I Could Almost Taste The Sushi
Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden
The night was dark, yet the moon provided enough light for me to see the figure that was moving before me. Cautiously I followed her, afraid to betray my presence. Afraid that should one twig crackle under my steps she may disappear into the night. I did not want anything to spoil the magic of the moment. I was in awe. I did not know which was more beautiful: the sweet smell of the cherry blossoms wafting like incense through the night air; the exquisite silks who, not content to work their charms upon the eyes alone, teased the ears with their gentle rustling; or the object of my true fascination, the delicate flower of womanhood who clung to life with the tenacity of a weed.
I knew I should turn away. Yet so compelling was she that I lingered. I wanted to reach out to her. To finally say the words I had held silent for so long. "Mom, what's for dinner?"
*poof*
Huh?
"Um. Mom.you've been reading that book all day. Well.um.uh.are we gonna eat today?"
Oops. "Sure, hon. What do you want on your pizza?"
Rarely have I read a book as compelling as Memoirs of a Geisha. They say a picture speaks a thousand words. In this case, Golden's words paint a thousand pictures. So vivid is his imagery that you are easily drawn into the story. As I read this book I became a part of it. I saw the lavish kimonos and the sideways glances, smelled both the perfume and the fish, felt the steam rising from the tea and cramping of fingers, heard the cry of the shamisen strings inter-mingled with the sound of laughter and tears. I only wished that I could taste the sushi. I had to settle for pepperoni pizza.
What amazed me most was the fact that Arthur Golden, a man (writing his debut novel no less), could so easily get inside the mind of his female protagonist and the other women he so adeptly portrays. His understanding of the female experience is remarkable. (I wonder if anyone has asked him to submit to DNA testing.) I can only compare this to Wally Lamb, who in his first novel, She's Come Undone, demonstrates the same amazing ability.
I have never visited Japan. I have never entered a teahouse. I have never experienced the early part of the last century. I have never spent painful hours on my hair, makeup, and layers of garments. (Oh, hush!) But, now I must question all that. I now feel like I have experienced it all. My world has suddenly become a bit larger, my experience a bit broader. Sayuri the Geisha and her world, through the imagination and scholarship of Arthur Golden, has become a part of my world.
Mr. Golden, if you're reading this, domo arigato.
