)
"Memorable" and "unforgettable" are ubiquitous, often meaningless clichés of reviewing.
But they are also interesting criteria of value. Here at least, "memorable" means prone to uncontrolled, uncategorizable narrative misbehavior.
"Box men" are homeless men who walk around inside cardboard boxes. The boxes are fitted out with viewing portholes, little shelves, hooks, and supplies.
The descriptions of the box are vivid, so precise and unexpected, so that it seems they could only be the result of actually building such a box and living in it. Abe is extremely precise about what goes into the box—what the box man carries around with him—and how such a box is constructed. I would expect that from any realist or surrealist novel; but the details are inserted into unexpected places in the narrative, where they would only occur to someone who has actually spent time in such a box. The stains on the inside of the box, the uses of a small shelf under the observation window, the purposes of a plastic tablet—they outdo Nabokov in their myopic realism, and they produce, for me, a creeping sense that Abe did more than just imagine his subject. I haven't looked into this, but it wouldn't surprise me if there were such things as "box men" in 1970s Japan, and if Abe wasn't one himself. And since "box men" are sociopaths and voyeurs, that's a kind of narrative unreliability that goes well beyond what a reader might infer about the author of Lolita.
(In 2022, a student in a seminar reconstructed a box according to Abe's instructions. We took turns walking around the city in it. I no longer have any doubt Abe did the same. The box was simultaneously empowering, because you can't see the person inside, and embarrassing, because it was about as long as a miniskirt. I used it to stop traffic in downtown Chicago, and I tried walking into a bank lobby.)
The story turns around a "box man," another person who may want to become a "box man," and a nurse they both like. The other man is explicitly a Doppelgaenger and projection of the narrator, so in terms of men's roles, the book is about the nakedness of walking around in public without a box, the temptations of the box's security, and the odd feeling of slipping out of society and living in, and as, a box. In terms of women's roles, the book is substantially more bleak. The nurse only exists in the story to take off her clothes and pose. She is watched by the "box man," once from outside a window, and later from inside a hospital room. The narrator fantasizes about cutting her up and eating her, but that's just a passing thought. Mostly he is stricken with embarrassment about his own body, and the sum total of his idea of relations with women is watching them undress. It's an openly childish, masturbatory fantasy. Over the course of the book, the effect of that relentless, unreflective, supposedly natural way of representing relations is increasingly unpleasant. When he wrote this book, Abe's imaginative universe was so shriveled and poisoned that he could only imagine women as things that are peered at from inside cardboard boxes. I have no problem with violent, misanthropic, deranged or psychotic narratives or narrators, but this one is also unreflective.
The narrative is quirky to the point of opacity, often uncontrolled, wandering, and shapeless. At one point the narrator admits he has made up the other "box man" entirely; several pages are devoted to a fantasy of turning into a fish and drowning; the story is interrupted by notes about the color of the writer's ink or the nature of the paper he is writing on. I take all those shapeless experiments as strategies to keep writing, to get the bizarre story, whatever it is, down on paper. I take the whole novel as a purge: Abe had lived this way, or tried it for a while, or wanted to, and wanted to get past it by writing the book.
What makes all this so memorable? It's the book's refusal to behave. Like Watt or Naked Lunch, two parallels in this regard, it strongly refuses continuity of purpose and imagination. Abe's combination of polymorphic perversions, sociopathic encounters, dry descriptions, inexplicable asides, obsessions with squalor and excretions, grainy street photography, detailed how-to instructions for living in carboard boxes, a plot that veers so often out of the author's control, and small, badly reproduced, disconnected photographs makes it one of the most memorable books in all postwar fiction.
(I have a longer essay on the images in the book, with information about the very rare catalog of Abe's own street photography, here: writingwithimages.com/4-6-kobo-abe-th....)
September 4, 2023
خیلی خیلی خیلی کتاب و دوست داشتم، کتاب درباره مردی هست که زندگی خودشو رها میکنه و میاد توی یک جعبه مقوایی زندگی میکنه، این مرد نه اسمش معلومه نه گذشته ای که داشته نه آدرس خونش هیچی، تنها چیزایی که ازش میفهمیم اینه که بد خط عه، عکاس هست و اسکیزوفرنی داره. این فرد داستان زندگی خودشو از تو جعبه وقتی به اطراف نگاه میکنه و میگه و هر چی میبینه رو مینویسه، در واقع زندگی انسان مدرن و توصیف میکنه، و چون در خلال داستان میفهمیم که اسکیزوفرنی داره متوجه میشیم دا��تان از چند وجه تعریف میشه که نشون میده این فرد چندتا شخصیت و باهم داره. توصیفات داستان خیلی دقیق و هست جوری که میتونید تجسم کنید هر چیزی که نویسنده گفته رو. خلاصه که یه داستان متفاوت و عالی خوندم.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 4, 2025
Modern yaşamın yabancılaştırdığı insanın trajikomik hikâyesi "Kutu Adam"da, Kobo Abe'nin ustaca kalemiyle karşımıza çıkıyor. Görünmez olmak isteyen bir adamın kendini karton bir kutuya hapsetmesinin ardından başlayan bu tuhaf yolculuk, hem absürd hem de derinden etkileyici.
Abe, görülme kaygısıyla tanımlanan modern toplumda bir anti-kahraman yaratır. Kutu Adam, sahte benliklerden ve toplumsal maskelerden o kadar bıkmıştır ki, kendini tam anlamıyla dünyadan soyutlamayı seçer. Bu seçim aynı zamanda varolma sorununun da merkezine oturur: Görülmeyen var mıdır?
Yazarın dili, gerçeklik ve düş arasındaki sınırları bulanıklaştırır. Çevirmen Devrim Çetin Güven'in nefes aldıran çevirisi sayesinde, özgün metnin atmosferi kaybolmadan Türkçe'ye aktarılmış. Her sayfa okuyucuyu düşünmeye, sorgulamaya iter.
"Kutu Adam", sadece bir yabancılaşma hikâyesi değil; aynı zamanda kimlik, görünürlük ve toplumsal aidiyetlik üzerine derin bir felsefi meditasyon. Kafka'vı andıran absürd durumlar ve Japon edebiyatının incelikli psikolojik analizi bir araya gelince ortaya çıkan bu başyapıt, modern insanın varoluşsal krizini en çarpıcı şekilde gözler önüne seriyor.
Kobo Abe'nin "Kumların Kadını" eserini sevenlerin kesinlikle okuması gereken bu kitap, hem zihinsel hem duygusal olarak okuyucuda iz bırakacak türden. Her okumada yeni anlamlar keşfedebileceğiniz, üzerinde düşünmeye değer bir eser.
Abe, görülme kaygısıyla tanımlanan modern toplumda bir anti-kahraman yaratır. Kutu Adam, sahte benliklerden ve toplumsal maskelerden o kadar bıkmıştır ki, kendini tam anlamıyla dünyadan soyutlamayı seçer. Bu seçim aynı zamanda varolma sorununun da merkezine oturur: Görülmeyen var mıdır?
Yazarın dili, gerçeklik ve düş arasındaki sınırları bulanıklaştırır. Çevirmen Devrim Çetin Güven'in nefes aldıran çevirisi sayesinde, özgün metnin atmosferi kaybolmadan Türkçe'ye aktarılmış. Her sayfa okuyucuyu düşünmeye, sorgulamaya iter.
"Kutu Adam", sadece bir yabancılaşma hikâyesi değil; aynı zamanda kimlik, görünürlük ve toplumsal aidiyetlik üzerine derin bir felsefi meditasyon. Kafka'vı andıran absürd durumlar ve Japon edebiyatının incelikli psikolojik analizi bir araya gelince ortaya çıkan bu başyapıt, modern insanın varoluşsal krizini en çarpıcı şekilde gözler önüne seriyor.
Kobo Abe'nin "Kumların Kadını" eserini sevenlerin kesinlikle okuması gereken bu kitap, hem zihinsel hem duygusal olarak okuyucuda iz bırakacak türden. Her okumada yeni anlamlar keşfedebileceğiniz, üzerinde düşünmeye değer bir eser.
August 24, 2011
The Box Man was cancelled by the Atikokan Public Library after men began disappearing and reappearing with boxes over their heads (probably in the young adult section). One less person to read a newspaper on a stick in 1982 was no big thing but in 1987 two people checked out and then checked out. Cancelled is stamped on the title page. Cancelled again on the next, and the next page in case any wives of veterans were tempted to buy a box big enough for their Juice Newton hair-dos. In case any teenaged volunteers were lured by the forbidden cancelled is stamped again in more places inside the book. Someone got carried away with their stamper! (They must have been issued their own stamper that cancellation day.) How bad could the box man trend have been? (I started a broken bones trend when I was eight. Five kids in my elementary school just had to be like me and sport casts. It is dangerously painful to be trendy.) I have no idea where Atikokan is. It could be a place of box people. One day someone came along and packed all the boxes away, including the cancelled book.
Now it's mine. I wish I felt like I had won... The shut your eyes to another view out of your own window man.
Televisions are boxes. The first thing I ever learned to draw (properly) was a box (I skipped the all-too important step of stick figures. Drawing is like math. I'll be able to paint a mural on the ceiling of a cathedral before I'll ever draw a decent stick figure). Shoulder pads (from 1987! Aha!) were boxy. So what the hell is so free about living in a box? It's BOXED IN because you can't get out. Because The Box Man didn't make a case for invisibility inside a box. People are people (okay some are more like stick figures than others). You can be ignored by the person you are sitting next to! Even before cellphones and portable gaming machines people were ignored. Put on the same outfit and vacant expression that everyone else is wearing. Look like you should be there and you'll be more ignored than anyone wearing a cardboard box. It's not hard to go through a day without talking to a single person. Don't open your mouth. Don't smile at anyone. Does it feel like freedom to be ignored? It is freedom if you don't care. What is freedom worth to you if you don't care?
Boxes have been seen floating on their own. Like dust bowls... Is anyone carried away inside?
The Box Man reads like a how-to. I don't care how many times you say that putting on a box means that no one will notice you. I will notice! (I'm really worried about this homeless chick I used to see every day. She looked a lot like goodreads author KI Hope so I called her Homeless KI. She was probably murdered.) He cares in the same telling way of do this and do that on how to be a box man. He shouldn't have felt so "My stuff!" and "Get off my lawn!" But he did. The Box Man is the voyeur feeling of knowing that there are guys who go to peep show booths in triple x shops. I felt as close to him as I feel to those guys. The box should have had a hole for his dick and he could have sat in a movie theater because what he saw was not real. My stuff! Oh, my stuff!
Rupert Murdoch was found sleeping on piles of News of the World. Someone kicked him out of his own and he's going to take up shop in all of our boxes.
What was so contagious about box men? If you see one and there's a part of you that notices that there are box men you will have to become one? YOU DON'T NEED TO BE INSIDE A BOX TO NOTICE PEOPLE! This book was built on a cheap ass piece of cardboard. (Hiding is from self hate. It is not freedom. Any invisibility fantasy I ever had was not about voyeurism. I don't care what the stupid movies tell you about horny teen boys spying on their French teachers.) Kobo Abe, you really don't get it. People who don't notice box men are pretending not to notice them, just as your box man was pretending not to notice themselves. Too bad you didn't have the depth (my box is 3d) to see it.
Kids used to bump my head with my twins on the school bus. They'd ask me if I felt it when they abused her. There's a kind of feeling it too that's called empathy. If you're going to make a case for actual infection you are going to have to do better, Kobo Abe. Get under my big enough umbrella.
Maybe I'd get a disguise like Kobo Abe's thick black frames. Or one with a fake nose and mustache. Four eyes and extra powerful sense of smell! If I mimed a box I could open new invisible doors (this book really was bullshit).
In seeing there is love, in being seen there is abhorrence. One grins, trying to bear the pain of being seen. But not just anyone can be someone who only looks. If the one who is looked at looks back, then the person who was looking becomes the one who is looked at...
Hogwash. You have to look at yourself and MAYBE you'll understand a little bit of what anyone else is about because you bothered to step out of a tiny box to live in. Now why would anyone want to hide. I know why I would.
P.s. I realized that because my uncle is homeless (by choice) I can thank Jamie Foxx (or Will Smith. That's almost as good) for portraying homeless people on the big screen with such compassion.
Now it's mine. I wish I felt like I had won... The shut your eyes to another view out of your own window man.
Televisions are boxes. The first thing I ever learned to draw (properly) was a box (I skipped the all-too important step of stick figures. Drawing is like math. I'll be able to paint a mural on the ceiling of a cathedral before I'll ever draw a decent stick figure). Shoulder pads (from 1987! Aha!) were boxy. So what the hell is so free about living in a box? It's BOXED IN because you can't get out. Because The Box Man didn't make a case for invisibility inside a box. People are people (okay some are more like stick figures than others). You can be ignored by the person you are sitting next to! Even before cellphones and portable gaming machines people were ignored. Put on the same outfit and vacant expression that everyone else is wearing. Look like you should be there and you'll be more ignored than anyone wearing a cardboard box. It's not hard to go through a day without talking to a single person. Don't open your mouth. Don't smile at anyone. Does it feel like freedom to be ignored? It is freedom if you don't care. What is freedom worth to you if you don't care?
Boxes have been seen floating on their own. Like dust bowls... Is anyone carried away inside?
The Box Man reads like a how-to. I don't care how many times you say that putting on a box means that no one will notice you. I will notice! (I'm really worried about this homeless chick I used to see every day. She looked a lot like goodreads author KI Hope so I called her Homeless KI. She was probably murdered.) He cares in the same telling way of do this and do that on how to be a box man. He shouldn't have felt so "My stuff!" and "Get off my lawn!" But he did. The Box Man is the voyeur feeling of knowing that there are guys who go to peep show booths in triple x shops. I felt as close to him as I feel to those guys. The box should have had a hole for his dick and he could have sat in a movie theater because what he saw was not real. My stuff! Oh, my stuff!
Rupert Murdoch was found sleeping on piles of News of the World. Someone kicked him out of his own and he's going to take up shop in all of our boxes.
What was so contagious about box men? If you see one and there's a part of you that notices that there are box men you will have to become one? YOU DON'T NEED TO BE INSIDE A BOX TO NOTICE PEOPLE! This book was built on a cheap ass piece of cardboard. (Hiding is from self hate. It is not freedom. Any invisibility fantasy I ever had was not about voyeurism. I don't care what the stupid movies tell you about horny teen boys spying on their French teachers.) Kobo Abe, you really don't get it. People who don't notice box men are pretending not to notice them, just as your box man was pretending not to notice themselves. Too bad you didn't have the depth (my box is 3d) to see it.
Kids used to bump my head with my twins on the school bus. They'd ask me if I felt it when they abused her. There's a kind of feeling it too that's called empathy. If you're going to make a case for actual infection you are going to have to do better, Kobo Abe. Get under my big enough umbrella.
Maybe I'd get a disguise like Kobo Abe's thick black frames. Or one with a fake nose and mustache. Four eyes and extra powerful sense of smell! If I mimed a box I could open new invisible doors (this book really was bullshit).
In seeing there is love, in being seen there is abhorrence. One grins, trying to bear the pain of being seen. But not just anyone can be someone who only looks. If the one who is looked at looks back, then the person who was looking becomes the one who is looked at...
Hogwash. You have to look at yourself and MAYBE you'll understand a little bit of what anyone else is about because you bothered to step out of a tiny box to live in. Now why would anyone want to hide. I know why I would.
P.s. I realized that because my uncle is homeless (by choice) I can thank Jamie Foxx (or Will Smith. That's almost as good) for portraying homeless people on the big screen with such compassion.
April 5, 2025
رواية غريبة جدا وجميلة في الوقت نفسه، قد تبعث في نفسك بعض التقزز، ولكن.. إن لم تستطع الرواية ذلك فما فائدة قرائتها؟
سبر آبي اغوار النفس البشرية وطبيعتها و"عرّاها" من جميع ثيايها الاجتماعية والغريزية ليصور لنا تحفة "معلّبة" جميلة تجعلك تعيد النظر في "عُريك"
انصح بها لمحبي المغامرات واللا مألوف فقط..
سبر آبي اغوار النفس البشرية وطبيعتها و"عرّاها" من جميع ثيايها الاجتماعية والغريزية ليصور لنا تحفة "معلّبة" جميلة تجعلك تعيد النظر في "عُريك"
انصح بها لمحبي المغامرات واللا مألوف فقط..
July 5, 2019
“Kutudan baktığın müddetçe hiçbir manzaradan usanmazsın.”
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Birey olmayı,zaman ve mekandan bağımsız önce varlıklarına sinmiş tutkularıyla anlatıyor Kobo Abe.
Bir kutunun içinde yaşamın aslında dört duvarda yaşamaktan çok da farklı olmadığını~
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Altını çizdiğim cümlelerin çokluğu bir yana; beni sürekli sorgulamaya itti Kutu Adam.
*İzlemek ve izlenilmek
*suçun ne zaman suç sayılacağı
*şeffaflık ve teşhir
*kişiler arasındaki sınırlar ve kutuplaşmalar
*ve aslında ne istediğimiz.. 'gerçekten' ne istediğimiz.
Kimliklerimizden, sorumluluklarımızdan, bizi biz yaptığını sandığımız ancak derinine indiğimizde aslında hiç de bize ait olmayan şeylerden sıyrılıp; bir kutuya sığmak münkün.
Sıkışmak ve çıkamamak pahasına.
Alabildiğine geniş çevremizde kullandığımız alan aslında bedenlerimiz kapladıkları alan değil mi?
Biz hacmimiz kadar var değil miyiz?
Yoksa hepimiz birer kutu insanlar mıyız?
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Kobo Abe okunurken kendini açmayan bir yazar. Sayfalar birikip; kapandıkça geriye kalan ağırlığıyla yer ediniyor aklınızda. Çoğunlukla bir sivrisinek gibi kanınızı emercesine~
Çeviride Devrim Çetin Güven yer alıyor.Kendisinin ‘yengeç konserveleme gemisi’ndeki çevirisini çok sevmiştim! Ancak Abe’nin eserlerinde Barış Bayıksel ve Aydın Özbek çevirilerini kendime daha yakın hissettiğimi söylemeden geçemeyeceğim~
Kapak tasarımı ise sade olduğu kadar güzel! Aslı Sezer çalışması ~
.
Birey olmayı,zaman ve mekandan bağımsız önce varlıklarına sinmiş tutkularıyla anlatıyor Kobo Abe.
Bir kutunun içinde yaşamın aslında dört duvarda yaşamaktan çok da farklı olmadığını~
.
Altını çizdiğim cümlelerin çokluğu bir yana; beni sürekli sorgulamaya itti Kutu Adam.
*İzlemek ve izlenilmek
*suçun ne zaman suç sayılacağı
*şeffaflık ve teşhir
*kişiler arasındaki sınırlar ve kutuplaşmalar
*ve aslında ne istediğimiz.. 'gerçekten' ne istediğimiz.
Kimliklerimizden, sorumluluklarımızdan, bizi biz yaptığını sandığımız ancak derinine indiğimizde aslında hiç de bize ait olmayan şeylerden sıyrılıp; bir kutuya sığmak münkün.
Sıkışmak ve çıkamamak pahasına.
Alabildiğine geniş çevremizde kullandığımız alan aslında bedenlerimiz kapladıkları alan değil mi?
Biz hacmimiz kadar var değil miyiz?
Yoksa hepimiz birer kutu insanlar mıyız?
.
Kobo Abe okunurken kendini açmayan bir yazar. Sayfalar birikip; kapandıkça geriye kalan ağırlığıyla yer ediniyor aklınızda. Çoğunlukla bir sivrisinek gibi kanınızı emercesine~
Çeviride Devrim Çetin Güven yer alıyor.Kendisinin ‘yengeç konserveleme gemisi’ndeki çevirisini çok sevmiştim! Ancak Abe’nin eserlerinde Barış Bayıksel ve Aydın Özbek çevirilerini kendime daha yakın hissettiğimi söylemeden geçemeyeceğim~
Kapak tasarımı ise sade olduğu kadar güzel! Aslı Sezer çalışması ~
June 22, 2017
Promising as its weirdness may have seemed to me, sadly I failed to connect. Having read and loved The Woman in the Dunes, I like to believe that there was a certain philosophical depth to The Box Man but it clearly evaded me. Other than a few spot-on existential gimmicks, it was mostly a drag for me, since I had lost interest rather early in the book, while the endless monologues following the narrator's non-linear thoughts didn't really help the situation. By no means trash. Just not what I expected.
April 19, 2025
قد تكون الفكرة للكاتب جميلة، أن نكون معلبين دون ضجيج ما يحدث حولنا.
لكن في نظري بأن الكاتب قدم الرواية بشكل معلب مما جعلها مبهمة، وفي المقابل رأيت في بعض المواضيع لا تعليق بل شفافية ولا خصوصية والعالم كله يرى بأن يقحم في النص العديد من الأمور الجنسية والتعري والتي رأيت إنها لا تخدم النص.
لكن في نظري بأن الكاتب قدم الرواية بشكل معلب مما جعلها مبهمة، وفي المقابل رأيت في بعض المواضيع لا تعليق بل شفافية ولا خصوصية والعالم كله يرى بأن يقحم في النص العديد من الأمور الجنسية والتعري والتي رأيت إنها لا تخدم النص.
January 4, 2020
Kitabın üslubu, biçimi ve olaylar hakkında sitenin gediklileri zaten yeterince şey yazmış. Ben Kobo Abe'nin okuduğum diğer kitabı Kumların Kadını ile Kutu Adam'ın bende uyandırdığı ortak duyguya değinmek istiyorum: Kaçınılmaz sondan kaçmaya çalışmak.
Her iki kitapta da karakterin yapmak istediği bir iş var. Bunlar bir yerden kaçmak, kendisine dayatılan şartlardan kurtulmak veya başka faydalar için kendi kimliğinden sıyrılmaya çalışmak -kutudan çıkmak- gibi şeyler. Karakter sürekli kendi kendine çok yakında istediği şeyi yapacağını telkin ediyor. Bunun için hamlelerde bulunuyor. Gerekli imkanları bir araya getirmeye uğraşıyor ama hep bir mani çıkıyor. Elbiseler kurumuyor, kaçış için bulunan çareler işe yaramıyor...
Bir debdebe sürerken aslında farkediyoruz ki kendine bile itiraf etmese de aslında karakterimiz yapmak istediği şeyi hep erteleyerek bir şekilde aslında içinde bulunduğu durumdan gizlice -ve suçlu hissederek keyif alıyor. Kaçmak istemiyor, Kutuadamlığı seviyor.
Romanlar farklı bitsede ben bu rahatsız gibi görünen ama suçluca sevilen durumdan kurtulmayı içten içe ertelemek hissini çok yoğun hissediyorum okurken. Düşününce de kendi hayatımda bol bol örneğini buluyorum. Finallere çalışmak gerekirken etrafı temizlemek. Yürümeyen ilişkiyi bitirmek gerektiğini bilirken hep bir bahane arayışı. Spora yeniden başlanacak olan gelecek haftanın hiç gelmemesi...
Her iki kitapta da karakterin yapmak istediği bir iş var. Bunlar bir yerden kaçmak, kendisine dayatılan şartlardan kurtulmak veya başka faydalar için kendi kimliğinden sıyrılmaya çalışmak -kutudan çıkmak- gibi şeyler. Karakter sürekli kendi kendine çok yakında istediği şeyi yapacağını telkin ediyor. Bunun için hamlelerde bulunuyor. Gerekli imkanları bir araya getirmeye uğraşıyor ama hep bir mani çıkıyor. Elbiseler kurumuyor, kaçış için bulunan çareler işe yaramıyor...
Bir debdebe sürerken aslında farkediyoruz ki kendine bile itiraf etmese de aslında karakterimiz yapmak istediği şeyi hep erteleyerek bir şekilde aslında içinde bulunduğu durumdan gizlice -ve suçlu hissederek keyif alıyor. Kaçmak istemiyor, Kutuadamlığı seviyor.
Romanlar farklı bitsede ben bu rahatsız gibi görünen ama suçluca sevilen durumdan kurtulmayı içten içe ertelemek hissini çok yoğun hissediyorum okurken. Düşününce de kendi hayatımda bol bol örneğini buluyorum. Finallere çalışmak gerekirken etrafı temizlemek. Yürümeyen ilişkiyi bitirmek gerektiğini bilirken hep bir bahane arayışı. Spora yeniden başlanacak olan gelecek haftanın hiç gelmemesi...
April 9, 2025
الكتاب رقم ( ٨٩ )
عام ٢٠٢٥
الكتاب : المعلب
المؤلف : كوبو آبي
التصنيف : رواية
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📕 الرواية عبارة عن عمل فلسفي، تأملي، يلامس أعماق النفس الإنسانية. تشبه الحلم المربك الذي تصحو منه وأنت تحمل سؤالًا لا إجابة له.
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ماذا لو تجلّت النفس البشرية في هيئة مُعلبة، بواجهة جميلة، لكنها خالية من كل أرديتها الاجتماعية، ومنزوعة عن أغطيتها الغرائزية؟
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✋هل كنت ستجرؤ حينها على مواجهة حقيقتك، والتأمل في عريك أنت
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🚫 توقفت طويلًا عند تلك الكلمات :
_ العلبة لا تزداد ضيقًا … بل أنا من يزداد وعيًا بها .
_ هل نحن عالقون في أماكننا، أم في عقولنا؟
_ في الخارج، العالم مستمر في الدوران، لكني لم أعد متأكدًا إن كنت أنا جزءًا منه .
✋ قد يتبادر إلى ذهنك سؤال بعد قراءة الكتاب:
من هو هذا “المعلَّب” فعلًا؟ أهو الراوي؟ نحن؟ أم الإنسان المعاصر برمّته ؟
📕“المُعلَّب” ليست رواية سهلة القراءة، لكنها رواية لا تُنسى.
عام ٢٠٢٥
الكتاب : المعلب
المؤلف : كوبو آبي
التصنيف : رواية
.
.
📕 الرواية عبارة عن عمل فلسفي، تأملي، يلامس أعماق النفس الإنسانية. تشبه الحلم المربك الذي تصحو منه وأنت تحمل سؤالًا لا إجابة له.
.
.
ماذا لو تجلّت النفس البشرية في هيئة مُعلبة، بواجهة جميلة، لكنها خالية من كل أرديتها الاجتماعية، ومنزوعة عن أغطيتها الغرائزية؟
.
✋هل كنت ستجرؤ حينها على مواجهة حقيقتك، والتأمل في عريك أنت
.
🚫 توقفت طويلًا عند تلك الكلمات :
_ العلبة لا تزداد ضيقًا … بل أنا من يزداد وعيًا بها .
_ هل نحن عالقون في أماكننا، أم في عقولنا؟
_ في الخارج، العالم مستمر في الدوران، لكني لم أعد متأكدًا إن كنت أنا جزءًا منه .
✋ قد يتبادر إلى ذهنك سؤال بعد قراءة الكتاب:
من هو هذا “المعلَّب” فعلًا؟ أهو الراوي؟ نحن؟ أم الإنسان المعاصر برمّته ؟
📕“المُعلَّب” ليست رواية سهلة القراءة، لكنها رواية لا تُنسى.
May 26, 2023
Została mi polecona w księgarni, kiedy powiedziałam, że chce coś mrocznego i dziwnego…i właśnie to dostałam!
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