A Showa-era book my husband handed me, meant to be felt, not understood

"Try reading this book. You'll feel it, it's amazing."

In the hands of my grinning husband is a paperback with the cover removed. The book is tattered, and he must have read it in the bath. The title is "Ballad 30 Songs in 1 Book." The author is Yoshio Kataoka. Published by Kadokawa Bunko. Issued in 1987. As I flip through the pages, it seems to be a collection of short stories, and the accompanying photos are all in color, which is unthinkable in this day and age. Snapshots of things just sitting there, with no emotional depth or edge, are inserted throughout.

"This is a book I read when I was in high school. I spent my time longing for this world, thinking it was so cool."

Looking at the table of contents, I ask him curiously, "If it's 30 songs in a ballad book, does that mean there are 30 stories? But there aren't 30 in the table of contents, are there?"

"That's not what it's about at all! You're supposed to feel it!"

Suddenly, my husband started stamping his feet. Watching him fidget in his summer loungewear—a white tank top and black shorts—I feel a Showa-era rural landscape rising in the background. So far, I don't feel anything from the book.

"Calling it '30 songs in 1 book' is about the atmosphere! The fact that he says 'ballad' instead of 'ballade' is part of the book's worldview!"

I can't imagine a collection of short stories that feels like 30 ballads. In the first place, I couldn't even name 30 ballads if asked. What kind of dense worldview is equivalent to 30 ballads?

Reading the table of contents, I see titles like "A Room with Three Beds," "This is a Melodrama," and "How to Choose Blue." As an editor who supports people who want to write essays, I find myself wanting to say, "Titles like these aren't likely to be read on Note." I feel a bit sad that I can't simply enjoy the work.

"When you read it, you feel the era, you feel the coolness in the characters' gestures, and you long to be an adult like that. It's not about understanding everything like you do now; it's a story you feel while reading. Showa literature has that kind of charm. It's interesting, so give it a read."

With that, my husband handed me the paperback.

My husband is 14 years older than me, so generation gaps often occur. The culture we consumed in our youth is completely different, but since it leads to new discoveries and seeds for my own creative work, I try to engage with it.

I read a few during my work break.

They are short stories that only depict the scene of a single moment. The details of the location, the types of cars, the clothing, and the characters' gestures are described in such minute detail that you can naturally feel the Showa era. The conversations between men and women are also filled with cheesy scenes and lines, the kind that would be criticized on social media today as "this drama's setting is impossible."

And the most unnatural thing is the absence of a protagonist to narrate the story. Whose perspective is it being told from? It consists only of scene descriptions and character dialogue. There is no emotion from the narrator. Or rather, perhaps the narrator isn't the protagonist. As a reader, I don't know how to process my emotions. Even so, I try to put into words in my head how I am feeling.

"Don't understand it, feel it." I've started to understand what my husband meant. Feeling the world of the story and trying to put into words how I feel—that's a very important thing when reading text.

It might not be a book that everyone would enjoy in this day and age. Would people just end it by saying, "In the end, what was that story about?" That might be a waste. I want to try writing text that is just meant to be felt, too.

The fact that this book is already out of print and can only be bought on Kindle feels a bit harsh and a waste. And I envy my husband for having cherished this book for decades, and I'm glad I fell in love with him.

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