Peace?

(Dove balloons from a wedding in Chiba.)

Irène Némirovsky's five-part plan for her novel Suite française, which she started writing in 1941:

1. Storm (later changed to Storm in June)
2. Dolce
3. Captivity
4. Battles?
5. Peace?

Set in France, Suite weaves together multiple storylines to tell the intersecting fates of the French during World War II. Storm in June follows Parisians of various social backgrounds as they flee to the countryside, while Dolce focuses on a small rural town under German occupation. The bare bones of the latter three parts were in place, but before they could be written, the Jewish-born Némirovsky was sent to Auschwiz. She died there in 1942, after a month in the concentration camp.

Published in its unfinished form in 2004, Suite française gained worldwide attention for being a rare war novel that was written while the events were still unfolding. While this immediacy is one of the novel's its greatest assets, it meant that Némirovsky could only imagine what remained to be seen. The question mark at the end of the final part, Peace, is indicative of the despair and uncertainty she must have felt.

Things That Are But Aren't

Not a 1000000 yen bill.
(A pocket tissue ad for a probably frightening money loaning company.)

Not a mop.
(A shaggy dog in a suspicious pet shop in Shinokubo.)

Not a donut.
(A dog's chew toy.)

Not a dog.
(A jewelry store in Ginza.)

A Taste of Gaudi in Waseda

With its 125-year history, the Waseda University campus is a careful balance of old, storied buildings and new constructions. The surrounding area, with its Shinto shrine, fast-food chains, and used bookshops similarly balances the traditional with the modern. While quietly charming and ideal for students, it is hardly the greatest source of style and creativity in Tokyo.

Walk a few minutes away from Okuma Auditorium (named after the university's founder) in the opposite direction of the school, and you might be tempted to reconsider this last statement. What was once the headquarters of the student Marxist movement of the 1960s has given way to a confection not unlike a gingerbread house--with surreal touches.

(Tiles, ceramics, and stones decorate the outer wall)

Wholly unexpected and endlessly intricate, the Dorado Waseda is the masterwork or architect Von Jour Caux. Born Toshiro Tanaka in 1934, the graduate of Waseda's Architecture department is understandably and justifiably referred to as "Japan's Gaudi". Dorado Waseda, which was built in 1983 is informally referred to as "that Gaudi building" among students.

Surprisingly, the building is advertised in real estate ads as a residential building. (Yours if you can shell out 170,000 yen, or 1,737 US dollars in our current economy.) Considering the rooms do not come equipped with a shower or a bathroom, in reality they are most likely used as offices. Throughout the years, the most visible first floor has been used for a hair salon, and later, a barbershop.

If the building at first glance seems inscrutable, extended viewings only increase its mystique. Students rushing past the Dorado on their way to class either take one glance and look away, as if they don't want to wonder why its there, or betray their surprise by letting their eyes bug out. The more adventurous (and less busy) venture inside, and are most likely delighted by the giant beckoning hand, right next to the mail boxes on the first floor.

(The ceiling of the first floor)

My most fervent wish is to see the other floors, and inside the rooms. I almost had my chance once. Hovering below the windows, I was trying to peek inside, when a woman stuck her head right out and asked, "Are you Kana-san?" Imagine what I could have seen if I had just said yes!

PET Bottles Keep Cats at Bay

About fifteen years ago, I began to notice the unexplainable presence of 2-liter bottles around my neighborhood. Filled with water, they were placed in front of parking spaces, the walls between houses, flowerpots, even next to cars. They were conspicuous and ugly, and clashed horribly with the well-groomed yards and carefully tended plants. I entertained the idea that they were a part of some local religious ritual before gathering the courage to ask a neighbor.

Answer: they were for the cats, both strays and pets. They had clawed, chewed, and urinated on enough people's property that when a television program espoused PET bottles as a way of warding them off, people immediately decided to test out this theory. The logic was that cats hate shiny things, and the light reflecting off the water would frighten them and keep them away, especially at night.

This dubious idea was never actually proved, and surprisingly, no one ever invented a better, or at the very least, more visually pleasing solution. There have been reports of the water bottles leading to a traffic accident (the reflection proved distracting), and even being the cause of fire that broke out when the plastic functioned as a lens and burned some leaves on the ground. Yet they remain in use today, whether out of habit or fulfilling their alternative role as traffic cones for cats—still ugly, and still quite pointless.

When Laziness and Technology Collide

Continuing the grand tradition of not-entirely-necessary Japanese inventions: photorealistic "under construction" signs!

While the LED man waves a flag to warn drivers, two construction workers stand and talk in the street. Sigh.