Bird Life–book review

This is a book set in Tokyo. The descriptions of the city are detailed and fabulous, from the vending machines to the ritual greetings and the culture of shopping for therapy, the tingling sounds and twinkling sights of Shinjuku, Ikebukuro, Asakura; all totally immersive. The plot (though there isn’t much of a plot, this is more psychological exploration) follows a few months in the lives of two women, Dinah and Yasuko: both of whom have fairly alarming psychosis. The narration alternates between these women, and although we are told they are very different – one is Japanese, middle-aged, charismatic; the other a dowdy kiwi not much older than the other’s son (and hold that thought) – their disconnected mental states and inability to offer any rational opinion do make them feel a bit like they speak with the same voice. They both teach English to Japanese students at the same language school and quickly become intimate friends.

There is a limit in the amount of time I want to spend with either of these women and their strangeness. They made little sense to me, like someone explaining a dream. That kind of fantasy needs real bones. Are things really happening or are they imagining them? I feel the author there, spinning, layering images where I might have liked a bit more plot, perhaps. There are lots of interesting sounding metaphors, but it got to the point I lost all enthusiasm in trying to decypher them. 

The kiwi woman, Dinah, has her twin brother return from the dead to live with her. Does she realise he is not real? She talks to him and buys him beer at the pub. Twins are interesting, I think, but often used as shorthand for a relationship with a special connection, a mythical bond we’re not allowed to challenge because, you know, twins. I couldn’t decide whether the brother was meant to be a healthy delusion or not. Did he help?

Dinah’s friend, Yasuko, has fled an abusive family life and has a horribly overbearing relationship with her son, who puts up with quite a lot before feeling too stifled. He leaves home (good move, son) when his mother has another episode with her ‘super powers’. I was confused about her super powers. They never seemed particularly super. They offered a brighter, more intense world and one-sided conversations with animals. Perhaps the animals talked back. Since McKay’s The Animals in that Country I have a soft spot for people who talk to animals, but this one was just nuts. A manic depressive? We’re given no labels for what ails either women, but a diagnosis might have elicited a bit more sympathy from me for a mother who causes a child to suffer. Yasuko’s powers included the ability to call birds, talk to insects, and summon a crowd of cats. Did it help? Who knows? Oh yes, about her son. She wants him back. Hence the unlikely friendship with the younger woman. Is she bait? Does it work? Where is it going, does it get there, and what do we want out of this story, anyway? These are big questions to which I believe a reader needs answers.

Bird Life is a heavy read; the weight is of grief and madness. The writing is certainly interesting, and though I didn’t enjoy the story I would like to read more of Anna Smaill, on an easier topic, perhaps.