RYO HIRANO

I’ve been juggling so many tasks lately that I haven’t been able to update my diary.

Yesterday, I received a formal Shinto prayer for the first time in my life. I visited Yatsurugi Shrine, famous for observing “Omiwatari” (The God’s Crossing)—a phenomenon where Lake Suwa freezes over, creating an ice ridge that looks like a path for the gods—and performing divinations based on it. They check the temperature and the lake’s condition every morning this time of year, but due to global warming, it hasn’t been observed for seven years. Apparently, it requires at least three consecutive days of -10°C, which seems tough. A cold wave is expected soon, so we’ll see what happens.

It was the day of Daikan (the coldest day of the year) with fierce winds. Enduring the cold, I listened to the Shinto prayers (Norito) and the sacred flute (Kagurabue), received purified salt, and had them pray for a year of good health and “Shingan-joju”—a sort of “all-in-one pack” for fulfilling various personal wishes. The vibration of the drums through my body and the rhythmic, polished sounds of the prayers were full of elements that heighten one’s spirit. It truly made me feel refreshed and ready for a new start. I could feel the strength and history of rituals that draw out such a mindset.

In Tokyo, I used to love watching the Goma (fire ritual) of the Shingon sect. Whether or not Kukai was influenced by Zoroastrianism is uncertain, but watching fire always gets me excited. The Fukagawa Fudodo of Naritasan is particularly flashy and fun. The chanting of Mandalas, voices echoing through the space, and the flames—it’s all so dramatic. The building covered in Sanskrit characters is striking, and inside, there are 10,000 crystal stupas that really lift your spirits.

Like the “Hell Temples” in Thailand, I feel that Buddhism places a heavy emphasis on experience and sensation. It feels as if they know the limits of what language can convey, which really resonates with me.

By the way, the Buddhism deep-dive episodes on COTEN RADIO were incredibly interesting, so I highly recommend them!

Also, here are some animations I’ve watched recently and loved!

Juana Molina – Desinhumano -Director: Dante Zaballa

☄️ Comet in Moominland -Animation by Karlotta Freier.

I don’t have a strong religious faith in “gods” as such, but I do have a certain sense of awe toward nature.
I want to stay sharp and mindful so that no misfortune occurs. I tend to let my guard down so easily, after all.

January 11th, 5:30 AM.

I just finished reading the novel recommended by a friend, “All the Light We Cannot See” (by Anthony Doerr, Hayakawa epi Bunko). As I mentioned in my diary before, it’s a paperback as thick as a slice of Texas toast, and I had absolutely no confidence that I could finish it. I started reading with zero prior knowledge or even a summary, yet I ended up devouring all 700 pages in one go. For me, this is quite an extraordinary feat.

After finishing every last page, I close the book, gaze at the cover, and after fully feeling its physical mass, I let out a long, deep breath, letting my thoughts drift into the landscapes within the story. “I’m so glad I read this…” I feel it from the bottom of my heart. Ten seconds later, it hits me: *So this is what they call the afterglow of a great book!*

The story is set in France during World War II, as the German invasion looms. It follows the lives of two people: Marie-Laure, a blind girl living in Paris, and Werner, an orphan raised in Germany with a brilliant talent for science. The narrative weaves back and forth between their paths.

Freedom being stripped away by war; the beauty of science and how it is perverted into a technology for killing; the kindness and betrayal of people in the depths of despair; the casual violence scattered on the roadsides; resistance and hope; radio waves; music… everything was packed into these pages.

The entire novel is composed of a series of short fragments, ranging from one to ten pages. Even for those who say, “I’m not confident about reading long novels!” it’s likely an easy read. Moreover, the way each fragment ends is so incredibly sharp it makes you shiver. “Can writing really be this cool?” I found myself reading on, completely enchanted by the prose.

Since it is a story of war, it is inevitably tragic and heavy. However, as you follow the protagonists’ lives, the book is also filled with thrilling and suspenseful entertainment: a foreign radio broadcast heard secretly as a child; the whereabouts of a “cursed” giant diamond in a Parisian museum and the Nazi officer pursuing it (his portrayal is terrifying); life at a Spartan Hitler Youth school trying to survive with a friend; and the secret maneuvers of women trying to resist in a German-occupied city.

And since all these threads converge into the title “All the Light We Cannot See,” the final stretch was just… overwhelming!

While I was making my way through this book, Trump invaded Venezuela and abducted the President and his wife, and declared that Mexico would be the next target for military force. Israel, which was supposed to be under a ceasefire, carried out airstrikes on the Gaza Strip again (for the countless time). It was revealed that the Japanese government had purchased 241 billion yen worth of Israeli-made weapons (thus, we have become complicit in genocide. It’s the worst). Anti-government protests expanded across Iran, the internet was cut off, and judicial authorities declared that protesters are “enemies of God” deserving of the death penalty.

In the real world, the “worst” is being updated every single day, as if there were no bottom. In the novel, the town of Saint-Malo, where the protagonist fled from Paris, is also gradually occupied by the Nazis. Everything that was once taken for granted is stolen, one by one.

“Madame, is it that we’re like ostriches, sticking our heads in the sand when danger approaches? Or is it they who are the ostriches?”
“Maybe everyone is an ostrich,” she whispers. (Translated from p. 236 of the Japanese edition)

In reality, the idea that “an ostrich hides only its head in the sand to pretend nothing is happening when it senses danger” is just a myth. Perhaps humans are the only ones who actually do that (the Ostrich Effect).

I feel like we have to pull our heads out of the sand now—before it’s too late for everything. That’s what I’m thinking.

Until I finished this novel, I refrained from looking up things like Saint-Malo, where the story is set. I wanted to build the images in my head using only the information within the book. Now, I think I’ll watch the screen adaptation. I want to see how much it differs from the scenery I saw in my mind while reading, and how they translated the original work into film. I’m looking forward to experiencing it that way.

Since Anthony Doerr’s new work “Cloud Cuckoo Land” has just been translated into Japanese, I’d like to read that too. I also found the Q&A on Anthony Doerr’s official website, and it was somehow very moving.