Rating: 9/10

Something about Muriel Barbery’s writing, even in translation, is just so rich for me that it’s just a pleasure to read.

This is a short book, but it’s one that it’s worth taking time to savour. Barbery’s ideas can feel fleeting, or obscure, which I think some readers might find frustrating. I do acknowledge that her work isn’t exactly accessible. I think that’s what I like about it! It’s philosophical in tone, and when I say the ideas feel fleeting, I mean that there’s a way to read her at a surface level that might make the story feel mediocre, or not very well developed, but if you sit with her words a while, you almost taste them, and, gradually, you get the deeper messages of what she’s saying, the subtler flavours, if you will.

I know I’m talking about language as if it were food, but that’s what reading Barbery feels like, in a way. That’s why I refer to it as rich. And I think the food reference is particularly apt for this book, which is about senses, in a way: the senses of taste and smell and sight, as Rose explores Kyoto at her late father’s request, but also the sense of the self.

I really liked the description of Rose early in the book, how she hasn’t truly been living, how she hasn’t given herself up to anything. In Japan, however, all of that changes, as she allows herself to feel things as she explores beautiful temples and samples Japanese food and drink. The descriptions here are gorgeous, and make me really want to visit Japan. It’s clear Barbery really loves the country.

I also really enjoyed Rose’s journey and her relationship with Paul. The descriptions of Rose are alluring, and I could really picture her and her life before. There’s something about all the imagery in this book that’s so transfixing. The flowers, and the rain, and the maple, and the moss… I just think it’s beautiful.

I do think there’s repetition here, in terms of Rose’s journey. There’s a series of fits and starts in her opening up. While that feels kind of circular, it also feels realistic. I know some will feel like nothing happens, or like the journey she goes on feels nebulous or unsatisfying, but I do think there’s a certain brave refusal on Barbery’s part to wrap everything up neatly. She doesn’t satisfy the reader completely. Other readers might find that frustrating, or the story pointless as a result, but I enjoyed the glimpses of depth, and appreciated the depiction of difficult emotions being impossible to really explain that Barbery gives us here. How do you explain grief for a father you never knew? How is that even logical? So, Barbery choses not to close out Rose’s journey in a neat way.

This definitely isn’t as accessible a read as The Elegance of the Hedgehog, but it is more accessible than The Life of Elves. It won’t be for everyone. I think Barbery is an acquired taste anyway. I just happen to really appreciate how she writes and what she says. I didn’t love this like I loved Hedgehog, but I think this is, in some ways, a more memorable, and certainly more haunting, book, and I’m so glad I chose this to start my 2022 reading year with. I like to start each year with a really great book, and this certainly was that. It may even make my list of favourites for 2022. We shall see!

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