In theory, the new annual opus of the famous Belgian writer has everything to seduce. The setting: a return full of apprehension to Japan, flanked by a photographer friend, in the bosom of the archipelago that deeply marked Nothomb and her audience (Stupor and trembling).
Enough to purge a slew of memories linked to her childhood (she was born there and spent her early years there), to her early twenties (she worked there, a traumatic experience) and to her late father, once an ambassador to Japanese lands.
The charm of the light and sensitive pen is indeed there throughout this short story. The evocations extracted from the past, especially in the last miles of the novel, are delivered on the surface. But something is missing. A varnish, a spell? In our opinion, the dose of incongruity and extravagance to which the author had accustomed us, as well as a less marked depth.
It seems to us that we are reading a slightly too descriptive travel journal whose itinerary remains arch-classical (Kyoto-Nara-Tokyo-Fuji). Of course, there are anecdotes related to this traveling companion that are on the edge of what is tolerable, as well as the writer’s personal filter placed on each of these stages. Despite everything, anyone who has made this journey is a little annoyed at having a host of details explained to them that have already been demystified at this stage.
In short, even if we idolize Japan and adore Nothomb, we have the feeling of already knowing one and not really recognizing the other. Unless those uninitiated to these two worlds find something to their liking?
The impossible return
Albin Michel
162 pages