Lost Japan

Alex Kerr weaves together history, art, ecology, economy, architecture and national values in this autobiographical account of his encounter with what he believes are the last glimpses of traditional Japan. As a child growing up in a navy family who revered Asian culture, Kerr spent a few of his childhood years in Japan and began a lifelong live affair with the country. He went on to split his time between Japanese studies and Chinese studies, delving into restoration, art collecting, running cultural seminars, interpreting, real estate business and calligraphy. This book is an engaging lesson in all things Japanese, and the current culture clash between traditional practices and modern society.

At the tender age of nineteen, Kerr returned to Japan for a year as an exchange student but spent a lot of his time breaking into abandoned old houses in order to find the perfect one to buy. He discovered the Iya Valley, and the tumbledown house that eventually becomes his legacy. He has a poetic ability to infuse each chapter with his clear and unrequited love for both Japan and the preservation of beautiful things. He describes his first journey to Iya -

Roads were few, and the mountains were heavily blanketed with old-growth forest. Mist boiled up out of the valleys as if by magic; the slender and delicate tree branches quivered like feathers in the wind, and in the gaps between them the sheer rock surface would show through, only to be hidden again.

Each segment of the book flows on naturally, and takes subject matters such as Kabuki theatre or Calligraphy and personalises them, keeping them accessible and interesting. He easily builds up understanding of the complex Japanese class systems throughout history, and explores how societal value has developed over time without ever specifically talking about it in anthropological terms. His reverence for nature, wabi and the reliance of one on the other is a pleasure to read, and his concern for the loss of Japanese wilderness to the never-ending onslaught of concrete and overground electrical wires is powerful.

The end result of decades of purposeful destruction is that today Kyoto consists of very well-preserved temples and shrines, situated in an urban conglomeration of electric wires, metal and plastic. The monks fill their gardens with signs and loudspeakers; the centers of traditional art fill their headquarters with polished granite.

I really enjoyed this read, though found myself skimming the Trammel Crow section - the only bit that dragged for me. Having lived and travelled in Japan for three months exactly twenty years after this was published, I can really recommend it as still relevant today. It’s a in-depth exploration into traditional culture, and perhaps not for you if you’re looking for a faster paced travel guide.