Fifty Sounds by Polly BartonMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
This book seems like it was written by two women. Or rather, two different people inhabiting the same identity: a British woman who works as a Japanese translator. (And no, this isn't some multiple personality fiction plot, as white Fitzcarraldos are nonfiction.)
The first Polly Barton that we meet is an academic, with an undergrad degree in Philosophy and additional degrees in Sociology, not to mention advanced studies in Japanese. As if further proof is required, apart from the very scholarly tone in certain parts, all one need do is glance at the back of the book to see the Review of Related Literature -like compilation of studies and books she references. She throws around words like "naff" (uncool) and "argot" (esoteric slang). Her sentences are so polished, they gleam: "Scattered throughout the gloom I trod were little pockets of breathable air, whose existence I owed entirely to my friends." Like any proper Philosophy major, she has a bit of angst, falls in love with Wittgenstein ("My feelings of inadequacy didn't go away when I studied him, but at least I was sure he was worth feeling inadequate for" LOL), and wonders continuously about "being perfectly authentic in that moment." Her penetrating insights into the nature of all learning, and the human psyche, are many and explained in a manner both poetic and succinct.
But the second Polly is what would nowadays be called a "hot mess," as befits one who is attractive yet barely keeping it together. This hot mess is in her early twenties, falls in love with both men and women, undergoes therapy, and suffers one heartbreak after another.
In this series of fifty interconnected essays (meant to be read in order, as the flow of the narrative is there), Polly begins with a title: a Japanese onomatopoeia, and its meaning. Then she proceeds to tell an anecdote from her stay in various places in Japan throughout the years: a small island in the country, then urban Tokyo and Osaka. Readers expecting a travelogue will be disappointed, as this is more of a memoir on language learning, an extended reflection on the merits of Japanese versus English, and the weaknesses of both in terms of language and the people; the society they are products of.
But for anyone who speaks more than one language, and has caught themselves marveling at how different they feel and think when code switching from one to the other, this book holds marvelous nuggets of wisdom from philosophers like Wittgenstein and other authors like Rachel Cusk. Language teachers, especially, will find much food for thought as Polly recreates the awkwardness of learning both a foreign language and culture through complete immersion.
"Languages are the building material through which our very selves are constructed," Polly writes, then shares her insecurities, self-doubt, as she went through what all of us must: finding one's place in the world, through interacting with others. "Our language is the lens through which the world is constituted for us." No wonder she went through a bit of an identity crisis, as her Japanese and English selves were being formed separately, depending on which country she was staying in at the time.
"If I've loved Japanese, I've done so because I've loved the glimpses of people I've caught through it."
This can be read as a romance. Barton falls in love, desperately, but it is forbidden and doomed (as the most epic love affairs are). There is so much pain, still, that seeps from the pages, that when she concludes this reader has to admit that the ending feels forced, that there is still a great deal of unprocessed pain and grief there, that this book tried to unpack.
All in all, a brilliant read despite the abrupt ending. But again, not for someone looking for a tour guide to physical places. Barton is a tour guide for the mind and the soul, which is arguably the more difficult job. It is one of my favorite reads from 2022!
P.S I read this book as a companion read to BABEL. You see, the R.F. Kuang epic fantasy on the magic of translation was SUCH a doorstopper, and since I couldn't bring it inside my smaller lady-like bags, I had to choose a slim paperback (thank you Polly Barton!) because to leave the house without any book is simply out of the question!
My reading of Polly Barton and R.F. Kuang blended into one cohesive unit, as did the novelization of Wittgenstein's life that I read a few months back (THE WORLD AS I FOUND IT by Bruce Duffy). But then, don't all our literary experiences inform one another and form a mix inside us? And hopefully we make a coherent whole out of all the knowledge and self-knowledge we've gained, and channel this outwards to make our little worlds better?
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