The Pine Islands
Marion Poschmann
Translation by Jen Calleja
Coach House Books, 2020
Review by Kris Rothstein
It is with a nod to Kafka that something absurd and unforeseen happens to Gilbert Silvester in the opening scene of The Pine Islands: a dream is enough to convince him that his wife has been unfaithful, and he immediately gathers a few belongings and heads to the airport, sleeping in the terminal until the first international flight departs. He finds himself in Tokyo, without plans. He buys some classic Japanese books on arrival, including the works of the famous seventeenth-century poet and inventor of the haiku, Bashō. He is inspired by Bashō’s writing to follow his pilgrimage route, leaving behind Tokyo for an immersion in nature.
He is in no rush though, and as he explores Tokyo he encounters Yosa, a young man preparing to commit suicide by jumping in front of the subway. He intervenes, and finds himself Yosa’s unexpected guardian. Yosa moves into his hotel room and accompanies him on his journey. He is a quiet young man, and it takes Gilbert quite a while to extract his story. Yosa is afraid he will not excel in his upcoming exams, and already feels like a failure and a disappointment to his parents. The future holds no allure for him, other than choosing a successful and fashionable suicide method and location, as suggested by the suicide handbook that he consults religiously. Yosa holds stubbornly to his plan, and Gilbert accompanies him to several popular suicide spots, pronouncing each one totally unacceptable, as he is determined to delay or prevent the act of self-destruction. Together the two retrace Bashō’s steps, composing haiku as they go, in search of the beauty and tranquility of the pine trees.
Gilbert is a cosmopolitan type—a professor. He has particular tastes and a safe, immaculate life. Poschmann pokes fun at the figure of the intellectual through him, one who has become detached from nature and reality. Gilbert’s expertise is in the history of beard fashions, somewhat ludicrous, but serious to him, and a subject which he uses to illuminate many unusual aspects of history. His first thought upon arrival is how he can develop the history of beards in Japan into his next project. Tellingly, he is drawn to Yosa because he has a ridiculous goatee. Later, he discovers that it is in fact a fake goatee, a prop Yosa uses to look more significant, and something he must replace periodically.
The Pine Islands is allegorical and poetic, and not meant to be realistic. The prose style is precise and spare, inspired perhaps by the form of the haiku. The sentences wash over the reader like a vivid dream, and the experience of the book is like being absorbed into another consciousness, rather than being engaged in the labour of reading. In investigating the incomprehensibility of life and its strange twists and turns, the book propels the reader into the experience of inhabiting another person’s dream. Although the book is almost always dreamlike in story and style—fluid, hypnotic, unexpected—it makes perfect sense within its own universe, and to the characters, their own actions seem logical and natural. Gilbert does not see himself as a pawn, swept up and taken along on a strange voyage, but as a person in control, making choices. He doesn’t know how or why he ends up in Japan, but he quickly finds a way to relate it to his research. Yosa does not question his new relationship with this man, and Gilbert doesn’t question his responsibility for the youth.
The novel is full of intense, memorable episodes, including a night spent in Aokigahara, the suicide forest. The pair take a bus and disembark at a parking lot full of abandoned cars. Signs warn of the dangers ahead—Yosa has brought a long, colourful string to help them find their way out, but it becomes dark and the two must spend the night amongst skeletons in the trees and moss. As they lie on the ground, surrounded by the palpable presence of ghosts and spirits, Yosa sobs uncontrollably. A trip which was meant to placate and dissuade Yosa ends up being a profound experience for Gilbert, and spurs him to resolutely follow his own path.
The nature and meaning of Yosa and Gilbert’s relationship is an interesting puzzle with many possible interpretations. Yosa is a subtle young man, and both Gilbert and the reader are called upon to pay attention to small details and find empathy and understanding for him. Yosa is an effective foil for Gilbert, as he has internalized his discord with the world, interpreting it as a personal failing, while Gilbert looks outward for answers, confident in his own self-worth.
The Pine Islands probes the nature of searching and the purpose of journeys in general. Is there a point, Gilbert wonders, to his voyage? Is moving between places meaningful, and might it reveal anything to him? He has rejected such quests in the past, most significantly a trip to see the celebrated changing of the leaves with his wife while living in America. He finds the passion with which people pursue fall colours ridiculous, noting that there are perfectly nice leaves at home in Germany which they never bothered to see. However, Gilbert begins to understand that everyone fixes on different quests or pilgrimages when they are looking for meaning, and that they do not necessarily stand up to outside scrutiny. Is there any difference between being in Tokyo or being on a remote island, looking at pine trees? In this way Poschmann also asks if there is a difference between self-knowledge and ignorance; a lifetime of thought and introspection has not necessarily led Gilbert to any enlightenment, nor has his pilgrimage. Perhaps the suggestion is that it is enough to do what we feel compelled to do, without expecting it to lead to revelations.
While the quest is a topic of some ambivalence in the book, the larger theme of physical transformations, literal and metaphorical, is ever-present and intense. Yosa takes Gilbert to see a theatrical performance by a famous actor; this man transforms himself into a girl for the play, and in the play the girl becomes a crane. Similarly, Yosa is concerned with the transformation of a girl he tried to date, who he believes was in fact a fox. As might be imagined from the title, the book is concerned with trees, and it is their ability to transform that is noteworthy. Trees are important as a symbol which is both eternal and transitory, durable and ephemeral. This resonates for Gilbert: trees can be hundreds or thousands of years old, but they are always changing and evolving, growing blossoms and leaves, changing colours.
At its core this is a story of a strange, unexpected quest, a journey into a hinterland. Finding the Japanese black pine ends up being Gilbert’s search for the meaning of life. The book suggests that when you’re searching for something in particular you will probably not find it, but that the journey will never be in vain. This eternal theme is handled with grace and humour, in a most unusual way. The Pine Islands is bursting with substance, possibility and delight.
Kris Rothstein is a literary agent, editor and cultural critic in Vancouver, BC. She writes regularly for Geist Magazine and can be found blogging about film, comedy and books at geist.com/blogs/kris.