If I were to assign one descriptive word to this book, it would be "aimless." I mean that both in its predictable negative connotation, and another way that isn't inherently so. Barbery's tale of a young French woman who travels to Japan for the reading of her absent father's will is an exploration of patience, contemplation, and desire, all coming together in a soup of . Rose, our titular protagonist, is curiously devoid of anything much save for contemplation and desire (and, during the plot, forced patience): she sleeps, she sits and does nothing, she walks through gardens, she drinks tea, and she desires things. All we really know about her are her relationships with her late mother and grandmother, and her combined indifference and anger towards her late, practically unknown, father. This indifference comes out as she sits in the company of others and lets the world turn around her; and when she isn't doing that, or taking in the solitude of her father's home, she's enveloped by anger at her father, at her lack of direction, and at herself. Paul, a friend of her father's who was tasked with taking her to various gardens around Kyoto, is also somewhat aimless, but receives a more defined life thanks to the death of his wife, caring for his young daughter, and his business life in Tokyo. Though the walks that Paul and Rose take together are always in admittedly beautiful spaces--replete with moss, bamboo, and pruned trees--thanks to the reader's experience of life through Rose's eyes, it all feels rather emotionless. It's only when Rose actively engages with other characters that things move beyond this floating half-existence and gain a sense of life; but those scenes are few and far, leaving the reader to float along with Rose as she navigates her anger, grief, and loneliness in a new world. I'm not totally decided on how I feel about the book overall, for while it did drag, I'd also say it accurately reflects the experience of someone in the thralls of both depression and the difficult time of processing complicated family matters. There are certainly moments of beauty and life, and when those come along they're a true pleasure to encounter.

On a more concrete note, however, I don't think that Barbery did Japan very well as a living, breathing, inhabited place. The Japanese people we get to meet are noticeably limited in depth (of course, I should note that everyone is), and appear to be mere bumpers that Rose glances off of as she careens through her discomfort. Sayoko, Rose's father's housekeeper, receives only a little bit of backstory, otherwise remaining a caretaker figure who speaks broken English and changes her obi every day; and Kanto, Rose's driver, is utterly impassive and unknowable even by the end. Really, Rose only gets to know the Westerners who show up: Paul, a British woman, and a Frenchman. There is an alcoholic Japanese poet with a tragedy in his past, but he's limited to "wise" drunken statements and Paul telling Rose how sad he is. It's ultimately Rose's indifference to being in Japan, and her blatant sense of privilege (she's more likely to snap at Sayoko than thank her), that prevents the reader from getting to know anyone besides the Europeans with whom she shares kinship. But if that was a conscious choice on Barbery's part, then I'd say it was a poor one. If a novel is set in Japan, for goodness' sake leave aside the Westerners and invest in Japan's own people! OR, create a character who doesn't brush off making relationships with the Japanese in the most uppity ways possible. Making things a little worse, we also receive such comments as, "the majority of women like [Sayoko are] overwhelmed by duty, sacrifice, chores, and silence. [...] Japanese women are a light in a prison." So says the rich British businesswoman, as written by the French novelist who lived in Kyoto for two years.

Finally--and I'll point out that this is likely not Barbery's fault--the cover is just awful. It shows a dark-haired woman when Rose was described as red-haired, and a full half of the art is taken up by a really sickly green hue. Not helping matters is the title art itself, which looks like something out of WordArt, worthy only of a Large Print publication with no budget for actual cover design. Ick.

I did ultimately consider giving the book two stars, but I'll leave it at three because it bore just enough syntactical beauty and narrative interest to get me through (let's say it's a 2.5). I'll also read simply anything with gardens as a focal point. But if Barbery goes on to write more about Japan, I do hope that she chooses to connect more with the Japanese people themselves, instead of giving readers another lethargic experience of "Westerners moping in Japan."

i feel like some people would absolutely love this book! i personally could not get into it

Beaucoup de belle poésie dans ce récit. Un peu trop sentimental à mon goût mais très agréable à lire.

This was a truly beautiful little book and story. My brain struggled at first because it’s incredibly poetic and descriptive which my busy brain struggled with. But then, it took me all the way to Japan and I got sucked into its poetic story telling of grief and loss and the love that it causes to radiate of loved ones and strangers.

Some of my favourite quotes were:

- Anger is never solitary
- If your not prepared to suffer, your not prepared to live
- We walk on the roof hell. Don’t forget to look at the flowers.

Overall, it was beautiful. Initially I thought it could have been built out a bit and be a bit longer, but now I think the shortness represents the pace of loss and how your life simply continues.