Finished reading "Hunchback" by Sao Ichikawa. | Imagining the inside of a room in a novel.
I have finished reading "Hunchback" by Sao Ichikawa, the winner of the 169th Akutagawa Prize (first half of 2023).
I had been curious about it ever since it won the Akutagawa Prize, but I hadn't had the chance to pick it up until now.
In the meantime, I found "GOAT", a literary magazine I read the other day, to be very interesting, specifically the story "Oto no Shinju" (Sound Double Suicide) published in the inaugural issue, and "Aku no Roll" (Evil Roll) published in the second issue, so I couldn't help but pick this up this time.
The desire to see someone else's room
I like looking at other people's private rooms.
That said, I haven't actually visited and seen that many in person.
Of course, I don't commit crimes like peeking without permission.
I mostly enjoy watching room tour or desk tour videos on YouTube.
There are also many scenes in novels that describe the state of a character's room.
Shaka Izawa's room in "Hunchback"
A room of about ten tatami mats, plus a kitchen, toilet, and bathroom—that is the entirety of the space I can pace back and forth in with my own feet...
On clear days, I can faintly see the peak of Mount Fuji from the west-facing sliding window, but since the west is on my right, I cannot turn my neck.
This describes the state of the room in the group home where the protagonist, Shaka Izawa, lives.
In a novel, you cannot write every single piece of information.
The parts not written as text must be imagined by the reader.
However, imagining the parts that aren't written is one of the joys of reading.
"Ninagawa's" room in "I Want to Kick You in the Back"
It was square like the inside of a die, and despite having a large window, it was dim. The first thing that caught my eye was the study desk in the corner of the room, the same type as the one I had bought with my school bag when I entered elementary school, with a space on the front to display anime posters. Only that study desk looked strangely childish and did not blend in with the other items: the yellowed sliding door closet, the old-fashioned small refrigerator, and the low lacquer chest of drawers with a kokeshi doll and a Japanese doll in a glass case on top.
This is the scene from Risa Wataya's "I Want to Kick You in the Back" that I read the other day, when the protagonist, "Hatsu," enters the room of her mysterious classmate, "Ninagawa," for the first time.
Even without videos or photos, an image of what the room is generally like comes to mind.
I can imagine a space with a completely different atmosphere from Shaka's room in "Hunchback."
Even so, the image depicted likely differs slightly depending on the reader.
Or perhaps, it might even be vastly different.
What it means to read a novel
I think the act of reading a novel is not just about recognizing textual information, but also includes imagining the parts not written in the text.
In particular, pure literature that wins awards like the Akutagawa Prize hacks the reader's mind.
Entertainment-style novels with lots of dialogue also have a good tempo and are easy to read, and you find yourself drawn into that world before you know it.
In comparison, I feel that with pure literature, which has many blanks, the initiative is entrusted to the reader.
It is not that one is superior to the other; I want to enjoy both depending on my mood at the time.