Garbage (The Work of the Bestselling Japanese Erotic Novel Queen)

Author: Yumiko Yamada
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: A "What do you want right now?" If you ask her, she will tell you without hesitation: "I want a bed." But the bed she refers to is not the one she used to be accustomed to, the kind that feels like a friend. That bed, covered with a heavily wrinkled blanket, has the warmth of her own body and the lingering warmth of someone else, with one arm comfortably pillow under her neck. Yet at this moment, all she wants is just a simple bed for sleeping. Has she ever used such a bed before? Even if she has, it must have been a long, long time ago. A bed for sleeping, a bed that makes one feel as if dead while lying on it, where nothing needs to be considered. But now, she genuinely wants a bed, to dive into the blanket like a dead person, feeling both comfortable and lonely. Sleeping on a bed, free from any emotional interference from others, her own emotions not being controlled by anyone. She reflects that her feelings were once like fish in water, constantly hooked by a fishing rod, always falling into traps. As soon as she saw the bait swaying, she couldn't help but bite. She has grown disillusioned with many things, recalling one by one the people and things she once cherished, her heart suddenly losing its longing. For hours, she has been in self-reflection, and everything has become a game that excites her. When she comes to her senses, she finds herself sitting on the ground, though a bed is right beside her, she cannot sleep, feeling restless. She is clearly sitting by the bed, yet she keeps murmuring, "I want a bed"—isn't that strange? However, to her, the bed beside her is not really a bed in a certain sense. Though she has always loved this warm bed, it no longer exists in her mind—it's nothing more than a large prop; and now, she is even being handcuffed to the foot of this large prop. Reading the novel Trash, one naturally thinks of the short story writer Anton Chekhov, a Russian writer. This is not because of any similarities in style or writing technique between Yamada and Chekhov, but rather because their works, like converging underground streams, run in parallel. Yamada is a highly representative modern Japanese female writer, while Chekhov was a representative Russian playwright and novelist of the second half of the 19th century. They have neither a shared era nor a similar upbringing, and their backgrounds are worlds apart. Yet, the two share more than just the pervasive melancholy that permeates their novels. They both portray characters in love, the trials of love in life, the confusion of human reason and emotions, and desires, all tinged with a kind of (unclean sorrow), revealing the interconnected threads of two distinct yet converging underground currents of differing achievements.