What does the elegant nostalgia of Argentina have in common with the raffish nonchalance of Australia? And what do both these countries have in common with North Korea? They are all 'lonely places' cut off from the rest of the world by geography, ideology or sheer weirdness. And they have all attracted the attention of Pico Iyer.Whether he is documenting the cruising rites of Icelandic teenagers, being interrogated by tipsy Cuban police or summarizing the plot of Bhutan's first feature film ('a $6500 spectacular about a star-crossed couple: she dies, he throws himself on the funeral pyre, and both live happily ever after as an ox and a cow'), Iyer is always uncannily observant and acerbically funny.
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 ceremonies 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 marvellously 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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