Publsihed in Japan in 2019; published in translation by Grand Central Publishing on September 17, 2024
When Hatsu Yagi, at the age of 92, finds herself in a photography studio with no memory of her arrival, she realizes she is dead. The photographer, Hirasaka, tells her she is making a brief stop at the precise boundary between life and death on her way to an afterlife that he hasn’t experienced and thus cannot describe.
Hirasaka gives Hatsu large stacks of photographs, one photo of each day of her life, and asks her to select one from each year to attach to the lantern of memories. When her life flashes before her eyes as the lantern spins, she will see the scenes that she chooses before passing into the next stage.
One of the photos is faded because it’s such an important memory that Hatsu has worn it out by revisiting it so often. Hirasaka takes her back in time so she can take a new photo. She’ll be a ghost in the sense that others won’t see her, but she’s solid enough to take a picture.
When they travel to 1948, Hatsu tells Hirasaka the story of a small neighborhood in Tokyo where she worked as a nursery schoolteacher in a daycare that met in a field before it raised enough money to buy an old bus that would shelter the children when it rained. The story of her life is touching and sweet. The novel is in part a remembrance of the hard times that followed Japan’s defeat in the war, a life that was particularly difficult for all the children who died of dysentery.
Hirasaka’s next guest is Waniguchi, a criminal who was stabbed to death in his forties. The criminal tells an amusing story about an employee named Mouse who fixes things, although Mouse doesn’t understand the difference between broken and dead. Some things, Mouse will eventually learn, can’t be fixed. As Waniguichi’s lantern spins, he contemplates all the wrong choices he made, all the paths he took when different paths at life’s crossroads might have spared him a grisly death.
Hirasaka helps the dead decorate their lanterns with photographs, but he doesn’t remember his own life. He believes he lived a boring life, that he is unremembered, that he is destined to have a boring existence between life and death, without any meaning or purpose. He has a photograph of himself, but he doesn’t recognize the setting and it hasn’t sparked any memories of his life. This is a mystery that the story eventually explains. The explanation underscores the theme that a boring existence can nevertheless be special in ways we can’t imagine.
The last meeting recounted in the novel is with an abused little girl named Mitsuru. She died and visited Hirasaka, but he knows she is destined to return to life, only to die again at the hands of her tormenter. That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever read. As he interacts with the girl, he finds a way to manipulate the rules and, in so doing, changes his own fate.
The story’s characters are memorable (I particularly liked Mouse). The novel’s clever construction ties the characters together in surprising ways. The story illustrates the power of photography and the importance of capturing images that might erode in an unassisted memory. I don’t like to use clichéd descriptions like “enriching” and “life affirming,” but if I resorted to clichés, those would be apt descriptions of The Lantern of Lost Memories.
The story’s point, I think, is that most people live "well out of the spotlight." They have an “undistinguished existence” with “no stirring accomplishments or feats of valour,” ending their lives as people who “never expected to amount to much, and never had.” Yet Sanaka Hiiragi illustrates how even ordinary people make a difference. In the words of David Bowie, we can be heroes, just for one day. Or we can make bad choices and be left with a stack of memories we’d rather not have. Other writers have taught the same lesson, but rarely with the degree of empathy and intelligence that Hiiragi brings to this story.
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