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The Lady and the Monk: Four Seasons in Kyoto
When Pico Iyer decided to go to Kyoto and live in a monastery, he did so to learn about Zen Buddhism from the inside, to get to know Kyoto, one of the loveliest old cities in the world, and to find out something about Japanese culture today — not the world of businessmen and production lines, but the traditional world of changing seasons and the silence of temples, of the images woven through literature, of the lunar Japan that still lives on behind the rising sun of geopolitical power.
All this he did. And then he met Sachiko.
Vivacious, attractive, thoroughly educated, speaking English enthusiastically if eccentrically, the wife of a Japanese "salaryman" who seldom left the office before 10 P.M., Sachiko was as conversant with tea ceremony and classical Japanese literature as with rock music, Goethe, and Vivaldi. With the lightness of touch that made Video Night in Kathmandu so captivating, Pico Iyer fashions from their relationship a marvelously ironic yet heartfelt book that is at once a portrait of cross-cultural infatuation — and misunderstanding — and a delightfully fresh way of seeing both the old Japan and the very new.
All this he did. And then he met Sachiko.
Vivacious, attractive, thoroughly educated, speaking English enthusiastically if eccentrically, the wife of a Japanese "salaryman" who seldom left the office before 10 P.M., Sachiko was as conversant with tea ceremony and classical Japanese literature as with rock music, Goethe, and Vivaldi. With the lightness of touch that made Video Night in Kathmandu so captivating, Pico Iyer fashions from their relationship a marvelously ironic yet heartfelt book that is at once a portrait of cross-cultural infatuation — and misunderstanding — and a delightfully fresh way of seeing both the old Japan and the very new.
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First published January 1, 1991
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About the author
Pico Iyer
125 books1,107 followersPico Iyer is a British-born essayist and novelist of Indian descent. As an acclaimed travel writer, he began his career documenting a neglected aspect of travel -- the sometimes surreal disconnect between local tradition and imported global pop culture. Since then, he has written ten books, exploring also the cultural consequences of isolation, whether writing about the exiled spiritual leaders of Tibet or the embargoed society of Cuba.
Iyer’s latest focus is on yet another overlooked aspect of travel: how can it help us regain our sense of stillness and focus in a world where our devices and digital networks increasing distract us? As he says: "Almost everybody I know has this sense of overdosing on information and getting dizzy living at post-human speeds. Nearly everybody I know does something to try to remove herself to clear her head and to have enough time and space to think. ... All of us instinctively feel that something inside us is crying out for more spaciousness and stillness to offset the exhilarations of this movement and the fun and diversion of the modern world."
Iyer’s latest focus is on yet another overlooked aspect of travel: how can it help us regain our sense of stillness and focus in a world where our devices and digital networks increasing distract us? As he says: "Almost everybody I know has this sense of overdosing on information and getting dizzy living at post-human speeds. Nearly everybody I know does something to try to remove herself to clear her head and to have enough time and space to think. ... All of us instinctively feel that something inside us is crying out for more spaciousness and stillness to offset the exhilarations of this movement and the fun and diversion of the modern world."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 291 reviews
January 16, 2021
Pico Iyer's prose is exquisite.This is not a typical travel book.He goes and stays in Japan for a good long time,a country which has a particular fascination for him.
The beauty and elegance of the book lies in the writing.Not much happens,it is mostly Pico's musings on Japan,Zen Buddhism,the beauty of the changing seasons and his friendship with a Japanese lady,Sachiko San.The lady would eventually become his wife.
This is a book to be read slowly,and to be savoured,over and over.I read it twice.
It is an added bonus that the subject of Pico's musings is the enigmatic Japanese society which I find fascinating myself.
One of my favourite books.
The beauty and elegance of the book lies in the writing.Not much happens,it is mostly Pico's musings on Japan,Zen Buddhism,the beauty of the changing seasons and his friendship with a Japanese lady,Sachiko San.The lady would eventually become his wife.
This is a book to be read slowly,and to be savoured,over and over.I read it twice.
It is an added bonus that the subject of Pico's musings is the enigmatic Japanese society which I find fascinating myself.
One of my favourite books.
April 10, 2025
When reading, I try not to consider the author -- the work should speak for itself. This usually works pretty well, except in the case of a memoir. My distaste for the author is so strong that it overrides my attempts to describe the book, in and of itself, fairly.
The Lady and the Monk and the Nation of Japan are the real topics of this book. Iyer, who has had the good fortune to live his whole life in nice places (Oxford, Santa Barbara, Kyoto), wants to study Zen, or dabble in it, or something. It isn't quite clear. He lands a job in Kyoto, but soon realizes there's a much better story to be told exploring Japanese culture than whatever his job is. So he leads us on a cultural tour, embodied by his Zen-studying friends (a remarkable number of whom also hail from the California coast), his visits to temples and monastaries, and his girlfriend.
I don't want to draw this out. We spend half the time reading about the importance of living in the present, of purifying one's spirit, and the other half reading about him stealing another man's wife and children. Okay, the wife makes her own decisions, and if she's unhappy in her marriage then she's free to move on. But the kids have no say in this. He is also far too purified to take any action himself, so the entire burden of infidelity and divorce falls to the Lady with no input from him at all. Watching this train wreck unfold while its agent blathers on about the beauty inherent in a chrysanthemum blossom makes me want to puke.
Sorry. Look elsewhere if you want an unbiased review.
The Lady and the Monk and the Nation of Japan are the real topics of this book. Iyer, who has had the good fortune to live his whole life in nice places (Oxford, Santa Barbara, Kyoto), wants to study Zen, or dabble in it, or something. It isn't quite clear. He lands a job in Kyoto, but soon realizes there's a much better story to be told exploring Japanese culture than whatever his job is. So he leads us on a cultural tour, embodied by his Zen-studying friends (a remarkable number of whom also hail from the California coast), his visits to temples and monastaries, and his girlfriend.
I don't want to draw this out. We spend half the time reading about the importance of living in the present, of purifying one's spirit, and the other half reading about him stealing another man's wife and children. Okay, the wife makes her own decisions, and if she's unhappy in her marriage then she's free to move on. But the kids have no say in this. He is also far too purified to take any action himself, so the entire burden of infidelity and divorce falls to the Lady with no input from him at all. Watching this train wreck unfold while its agent blathers on about the beauty inherent in a chrysanthemum blossom makes me want to puke.
Sorry. Look elsewhere if you want an unbiased review.
April 19, 2008
I may be biased because I am actually interested in living in Japan at some point, but I feel like Pico Iyer's The Lady and the Monk is a mostly forgotten classic in the vein of travel writing. I had never even heard of it before chancing across it while perusing writings about Japan at Powell's. I picked it up because I had just applied for a teaching position in Japan (which I was subsequently denied) and wanted to read different accounts of life over there. What I discovered was a combination of memoir, travel essay, philosophical treatise, and flat-out romance novel that left me stunned by its insight, tenderness, and sheer beauty. Chronicling a year he spent living in Kyoto, Iyer patterns his book after the seasons, each of which takes on particular cultural and physical resonance in Japan. His mood and understanding of the Japanese changes with the seasons as well, along with his slowly developing love affair with a beautiful, vivacious, fascinatingly contradictory woman named Sachiko. He peppers all this with a growing knowledge of Zen Buddhism, as well as excerpts from, and his own critical writings on, Japanese poetry and literature. The way he synthesizes it all to explain the impact the country and people has had on his own growth and awareness is profoundly interesting and moving. Additionally, the India-born, Oxford-educated Iyer is a flat-out sensational writer, capturing the simultaneously austere and lush beauty of Japan with warm, colorful details. As far as travel writing goes, Lady and the Monk has it all: It's a tender, lovely homage to a people and their landscape; it's a deeply empathetic, carefully wrought observation of a culture vastly different from our own; and it's a steamy, simmering love story that affects you like a Victorian novel might, where every strand of hair that brushes Iyer's arm sends shivers down your spine, and a simple kiss feels like fireworks in the sky.
May 15, 2020
There’s a lot to like about this memoir of the year the author spent living in Kyoto, falling in love with “the lady,” and getting to know several monks. That year was 1987-88, half a lifetime ago now, and Iyer would surely be the first to admit that Japan has changed greatly over the intervening years—especially Kyoto, currently overwhelmed with 50 million tourists annually, according to: https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/201.... Even so, the country and the people he describes are still recognizable from his account.
The thread tying everything together is the love that develops between Iyer and the unhappily married Sachiko, who I take to be the Hiroko he later married. A number of tiresome male foreigners also come and go, looking for enlightenment, money and/or sexual conquests that they mostly fail to find. As the author observes, “the…qualities that attracted many foreigners to Japan—that it left one alone, and therefore free—were…an ordeal; Japan offered…everything except direction” (p.283).
Throughout, Iyer describes his growing understanding of Japanese culture with self-deprecating humor. Having attended the biannual Miyako Odori, massed performances of tea ceremony and dancing by Kyoto maiko and geisha, he notes:
The thread tying everything together is the love that develops between Iyer and the unhappily married Sachiko, who I take to be the Hiroko he later married. A number of tiresome male foreigners also come and go, looking for enlightenment, money and/or sexual conquests that they mostly fail to find. As the author observes, “the…qualities that attracted many foreigners to Japan—that it left one alone, and therefore free—were…an ordeal; Japan offered…everything except direction” (p.283).
Throughout, Iyer describes his growing understanding of Japanese culture with self-deprecating humor. Having attended the biannual Miyako Odori, massed performances of tea ceremony and dancing by Kyoto maiko and geisha, he notes:
[Sachiko] in turn…was introducing me to many things, not least the shallowness of my own reading of Japan. As I went on blathering about Hiroshige or Buson, I realized that it must have sounded as jejune and uninformed to her as typical Japanese raptures about Chopin did to us. And when I told her, proudly, about my visit to the famous geisha show, she was singularly unimpressed. “You know Michael Douglas movie?” “You mean Fatal Attraction?” “Ping-pong! This Miyako Odori, little same feeling!”
May 25, 2012
I'm a bit in love with Pico Iyer
I stayed up all night reading the Lady and the Monk. This is the second book I have read by Pico Iyer, the other being Video nights in Katmandu. I teach Japanese woman in Hawaii, and I can attest that Sachiko is real. Her constant tears brought me back to encounters with my Japanese friends. When the Japanese mask is removed, there is alot of repressed emotion and longing there. I am going to reread this book again. A first reading is never enough to digest Pico Ayer's lyrical descriptions. I feel he is a poet. I feel his soul through this book. For example, the way he comforts Sachiko, never lying to her that he will stay with her. It is a beautiful love story as well as a transporting guidebook to Kyoto. I am going to Japan to teach and can't wait to see Kyoto through his eyes. I encourage readers to read all of Ayers books. He has a way of observing aspects of a culture in a very short time that are both right on and romantic. He respects different cultures but is not shy about revealing his perceptions that are most of the time true. I recommend this book highly to all sensitive armchair travelers as well as for people who are just interested in Japan. I think I am a little jealous of Sachiko. They say it is better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all. And I think she was truly in love. This is one observation that Pico Ayer kept to himself
June 22, 2011
Pico's ever-mirthful mom was my first Sanskrit teacher, from whom he inherited his bemused eyes and a certain lilt of the voice. So, I was destined, perhaps, to read all his works. However, the primary reason I read this book is because, like Pico, I too became serious about a Japanese woman.
Yet, like Pico, I had, in the course of my studies of Japanese classics, become filled with many romanticized and (to contemporary Japanese tastes) quaint images and assumptions concerning Japan.
Like Pico, one learns that if one attempts to impress most contemporary Japanese with the degree to which one is steeped in their classics, their eyes will begin to glaze over--although very politely, and they will say something like, "O! You are more Japanese than I am!" They will typically be more interested in Disney characters or American rock.
Pico's characteristic attention to the ironic ways in which Japanese realities explode romanticised images provides valuable lessons not only in cross-cultural (mis)understandings, but more specifically, in cross-cultural relationships.
Yet, like Pico, I had, in the course of my studies of Japanese classics, become filled with many romanticized and (to contemporary Japanese tastes) quaint images and assumptions concerning Japan.
Like Pico, one learns that if one attempts to impress most contemporary Japanese with the degree to which one is steeped in their classics, their eyes will begin to glaze over--although very politely, and they will say something like, "O! You are more Japanese than I am!" They will typically be more interested in Disney characters or American rock.
Pico's characteristic attention to the ironic ways in which Japanese realities explode romanticised images provides valuable lessons not only in cross-cultural (mis)understandings, but more specifically, in cross-cultural relationships.
October 27, 2011
I have a dreadful habit of starting books never to get around to finishing them, but decided to finish all the books I have started this year before Jan 1st rolls by, which is why I picked up this book again.
Having put it aside for a couple of months I found it more enjoyable when picking up the second half of the story, but it still left a lot wanting. My older brother (who is the person who first suggested I go to Japan to work) has read it and apparently been to see the monk written about early in the story. It has been recommended to me by others since, and it is supposedly a classic on Japan. Although I do think Iyer gains some knowledge and sensitivity to Japan as the book goes on and he offers some interesting insight, I found it told me more about Western men who are drawn to and often settle here, than about anything else.
The book follows Iyer through 4 seasons spent in Kyoto, initially in pursuit of Zen Buddhism. However, he soon meets a Japanese lady in her early 30's, married (unhappily it would seem) with 2 children, and she becomes the main focus of the story and with his infatuation with Japan. Whilst acknowledging their difficulty in communicating, both with limited knowledge of each other language, he somehow comes to believe that he knows more about her than she does about herself. His comments however, both about this woman, and Japan in general, seem to be both somewhat insightful, and extremely superficial. But perhaps what irked me most was the feeling that he believed himself to be somehow rescuing Sachiko from the tedious life of obligation and boredom to which her role as wife and mother in Japan confined her to. I also found the way he rendered her broken English to be grating and didn't ring true to how Japanese speakers use English. (Or perhaps she was mixing Japanese and English and he was translated too literally she Japanese she used.)
Anyway, as I live in Japan and married a Japanese man, which Iyer seems to feel is the worst possible fate which could befall any woman, I guess I could go on for a long time about this book. I suspect men are more likely to identify with Iyer's story than women are. Although he does write well, his prose is full of stereotypes and western paternalism, which somehow presumes it knows best what everyone needs.
Having put it aside for a couple of months I found it more enjoyable when picking up the second half of the story, but it still left a lot wanting. My older brother (who is the person who first suggested I go to Japan to work) has read it and apparently been to see the monk written about early in the story. It has been recommended to me by others since, and it is supposedly a classic on Japan. Although I do think Iyer gains some knowledge and sensitivity to Japan as the book goes on and he offers some interesting insight, I found it told me more about Western men who are drawn to and often settle here, than about anything else.
The book follows Iyer through 4 seasons spent in Kyoto, initially in pursuit of Zen Buddhism. However, he soon meets a Japanese lady in her early 30's, married (unhappily it would seem) with 2 children, and she becomes the main focus of the story and with his infatuation with Japan. Whilst acknowledging their difficulty in communicating, both with limited knowledge of each other language, he somehow comes to believe that he knows more about her than she does about herself. His comments however, both about this woman, and Japan in general, seem to be both somewhat insightful, and extremely superficial. But perhaps what irked me most was the feeling that he believed himself to be somehow rescuing Sachiko from the tedious life of obligation and boredom to which her role as wife and mother in Japan confined her to. I also found the way he rendered her broken English to be grating and didn't ring true to how Japanese speakers use English. (Or perhaps she was mixing Japanese and English and he was translated too literally she Japanese she used.)
Anyway, as I live in Japan and married a Japanese man, which Iyer seems to feel is the worst possible fate which could befall any woman, I guess I could go on for a long time about this book. I suspect men are more likely to identify with Iyer's story than women are. Although he does write well, his prose is full of stereotypes and western paternalism, which somehow presumes it knows best what everyone needs.
February 20, 2013
it's generally understood in Japan-specialist circles that books on Japan, and indeed Japanese authored fiction, generally fall into two categories: the books on the illusion of Japan (1) or the books on the gritty reality (2). it's considered a mark of taste to prefer the latter; you are 'daring,' 'hard,' 'tough,' perhaps 'manic,' 'mean,' 'cool,' or 'strict' to find, review, read, enjoy the underbelly stories; the stories about criminals, drug-use, beatings, the underclass, the poor, the weak, rather than "the beautiful cherry blossoms of Japan, and how they swirled around me as I navigated the mists climbing the hill to the whoppermill castle, upon which I spied the first glint of an autumn approaching, samurai, sumo, geisha, My Japan." (bwahahahah) the difference exists as well for Japanese writers on Japan: Ryu versus Haruki Murakami, Mishima Yukio vs. Banana Yoshimoto, Tanizaki and Dazai and to some degree Soseki versus a thousand lesser known writers who time and historical opinion have confined, duly, to the dustbin.
Conde Nast's printed review at the beginning of Lady and Monk seems to capture Pico Iyer's achievement best:
for what Iyer is attempting--the cherry blossoms and sweeping autumn leaves swirling around temples and Zen contemplation of Kyoto, as I begin to meet more and more regularly with a thirty-year old married woman who seems to be afraid to unfold her wings and let fly--he has achieved all that is possible for this task. but since he belongs to the school (1) of Japan, the elevation of the illusion, the obsession with the love side of the love-power equation, his work is necessarily limited, and he fails to excite a genuine breakthrough in J-literature, even as he undoubtedly manages to charm ten of thousands of readers and create a boy's romance story.
Iyer's book seems to move from an Indian's philosophical approach to a British realist over the course of the travelogue, but while his clear lucid prose invites entry into his more read 'Video Nights in Katmandu,' it's also clear that his talent does not lie in the island country. the work deserves its repute as a solid piece of craftsmanship and a welcome addition to J-lit, but it is not groundbreaking and it is not bold. the clash between Indian upbringing, Oxonian manners, California in-knowledge, and the setting of Japanese austerity is at times lyrical, but there's no especial reason to make this a book you pack into a steamer case when you switch countries--it's fine to know it exists in public libraries across the developed countries, but never something to invest in terms of the weight-meaning tradeoff when you're on rails or carrying a rucksack.
earns points for skill of writing, for Iyer's extremely well-read background and philosophical readings at Oxford (by which we gain some of the Derrida-post-structuralist tradeoff against Japan's empire of no-meaning-- Barthes was it?), wins points that Iyer knows his limits and doesn't go past, but belongs to the category of foreigner who one generaly leaves to their own take. a pretty work.
A bold deconstruction, but as about as a non-speaker can get into interpreting the Japanese world. And yet Iyer married a Japanese woman, so who can plumb the mysteries of this 200 IQ double Harvard- Oxford grad and world traveler? Lady and the Monk is redeemed, partially, by musings on both obscure and well-known Zen thinkers, existentialists, Jewish New York philosophists and -ers, and his characterization of the "in-out" cycle of airport-driven life is spot on, but it's hard to escape the feeling that he would have benefited from more language acquisition before his foray, and it's not clear Iyer really "gets" the heart of the story he attempted. plus points: lucid prose, some ability to minimalism where appropriate, emotionally fine-tuned scenes; negative: a tourist's eye superficial look at Japan, little appreciation of the inside dynamic.
14 March 2013
what a difference a month makes. reading Lady and the Monk LATM right next to Speed Tribes, I kept noticing how much Iyer was a) superficial b) non-speaker c) uncool d) a fuzzy focus romanticism liar. well, all those judgments may still hold true. but I've liberalized.
maybe we do need these gossamer-spinners, these illusionists and crafters. in a world of so much harshness, pollution, poison, factory wasteland, somebody creates a myth about japan, and then starts to believe it?
and Iyer gets points because he saw the edge of religious interest that presaged Japan; whereas Crichton and Clancy in 1991 had entirely different takes on the country?
i guess I will write more later, but suffice to say, I accept a 4/5 rating. Iyer is a myth-weaver, and these judments may still hold true... but that is what it is.
Conde Nast's printed review at the beginning of Lady and Monk seems to capture Pico Iyer's achievement best:
Iyers get as deep into the Japanese soul as a perceptive foreigner can...a love story unique in the annals of travel writing.
for what Iyer is attempting--the cherry blossoms and sweeping autumn leaves swirling around temples and Zen contemplation of Kyoto, as I begin to meet more and more regularly with a thirty-year old married woman who seems to be afraid to unfold her wings and let fly--he has achieved all that is possible for this task. but since he belongs to the school (1) of Japan, the elevation of the illusion, the obsession with the love side of the love-power equation, his work is necessarily limited, and he fails to excite a genuine breakthrough in J-literature, even as he undoubtedly manages to charm ten of thousands of readers and create a boy's romance story.
Iyer's book seems to move from an Indian's philosophical approach to a British realist over the course of the travelogue, but while his clear lucid prose invites entry into his more read 'Video Nights in Katmandu,' it's also clear that his talent does not lie in the island country. the work deserves its repute as a solid piece of craftsmanship and a welcome addition to J-lit, but it is not groundbreaking and it is not bold. the clash between Indian upbringing, Oxonian manners, California in-knowledge, and the setting of Japanese austerity is at times lyrical, but there's no especial reason to make this a book you pack into a steamer case when you switch countries--it's fine to know it exists in public libraries across the developed countries, but never something to invest in terms of the weight-meaning tradeoff when you're on rails or carrying a rucksack.
earns points for skill of writing, for Iyer's extremely well-read background and philosophical readings at Oxford (by which we gain some of the Derrida-post-structuralist tradeoff against Japan's empire of no-meaning-- Barthes was it?), wins points that Iyer knows his limits and doesn't go past, but belongs to the category of foreigner who one generaly leaves to their own take. a pretty work.
These sunny, baffling sentiments were everywhere in Japan--on T-shirts, carrier bags, and photo albums--rhyming, in their way, with the relentlessly chirpy voices that serenaded one on elevators, buses, and trains; it did not take a Roland Barthes to identify Japan as an Empire of Signs. These snippets of nonsense poetry were also, of course, the first and easiest target most foreigners in Japan, since they were often almost the only signs in English, and absurd: creamers called Creep, Noise snacks that came in different colors, pet cases known as Effem...Every newly arrived foreigner could become an instant sociologist...- Iyer, p. 220
A bold deconstruction, but as about as a non-speaker can get into interpreting the Japanese world. And yet Iyer married a Japanese woman, so who can plumb the mysteries of this 200 IQ double Harvard- Oxford grad and world traveler? Lady and the Monk is redeemed, partially, by musings on both obscure and well-known Zen thinkers, existentialists, Jewish New York philosophists and -ers, and his characterization of the "in-out" cycle of airport-driven life is spot on, but it's hard to escape the feeling that he would have benefited from more language acquisition before his foray, and it's not clear Iyer really "gets" the heart of the story he attempted. plus points: lucid prose, some ability to minimalism where appropriate, emotionally fine-tuned scenes; negative: a tourist's eye superficial look at Japan, little appreciation of the inside dynamic.
14 March 2013
what a difference a month makes. reading Lady and the Monk LATM right next to Speed Tribes, I kept noticing how much Iyer was a) superficial b) non-speaker c) uncool d) a fuzzy focus romanticism liar. well, all those judgments may still hold true. but I've liberalized.
maybe we do need these gossamer-spinners, these illusionists and crafters. in a world of so much harshness, pollution, poison, factory wasteland, somebody creates a myth about japan, and then starts to believe it?
and Iyer gets points because he saw the edge of religious interest that presaged Japan; whereas Crichton and Clancy in 1991 had entirely different takes on the country?
i guess I will write more later, but suffice to say, I accept a 4/5 rating. Iyer is a myth-weaver, and these judments may still hold true... but that is what it is.
July 5, 2016
There is lucidity in Iyer's writing that flows with onset of autumn in Kyoto. At places the prose is poetic and draws you in. Iyer hasn't held back his perception of the place and his philosophy. His self deprecation cannot be pitied for long as it morphs to thinly veiled racism. Its a journey where his thought process changes progressively as Japan stops being an illusion.
To an extent this non-fiction further motivated me to check out Japan and the beauty it has to offer. Yes, Iyer goes for a cliched perspective of the place and its people but isn't that sometimes nice to have an optimistic view of a beautiful country? Like every other country Japan has its own set of issues and problems but why ignore all the beauty it has to offer and concentrate on everything that's going wrong.
Having lived as an outsider in Japan, I cannot understand why there is a gaping hole in Iyer's view of the places he visited. He doesn't talk about culture or its history which Japanese (or any one for that matter) are very proud off. This lack of attention to things around him let me down the most.
This isn't west meet east stuff. Its east meets far east. Iyer's own conflict in his personal philosophy further gets muddied when he walks the lanes of Kyoto.
It's good book and Iyer writes very well. But after living in Japan, it changed my perspective of the book.
To an extent this non-fiction further motivated me to check out Japan and the beauty it has to offer. Yes, Iyer goes for a cliched perspective of the place and its people but isn't that sometimes nice to have an optimistic view of a beautiful country? Like every other country Japan has its own set of issues and problems but why ignore all the beauty it has to offer and concentrate on everything that's going wrong.
Having lived as an outsider in Japan, I cannot understand why there is a gaping hole in Iyer's view of the places he visited. He doesn't talk about culture or its history which Japanese (or any one for that matter) are very proud off. This lack of attention to things around him let me down the most.
This isn't west meet east stuff. Its east meets far east. Iyer's own conflict in his personal philosophy further gets muddied when he walks the lanes of Kyoto.
It's good book and Iyer writes very well. But after living in Japan, it changed my perspective of the book.
February 16, 2014
“Her feelings were so strong, and her opportunities for releasing them so limited, that they came out in torrents, poured into the unlikeliest of vessels. One of them was me.”
Pico Iyer had long had a fascination with Japan and their culture. In the mid 80's he set out to live for a year in a monastery, exploring Zen Buddhism and the culture of Kyoto. But then he met Sachiko. To this housewife with two busy children and a distant husband, Pico appeared exotic and full of freedom - and little by little she begins to dream of a different life.
Their relationship is fraught with misunderstandings, cultural faux pas, and shyness. Truth is hard to find - are they agreeing, or is Shachiko being self-effacing? Should he encourage her to follow her dreams, or to stay true to her family and her culture?
Meanwhile, Pico is exploring Kyoto and the surrounding area. He converses with monks, meets with other tourists, and observes the changing culture. He is fascinated by the clash of the high-tech, high pressure corporate culture and the softer, slower lives of the monks.
This is a touching book and much of his writing is almost poetic. I loved it on a lot of different levels, and I will definitely seek out more of Iyer's writing.
Pico Iyer had long had a fascination with Japan and their culture. In the mid 80's he set out to live for a year in a monastery, exploring Zen Buddhism and the culture of Kyoto. But then he met Sachiko. To this housewife with two busy children and a distant husband, Pico appeared exotic and full of freedom - and little by little she begins to dream of a different life.
Their relationship is fraught with misunderstandings, cultural faux pas, and shyness. Truth is hard to find - are they agreeing, or is Shachiko being self-effacing? Should he encourage her to follow her dreams, or to stay true to her family and her culture?
Meanwhile, Pico is exploring Kyoto and the surrounding area. He converses with monks, meets with other tourists, and observes the changing culture. He is fascinated by the clash of the high-tech, high pressure corporate culture and the softer, slower lives of the monks.
This is a touching book and much of his writing is almost poetic. I loved it on a lot of different levels, and I will definitely seek out more of Iyer's writing.
January 5, 2012
I read this shortly after I started dating my boyfriend, because he was writing a paper that needed to reference it. I had actually just read Sei Shongon's Pillow Book, and the comparison that the author made internal to his book was completely terrible. Awful, totally missed the point, and may not have even read the treasured classic. Perhaps the cliff-notes. Total disregard for the nuances of the history and culture around him.
What I drew from this book was that the author may in fact be a terrible person. It's hard to know without meeting him personally, but from this book all I really got was, he's a self-centered, self-hating, egomanical person who makes poor life decisions that hurt most of the people around him. Pretty sexist, racist (maybe bigoted?) and not a very good writer. There were a few passages that stood out beautifully--which only made me wonder if he'd really written them himself. He actually visited my boyfriend's lecture class and spoke at a campus-wide assembly, and they were quite repelled by his bearing and comments as well.
Despite that my boyfriend's paper was excellent. Mostly because (as I recall) he (politely) pointed out some of this in it. It was a lovely paper-writing visit, and for that reason alone will I even admit that I read this book. Most of the time I wanted to shout at the pages over what a self-justifying moron he was.
What I drew from this book was that the author may in fact be a terrible person. It's hard to know without meeting him personally, but from this book all I really got was, he's a self-centered, self-hating, egomanical person who makes poor life decisions that hurt most of the people around him. Pretty sexist, racist (maybe bigoted?) and not a very good writer. There were a few passages that stood out beautifully--which only made me wonder if he'd really written them himself. He actually visited my boyfriend's lecture class and spoke at a campus-wide assembly, and they were quite repelled by his bearing and comments as well.
Despite that my boyfriend's paper was excellent. Mostly because (as I recall) he (politely) pointed out some of this in it. It was a lovely paper-writing visit, and for that reason alone will I even admit that I read this book. Most of the time I wanted to shout at the pages over what a self-justifying moron he was.
February 24, 2015
A friend I greatly respect recommended this book as one of his favorites. He loaned his book to me with the knowledge that many friends never return it. He dutifully goes out to replace the copy, happy he has shared it with them. Perhaps it is because I am entangled in Japanese culture through my husband, but I did not like Iyer's descriptions of Japan. His complete absence from the narrative left a gaping hole in his constant, and haphazard, observations of Japan. The story zig-zagged in an incoherent path between Zen-idealism, Sachiko-love/patronizing, and sensational images of cliche Japan. Part Japanophile, part judging outsider, I often resented Iyer's observations. I also became incredibly bored with his narrative, losing track of his point. This is a highly acclaimed book by critics and friends, but I did not enjoy it. I hope the book by the same author I bought my step father is better!
February 24, 2018
I am not here for Pico Iyer’s sexist imperialist writing, his judgments and appropriations of Japan and it’s people, or his part in having an affair with a married woman, and emotionally cheating with her while at the same time neglecting her feelings and being absolute garbage in his handling of women in general. I hate this book and all that it entails. If you want a better idea of Japan’s scenery and culture, I would recommend looking elsewhere.
March 30, 2021
This book was first published in 92. But there are still so many facets of Japan that I recognise. I didn't realise at first that this was a true story (something I've done before) but the fact that this story is told through the author's own eyes and all about his own experiences makes it all the more readable. People keep referring to Pico Iyer as an 'astute observer' whenever you read reviews. But it's true. And he is, but with such effortless poeticism. Loved this read. Would recommend to anyone who has spent a little or a lot or time in Japan. Or just anyone really.
September 14, 2023
I found this book a week before I was supposed to travel to Japan, and I ended up taking it with me. It was the one of the best bookish decisions I have made in my life.
Pico's book is an account that saccades between travelogue and memoir, set against a year in Kyoto where he had gone to pick up the tenets of Zen philosophy but ended up losing his heart to Sachiko, his now wife. Walking the streets of Kyoto carrying this in my bag, and reading passages from it as I sat in front of a window that looked upon the city; the emotional bond of that itself immediately inflated my sense of this book. But on top of that, it featured some breathtaking moments of romance, ones that could put Yash Raj Films to shame.
I was reading other reviews on Goodreads and I was surprised to find that other readers found it pretentious and unbearable, more on account of how they perceived Pico. I am not aware of how he is in person so I am glad that I did not colour my reading with that impression. I mean, what is pretentious about this sentiment of falling in love - "Somehow the world has misted over as we talk, and time and space are gone: the world, I think, begins and ends on this small bench. And as we sit there, sometimes with her dainty pink umbrella unfurled, sometimes not, I pointing to the yellow trees, or the blue in the sky...".
The book may have its failings, both, in the Zen part of it, that sounds heavy-handed and at times, like a diary entry gone too far, and also in the complicated morality of Pico falling for a married woman, but I found it, despite all, to be a touching account of the tiny little things that make you fall for someone. I am not one to feel a pang of romance when I read books but at many places in this book, I found myself touched by the overwhelming romance of it all.
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Taking this book with me and reading it as I traveled through Japan was one of my better bookish decisions. Pico's writing, particularly in the sections covering his romance with Sachiko actually had me aching and pining in places. A solid 5 stars from my end.
Pico's book is an account that saccades between travelogue and memoir, set against a year in Kyoto where he had gone to pick up the tenets of Zen philosophy but ended up losing his heart to Sachiko, his now wife. Walking the streets of Kyoto carrying this in my bag, and reading passages from it as I sat in front of a window that looked upon the city; the emotional bond of that itself immediately inflated my sense of this book. But on top of that, it featured some breathtaking moments of romance, ones that could put Yash Raj Films to shame.
I was reading other reviews on Goodreads and I was surprised to find that other readers found it pretentious and unbearable, more on account of how they perceived Pico. I am not aware of how he is in person so I am glad that I did not colour my reading with that impression. I mean, what is pretentious about this sentiment of falling in love - "Somehow the world has misted over as we talk, and time and space are gone: the world, I think, begins and ends on this small bench. And as we sit there, sometimes with her dainty pink umbrella unfurled, sometimes not, I pointing to the yellow trees, or the blue in the sky...".
The book may have its failings, both, in the Zen part of it, that sounds heavy-handed and at times, like a diary entry gone too far, and also in the complicated morality of Pico falling for a married woman, but I found it, despite all, to be a touching account of the tiny little things that make you fall for someone. I am not one to feel a pang of romance when I read books but at many places in this book, I found myself touched by the overwhelming romance of it all.
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Taking this book with me and reading it as I traveled through Japan was one of my better bookish decisions. Pico's writing, particularly in the sections covering his romance with Sachiko actually had me aching and pining in places. A solid 5 stars from my end.
June 27, 2013
The Lady and the Monk is an enjoyable, well-written discussion of the author's time in Kyoto, most of which centers around the Zen Buddhist scene and his ambiguous relationship with a married Japanese woman named Sachiko.
As a longtime foreign resident of Asia I found many familiar themes in his stories, many of which center around how it feels to be out of place and the types of relationships one forms in those situations.
The digressions into Buddhism and the character sketches of the monks and local expats were very well done. I can't say that the author's relationship with Sachiko were poorly done. In fact, I think their time together formed some of the most well-written scenes in the novel. However, and perhaps this reflects the real-life nature of their interactions, I felt that Sachiko and Pico's relationship never really makes a whole lot of sense, which creates for a somewhat frustrating narrative. I guess that's life.
However, I think Iyer does quite a good job at drawing out this ambiguity and guessing at the motivations behind Sachiko's initially mysterious interest in him. Many of what you might call classic Japanese personality traits are also explored in a nuanced and sensitive way.
For those who are into Japan or enjoy travel literature, I think this is well worth the time.
As a longtime foreign resident of Asia I found many familiar themes in his stories, many of which center around how it feels to be out of place and the types of relationships one forms in those situations.
The digressions into Buddhism and the character sketches of the monks and local expats were very well done. I can't say that the author's relationship with Sachiko were poorly done. In fact, I think their time together formed some of the most well-written scenes in the novel. However, and perhaps this reflects the real-life nature of their interactions, I felt that Sachiko and Pico's relationship never really makes a whole lot of sense, which creates for a somewhat frustrating narrative. I guess that's life.
However, I think Iyer does quite a good job at drawing out this ambiguity and guessing at the motivations behind Sachiko's initially mysterious interest in him. Many of what you might call classic Japanese personality traits are also explored in a nuanced and sensitive way.
For those who are into Japan or enjoy travel literature, I think this is well worth the time.
did-not-finish
October 12, 2013Read to about the half-way point, then abandoned, so no star rating.
The quality of the writing here is excellent, and if I had not lived in Japan for three years, and if I were interested in Eastern spirituality and Zen, I would probably have been more interested in Iyer's combination travelogue/memoir. But having lived there, what was once perhaps enticingly mysterious is no longer so to me; this, combined with my utter lack of interest in religion and spirituality, resulted in a fitful, restless read, one that I eventually put aside.
The quality of the writing here is excellent, and if I had not lived in Japan for three years, and if I were interested in Eastern spirituality and Zen, I would probably have been more interested in Iyer's combination travelogue/memoir. But having lived there, what was once perhaps enticingly mysterious is no longer so to me; this, combined with my utter lack of interest in religion and spirituality, resulted in a fitful, restless read, one that I eventually put aside.
July 20, 2017
I read this to get some insight on Kyoto which I will be visiting soon. This is an autobiographical story about the author's year in Kyoto and his relationship with a woman there. He talks a lot about woman's place in Japanese society. This is, of course, only one person's opinion but it is worth reading and provides insight that you may not find elsewhere.
It is very well written and makes many references to poems, paintings, and literature -- most of which I was familiar with -- but not all.
It is an autobiography so you may get tired of reading the story of one person.
It is very well written and makes many references to poems, paintings, and literature -- most of which I was familiar with -- but not all.
It is an autobiography so you may get tired of reading the story of one person.
December 16, 2021
Some gorgeous and evocative writing, but ultimately I felt this book wasn't genuine. While the author pretends to be exploring Zen Buddhism, he's actually having a delicate but unquestionably adulterous affair.
Since the book was written in the nineties, I also felt some of its observations on Japanese culture were dated. Not that this is the author's fault, of course. One can't expect prescience. However, my own travels in Japan, more recently, seem to contradict some of his generalizations.
Since the book was written in the nineties, I also felt some of its observations on Japanese culture were dated. Not that this is the author's fault, of course. One can't expect prescience. However, my own travels in Japan, more recently, seem to contradict some of his generalizations.
May 31, 2016
I'm a fan of the author, but this slow travelogue is not working for me at the moment. About 20% done, I find myself reluctant to pick it back up, so I'll shelf it on my DNF pile, fully expecting that I'll revisit it some day in the future when I'm more in the mood for a meditative reflection of life in Japan.
July 4, 2011
if i tell you that this book convinced me to never ever pick up another "travel" book again, would you get an idea what i thought of it?
May 18, 2013
This book is pure drivel.
July 18, 2020
Disclaimer - I kept phasing in and out throughout the one and a half months that I took to read this book (yikes!). How much does it affect my review remains to be contested. Nonetheless, I kept marking lines that I liked (which I have started recently to compile in Markdown notes for every book that I read) and thus, I would make every effort to do justice with the author's work.
This was one of my purchases from the Blossom Book House and my first book by Pico Iyer. I was not even aware of his name before this but thanks to my dearest friend who suggested me to pick one of his books and this one coincidentally comes at a time when connecting the laid out dots of my life leads to the land of mystique. First of all, the author did a remarkable job of penning down the observations objectively and not induce his foreigner bias in his interpretation. His analytical tone combined with philosophical intonation was a breath of fresh air in the world of travel writing. He does not only states what he sees but also delves into the history, the temporal changes leading to the present and future Japan is heading towards. His remarkable diction and atmospheric writing is a treat to literati.
The book is divided into four seasons (as is the subtitle) - Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer. It follows the journey of the author in Japan, landing in the city of temple 'Kyoto' to exploring the lights and shadows of this country whose source of magic realism remains elusive to the outsiders. Though Pico and a Japanese housewife Sachiko, who knows way more than what anyone can expect from a traditional woman and has spent her whole life in adhering to the confinement of customs, are the protagonists of the book, he also introduces several characters with varied quirks and virtues. Through an elaborate enigma of interpersonal relationships, the author beautifully portrays the irony of the land that is fast propelling into the future while still withholding the constraints imposed on its fairer sex. Not only this, he boldly uncovers some crucial aspects of this multi-dimensional society that is meticulously hidden from the outside world and only felt while living through the experience.
Reading through this book, one realizes there couldn't have been a more appropriate title that wraps up his experience and one is compelled to think how others' interpretation could be anything else. Pico frequently talks about 'cause and effect' and make an effort to find out why something is the way it is. With the curiosity of a child, apprehensions of a shy adult, and maturity of a zen monk (which he continuously seeks), Pico takes us on an eye-opening ride equipped with a vast amount of facts and fiction which is the reflection of his own expanse of knowledge. 'The Lady and The Monk' is a captivating book in its entirety which unravels with incredible grace and prudence.
This was one of my purchases from the Blossom Book House and my first book by Pico Iyer. I was not even aware of his name before this but thanks to my dearest friend who suggested me to pick one of his books and this one coincidentally comes at a time when connecting the laid out dots of my life leads to the land of mystique. First of all, the author did a remarkable job of penning down the observations objectively and not induce his foreigner bias in his interpretation. His analytical tone combined with philosophical intonation was a breath of fresh air in the world of travel writing. He does not only states what he sees but also delves into the history, the temporal changes leading to the present and future Japan is heading towards. His remarkable diction and atmospheric writing is a treat to literati.
The book is divided into four seasons (as is the subtitle) - Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer. It follows the journey of the author in Japan, landing in the city of temple 'Kyoto' to exploring the lights and shadows of this country whose source of magic realism remains elusive to the outsiders. Though Pico and a Japanese housewife Sachiko, who knows way more than what anyone can expect from a traditional woman and has spent her whole life in adhering to the confinement of customs, are the protagonists of the book, he also introduces several characters with varied quirks and virtues. Through an elaborate enigma of interpersonal relationships, the author beautifully portrays the irony of the land that is fast propelling into the future while still withholding the constraints imposed on its fairer sex. Not only this, he boldly uncovers some crucial aspects of this multi-dimensional society that is meticulously hidden from the outside world and only felt while living through the experience.
Reading through this book, one realizes there couldn't have been a more appropriate title that wraps up his experience and one is compelled to think how others' interpretation could be anything else. Pico frequently talks about 'cause and effect' and make an effort to find out why something is the way it is. With the curiosity of a child, apprehensions of a shy adult, and maturity of a zen monk (which he continuously seeks), Pico takes us on an eye-opening ride equipped with a vast amount of facts and fiction which is the reflection of his own expanse of knowledge. 'The Lady and The Monk' is a captivating book in its entirety which unravels with incredible grace and prudence.
November 11, 2024
It was better than my expectations, it’s not a travel literature at all, it really illustrates how life is in Japan and helps us to understand the differences. Now on to A Beginners guide to Japan.
November 24, 2025
(november 2025)
it took me a month to read ‘the lady and the monk’, not because i didn’t like it, but partly because i was primarily reading it on my commute to work (having relegated nights to gaming these days) - and partly because this is truly a book to be savoured, like an exquisite cup of tea during a ritual tea ceremony.
having read ‘autumn light’ before this (very much like what i did half a decade ago!), it was fascinating to return to a decades-younger pico iyer - the lengthier, vibrant prose here betraying his youthful passion compared to his pared-down writing at an older age. in ‘the lady and the monk’, pico iyer outlines snippets of his life over a year - four seasons - in kyoto. ostensibly, he arrives in the ancient former capital of japan to learn and walk the ways of buddhism and to soak in what makes japan ‘japan’, but as “one could not plan epiphanies any more than one could plan surprise visits”, he, the monk hopeful, meets a lady - sachiko, a young mum of two - one day. over the course of a year, he documents how they slowly (or quickly, depending on your interpretation) realise that they are true kindred spirits, transcending even language, and fall irrevocably in love.
there are a fair number of people who will doubtless feel ick at the fact that they develop their romance with the spectre of her largely-absent husband hanging over the room, but iyer is careful to document that their connection is mutual; as of now, he has been married sachiko (real name: hiroko, as mentioned in ‘autumn light’) for decades. even as he meditates on zen buddhism, the poetry of japanese writers against western, the role of women in japanese society in the 80s, gaijin culture and japan’s love-hate relationship with the west, iyer circles back to his relationship with sachiko again and again. their relationship is the pivot - he learns about sachiko, and through her about a country he barely knew when he first arrived, and from this he learns more about sachiko again. they meet. they wander - and wonder, as sachiko has barely been to even the neighbouring city. they talk. and they grow to love each other even more. and by the end of the book - summer has ended, and autumn has arrived, the season of farewells, just as iyer leaves japan and sachiko leaves the quintessential life she has been trapped in for years.
this is a meandering, fascinating peek into japan, best read slowly. the erudite discussions of various writers’ works aside, i won’t pretend that this is a particularly profound book / travelogue, but through its wonderfully evocative observations of kyoto’s locales and its inhabitants (local or gaijin), ‘the lady and the monk’ reignited my love for kyoto, and reminded me what courage in a little life might look like.
4 stars.
***
(10 april 2020)
Maybe it’s because of my own gaijin-fascination with Japan, but I’ve always liked reading travelogues about the country and the fresh-eyes through which different authors see Japan. I will admit that the front half of the travelogue captured me more than the latter - I liked the occasionally self-deprecating wide-eyed idealism that Pico Iyer seems Japan through, and his accounts especially of Sachiko (who is, I gather, his now-wife Hiroko) and her undaunted spirit and longing to see beyond her roles as mother-wife-daughter. I was a little confused following the section on Autumn - the chapters had themes/ main ideas, but I couldn’t quite how they all fit together at times, and the sections on Zen philosophy especially threw me off since I’m not the least familiar. It was however a quiet, soothing read, not the best for a time like this but something I still enjoyed
- I thought I’d be more disturbed by Pico Iyer’s accounts of his relationship with Sachiko/ Hiroko, since at that point they hadn’t been married, but I was really drawn in to her story. In some ways, I do see a little of myself in her. Maybe that’s why.
and finally, it began to rain, pittering and pattering on all the flimsy roofs and walls.
"shito-shito," said Joe softly. "and goro-goro for thunder. za-za for heavy rain. pica-pica for starlight. you don't have words for these things. just sounds, man, perfect sounds." and i thought how well you could always hear rain here, on wooden walls and roofs, in every japanese poem and home.”
it took me a month to read ‘the lady and the monk’, not because i didn’t like it, but partly because i was primarily reading it on my commute to work (having relegated nights to gaming these days) - and partly because this is truly a book to be savoured, like an exquisite cup of tea during a ritual tea ceremony.
having read ‘autumn light’ before this (very much like what i did half a decade ago!), it was fascinating to return to a decades-younger pico iyer - the lengthier, vibrant prose here betraying his youthful passion compared to his pared-down writing at an older age. in ‘the lady and the monk’, pico iyer outlines snippets of his life over a year - four seasons - in kyoto. ostensibly, he arrives in the ancient former capital of japan to learn and walk the ways of buddhism and to soak in what makes japan ‘japan’, but as “one could not plan epiphanies any more than one could plan surprise visits”, he, the monk hopeful, meets a lady - sachiko, a young mum of two - one day. over the course of a year, he documents how they slowly (or quickly, depending on your interpretation) realise that they are true kindred spirits, transcending even language, and fall irrevocably in love.
there are a fair number of people who will doubtless feel ick at the fact that they develop their romance with the spectre of her largely-absent husband hanging over the room, but iyer is careful to document that their connection is mutual; as of now, he has been married sachiko (real name: hiroko, as mentioned in ‘autumn light’) for decades. even as he meditates on zen buddhism, the poetry of japanese writers against western, the role of women in japanese society in the 80s, gaijin culture and japan’s love-hate relationship with the west, iyer circles back to his relationship with sachiko again and again. their relationship is the pivot - he learns about sachiko, and through her about a country he barely knew when he first arrived, and from this he learns more about sachiko again. they meet. they wander - and wonder, as sachiko has barely been to even the neighbouring city. they talk. and they grow to love each other even more. and by the end of the book - summer has ended, and autumn has arrived, the season of farewells, just as iyer leaves japan and sachiko leaves the quintessential life she has been trapped in for years.
”the japanese were famous, I knew, for their delight in lacrimae rerum and for finding beauty mostly in sadness; indeed, it was ten noted that their word for "love" and their word for "grief" are homonyms - and almost synonyms too - in a culture that seems to love grief, of the wistful kind, and to grieve for love. so i was hardly surprised to learn that most of their stories were sad and that all of them ended in parting. parting was the definition of sweet sorrow here.”
this is a meandering, fascinating peek into japan, best read slowly. the erudite discussions of various writers’ works aside, i won’t pretend that this is a particularly profound book / travelogue, but through its wonderfully evocative observations of kyoto’s locales and its inhabitants (local or gaijin), ‘the lady and the monk’ reignited my love for kyoto, and reminded me what courage in a little life might look like.
4 stars.
***
(10 april 2020)
Maybe it’s because of my own gaijin-fascination with Japan, but I’ve always liked reading travelogues about the country and the fresh-eyes through which different authors see Japan. I will admit that the front half of the travelogue captured me more than the latter - I liked the occasionally self-deprecating wide-eyed idealism that Pico Iyer seems Japan through, and his accounts especially of Sachiko (who is, I gather, his now-wife Hiroko) and her undaunted spirit and longing to see beyond her roles as mother-wife-daughter. I was a little confused following the section on Autumn - the chapters had themes/ main ideas, but I couldn’t quite how they all fit together at times, and the sections on Zen philosophy especially threw me off since I’m not the least familiar. It was however a quiet, soothing read, not the best for a time like this but something I still enjoyed
- I thought I’d be more disturbed by Pico Iyer’s accounts of his relationship with Sachiko/ Hiroko, since at that point they hadn’t been married, but I was really drawn in to her story. In some ways, I do see a little of myself in her. Maybe that’s why.
February 22, 2025
Well. I think I’m not the right audience for this one. Came across as patronizing and pretentious to me. It’s sort of giving “that one girl who studied abroad and now won’t stop wearing a beret and starting every story with ‘when I was living in Europe…’”—after living in Japan for 10 weeks, Iyer visits Taiwan and feels that “coming from Kyoto—quasi-Japanese myself now—I found myself at sea abroad” (156). okay lol.
He sees every other foreigner he encounters in Japan as bumbling along, misunderstanding the culture, or having weird intentions: “most people seemed to come to Japan for Buddhism, and end up after girls or cash” (285). But he seems to think himself entirely above this cliche, even as he passes his days with his married girlfriend that he treats like a child—describing her as “lovely, elegant Sachiko: Sachiko, in her teenager’s high-tops, keeping a picture of Sting in her wallet and sometimes losing sleep over him—a thirty-year-old girl with daydreams” (91), or more explicitly as a “thirty-year-old teenager” (101); or when he claimed that “thirty-year-old Japanese had the hearts, very often, of fifteen-year-olds”, and then he found a Thai restaurant that he “bustled poor Sachiko into and ordered her a spicy chicken soup. Soon she was daintily choking over her bowl, while trying, with typical courtesy, to find something positive to say” (117). Or when she is crying to Pico after being attacked by a foreign man and Pico says "I reassured her 'Not all foreign men are terrible...' She looked at me solemnly, swallowing back tears, attentive as a chastened child" (219), or when she's upset with Pico because she has to make so many sacrifices for their relationship and he has to make none, and he says "'I know, maybe you're right. And you think my life is easy and free but yours is very hard...' A small nod, that of a little girl getting told off. 'I know, Sachiko. I know it's hard for you. Please cry if you like'" (263). Something to be said about retaining a childlike innocence, sure, but idk, kinda giving me the ick Pico!
Overall the book leans heavily into a Western savior stereotype: “Everywhere one looked in Japan, one saw an identical sorrow: so many women with so much to give, and so little occasion to use it” (296); “I wondered whether, in encouraging her to express her dreams of flight, I was falling prey to the temptation I had already noticed in some of the more softhearted of the foreigners in Japan: the urge to give the Japanese a glimpse of the world on the other side” (123). And he really sees himself as Sachiko’s Prince Charming, his presence in her life finally making her a Real Person: “And as the leaves began to fall, I really did begin to feel that something was flowering in Sachiko, as if—though I feared to say it—she really was a kind of sleeping beauty awakened by romance, or at least its distant shadow” (122).
And his stance on Zen / Buddhism for me was made clear when he described himself as an “incorrigible foreigner” determined to “bring home Zen to me by reading in Thoreau” in spite of the teachings of a rōshi that for those “coming to Zen with their minds, they were all but ensuring their failure at a discipline whose aim, after all, was to short-circuit the mind” and how it appeared to him that “the Buddhists almost seemed the Transcendentalists’ disciples” (271) (despite the Transcendentalists coming along some thousands of years later).
I don’t know a lot about the history or culture of Japan, and I don’t want to make uninformed commentary on the country’s virtues and drawbacks, or Japanese women’s roles and rights, especially in the late 80s; but Iyer’s approach feels ultimately very patronizing towards a culture that he sees to be full of “customs that we, not imprisoned by them, could afford to find enchanting” (101). Not saying his portrayal or attitude is offensive or wrong necessarily because I don’t feel qualified to say so, and not saying that the book doesn’t have merit or an eager audience—but I didn’t feel really good reading it I guess. Some pretty (if extremely wandering) writing though! Read for book club, curious to hear what others thought
okay sorry one more update: was reading a 2019 NYT review of his latest memoir about Japan, and this quote really got me: "He’s a big proponent of his own ignorance, saying he doesn’t choose to learn more than a smattering of Japanese because he needs mystery and 'a sense of open space in life, something to offset the sense of the familiar.'" - sorry but to me! that's a weird and f*cked up approach to your own wife's native and primary language!
He sees every other foreigner he encounters in Japan as bumbling along, misunderstanding the culture, or having weird intentions: “most people seemed to come to Japan for Buddhism, and end up after girls or cash” (285). But he seems to think himself entirely above this cliche, even as he passes his days with his married girlfriend that he treats like a child—describing her as “lovely, elegant Sachiko: Sachiko, in her teenager’s high-tops, keeping a picture of Sting in her wallet and sometimes losing sleep over him—a thirty-year-old girl with daydreams” (91), or more explicitly as a “thirty-year-old teenager” (101); or when he claimed that “thirty-year-old Japanese had the hearts, very often, of fifteen-year-olds”, and then he found a Thai restaurant that he “bustled poor Sachiko into and ordered her a spicy chicken soup. Soon she was daintily choking over her bowl, while trying, with typical courtesy, to find something positive to say” (117). Or when she is crying to Pico after being attacked by a foreign man and Pico says "I reassured her 'Not all foreign men are terrible...' She looked at me solemnly, swallowing back tears, attentive as a chastened child" (219), or when she's upset with Pico because she has to make so many sacrifices for their relationship and he has to make none, and he says "'I know, maybe you're right. And you think my life is easy and free but yours is very hard...' A small nod, that of a little girl getting told off. 'I know, Sachiko. I know it's hard for you. Please cry if you like'" (263). Something to be said about retaining a childlike innocence, sure, but idk, kinda giving me the ick Pico!
Overall the book leans heavily into a Western savior stereotype: “Everywhere one looked in Japan, one saw an identical sorrow: so many women with so much to give, and so little occasion to use it” (296); “I wondered whether, in encouraging her to express her dreams of flight, I was falling prey to the temptation I had already noticed in some of the more softhearted of the foreigners in Japan: the urge to give the Japanese a glimpse of the world on the other side” (123). And he really sees himself as Sachiko’s Prince Charming, his presence in her life finally making her a Real Person: “And as the leaves began to fall, I really did begin to feel that something was flowering in Sachiko, as if—though I feared to say it—she really was a kind of sleeping beauty awakened by romance, or at least its distant shadow” (122).
And his stance on Zen / Buddhism for me was made clear when he described himself as an “incorrigible foreigner” determined to “bring home Zen to me by reading in Thoreau” in spite of the teachings of a rōshi that for those “coming to Zen with their minds, they were all but ensuring their failure at a discipline whose aim, after all, was to short-circuit the mind” and how it appeared to him that “the Buddhists almost seemed the Transcendentalists’ disciples” (271) (despite the Transcendentalists coming along some thousands of years later).
I don’t know a lot about the history or culture of Japan, and I don’t want to make uninformed commentary on the country’s virtues and drawbacks, or Japanese women’s roles and rights, especially in the late 80s; but Iyer’s approach feels ultimately very patronizing towards a culture that he sees to be full of “customs that we, not imprisoned by them, could afford to find enchanting” (101). Not saying his portrayal or attitude is offensive or wrong necessarily because I don’t feel qualified to say so, and not saying that the book doesn’t have merit or an eager audience—but I didn’t feel really good reading it I guess. Some pretty (if extremely wandering) writing though! Read for book club, curious to hear what others thought
okay sorry one more update: was reading a 2019 NYT review of his latest memoir about Japan, and this quote really got me: "He’s a big proponent of his own ignorance, saying he doesn’t choose to learn more than a smattering of Japanese because he needs mystery and 'a sense of open space in life, something to offset the sense of the familiar.'" - sorry but to me! that's a weird and f*cked up approach to your own wife's native and primary language!
July 25, 2011
In the autumn of 1987, Pico Iyer begins his journey into Japan, one that would last a full cycle of seasons. Depending on the prism you choose to see it through, the book could be many things.
It could be a travelogue, though quite different from any I have read yet, and yet one that not only dispels any 'second-hand' notions (eg. the Japanese' take on Kurosawa was surprising) but also captures the nuances of a place unknown to me, in a very sensitive manner.
It could be the journey and yearning of one human being to understand and experience a culture alien to him/her. Him, from the perspective of Pico in Japan, whose original wonder and positive bias changes into a more pragmatic view as time passes, and her, from the perspective of Sanchiko, a vivacious Japanese lady with a husband and two children, whose heartfelt desire it is to escape the confines and constraints of her culture and upbringing.
It could be a glimpse into the world of Zen - its monasteries and about living in the moment, without the baggage of the past or the future.
It could be a relationship between cultures - not just east and west, as shown between the author and Sanchiko or other nuances captured through various other characters, but also within Japan itself - the free spirited Sanchiko versus her friends and family who are against this freedom she desires and wants her to just make the best of her marriage and the duties it entails.
Or it could be an elegant love story, with Japanese poetry and beautiful descriptions of nature, and in the way of Japanese, one with a poignant ending, just like the story which seems to be the inspiration for the title.
A wonderful read, and an armchair journey that has given me much to think about.
It could be a travelogue, though quite different from any I have read yet, and yet one that not only dispels any 'second-hand' notions (eg. the Japanese' take on Kurosawa was surprising) but also captures the nuances of a place unknown to me, in a very sensitive manner.
It could be the journey and yearning of one human being to understand and experience a culture alien to him/her. Him, from the perspective of Pico in Japan, whose original wonder and positive bias changes into a more pragmatic view as time passes, and her, from the perspective of Sanchiko, a vivacious Japanese lady with a husband and two children, whose heartfelt desire it is to escape the confines and constraints of her culture and upbringing.
It could be a glimpse into the world of Zen - its monasteries and about living in the moment, without the baggage of the past or the future.
It could be a relationship between cultures - not just east and west, as shown between the author and Sanchiko or other nuances captured through various other characters, but also within Japan itself - the free spirited Sanchiko versus her friends and family who are against this freedom she desires and wants her to just make the best of her marriage and the duties it entails.
Or it could be an elegant love story, with Japanese poetry and beautiful descriptions of nature, and in the way of Japanese, one with a poignant ending, just like the story which seems to be the inspiration for the title.
A wonderful read, and an armchair journey that has given me much to think about.
June 27, 2018
I had to bail out on this one. I feel as though every other memoir-in-Japan that I've read was very approachable. This particular author comes off as a pretentious name-dropper, and I wish he had spent more time reflecting on Kyoto.
Also, as the book progresses, you see the trajectory of his relationship with the married mother of two kids, and you start to feel this unease that he's horning in on someone's marriage. After checking his biography, you see how THAT turned out. Of course, I didn't FINISH the book, so I'll just hope he was respectful by the end.
Also, as the book progresses, you see the trajectory of his relationship with the married mother of two kids, and you start to feel this unease that he's horning in on someone's marriage. After checking his biography, you see how THAT turned out. Of course, I didn't FINISH the book, so I'll just hope he was respectful by the end.
January 31, 2015
I picked up a paperback copy of "The Lady and the Monk" at Bart's Books, the mostly outdoor bookstore in Ojai, California. It was a last-minute pick. Since I was planning a trip to Japan, I grabbed it on my way out without having heard of it.
I read most of it upon returning to San Francisco from Japan. Non-fiction, and more mood, than plot-driven, it is a lyrical description of a western reaction to being immersed in Kyoto and of the author's relationship with a married Japanese woman. I enjoyed it and appreciated its inclusion of philosophy, as the author struggled to understand zen.
Mr. Iyer's constant struggle with generalizations about the Japanese reminded me of my own struggles to characterize the two years I spent teaching in Mississippi. When trying to explain a different culture, I often find myself making an overboard statement, only to qualify it by an almost opposite statement. Mr. Iyer laid out fairly cleanly how one quality of a culture leads to both good and bad results, helping me to understand my own reactions.
I read most of it upon returning to San Francisco from Japan. Non-fiction, and more mood, than plot-driven, it is a lyrical description of a western reaction to being immersed in Kyoto and of the author's relationship with a married Japanese woman. I enjoyed it and appreciated its inclusion of philosophy, as the author struggled to understand zen.
Mr. Iyer's constant struggle with generalizations about the Japanese reminded me of my own struggles to characterize the two years I spent teaching in Mississippi. When trying to explain a different culture, I often find myself making an overboard statement, only to qualify it by an almost opposite statement. Mr. Iyer laid out fairly cleanly how one quality of a culture leads to both good and bad results, helping me to understand my own reactions.
September 4, 2024
Pico Iyer spends a year in Kyoto, experiencing a dichotomy of spirituality and romance, against a backdrop of ever-changing seasonal beauty of the city. His writing is pure delight, reminiscent of Zen imagery, but marred by an overload of literature references, which sends you down rabbit holes of research. He captures the essence of Kyoto’s seasons marvellously well.
His love story with Hiroko, his now-wife, is tender and poignant. As a woman that grew up in an oriental patriarchal culture, I could relate to some of the conflicts that Hiroko feels. But it was also frustrating to read Pico’s sometimes stilted analysis of those conflicts and his somewhat self-aggrandising views of his own conflicts. But overall, he reveals himself to be a sensitive, kind and gentle soul, one that perpetually seeks to view the world with fresh eyes. Good read.
His love story with Hiroko, his now-wife, is tender and poignant. As a woman that grew up in an oriental patriarchal culture, I could relate to some of the conflicts that Hiroko feels. But it was also frustrating to read Pico’s sometimes stilted analysis of those conflicts and his somewhat self-aggrandising views of his own conflicts. But overall, he reveals himself to be a sensitive, kind and gentle soul, one that perpetually seeks to view the world with fresh eyes. Good read.
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