A MAN – KEIICHIRO HIRANO – REVIEW

Keiichiro Hirano’s first novel to be translated into English is a fast-paced story about the tangled fibres of genetics, environment, society and individual choice that make people who they are. Above all, it poses the question, what lengths would you go to change your identity, and could you be happy if you did?

The novel begins with Rie, who, whilst mourning the death of her husband learns that his identity of Daisuke Taniguchi was a lie. Desperate to find out who her husband really was, and understand why he deceived her, Rie engages lawyer Ahiro Kido to resolve the mystery. Kido himself is a man going through a very quiet mid-life crisis, unhappy with his wife and increasingly concerned that amidst a climate of post-earthquake xenophobia his Korean heritage threatens his and his family’s safety. At various times in the novel that unhappiness manifests itself in jealousy, both of the false Daisuke’s life with Rie, and, more importantly, with X’s ability to subsume his past. The search leads Kido into the messy, transactional world of identity swapping. Is a rose by any other name still a rose, or is it something else entirely?

It is ironic that a novel filled with so much identity change and confusion should yield so many characters who are in fact completely consistent. This is not a story about multiple personalities, or even about clashing personalities. It is instead a novel about how humans search for an identity that is entire and universally understood, rather than compartmentalised. The joy of being seen, and being loved for all of who you are, is the essence of this thought-provoking book. Our protagonist Kido’s struggles with his wife are not about what he is or isn’t hiding but what she is or isn’t willing to see and appreciate. Our mystery Mr X finds a temporary escape in boxing, but could not tolerate that being the only part of his life where he was accepted. He wanted to leave something whole, complete and happy.

Childhood death is another device used in the book to explore this theme further. How can someone who dies so far ahead of their time leave a legacy? How can they not? We periodically watch Rie deal with the ongoing trauma of the death of a son from a previous marriage, exposed not only to her sadness but to the inevitable impact on her remaining children. Hirano handles this emotive subject adroitly.

There is much more than just identity to unpack in this rich book. Hirano also tackles the intertwined and messy responsibility of the state to the individual and the individual to the state. The latter is not quite a riff on Kennedy’s “ask not what your country can do for you”, but rather an exploration of how individuals can struggle to extricate themselves from their past in order to contribute to the future. Capital punishment, which the book mostly comes out against, is used to explore this in more detail.

One of Kido’s main conflicts centres around his confused belief in whether blame or praise is merited by an individual or by society. At one point in the novel Kido argues that sons of murderers are unlikely to become killers, that they can make independent choices to create a new beginning. Yet Kido also believes that individuals are not always responsible for their actions. It is one of the reasons he objects to the death penalty, which he sees as absolving the state of any responsibility. In fact, Kido comes down strongly on the side of the individual, coming close to viewing individuals as blameless. We are told for example that “he dismissed the assertion that everything is the responsibility of the individual as the pinnacle of folly”.

Yet Kido’s belief in the power of the state creates troubling contradictions. We are reminded via another case, that state prosecutors often make the opposite argument, that a criminal parentage can foster kleptomania for example. In this instance Kido does not believe that such a line of prosecution is valid. The past should not judge the present. This conflict recurs when Kido is introduced to a man with learning disabilities who was tricked into trading identities. Unable to reconcile that type of behaviour with the dedicated husband described by Rie and admitting that had he done so he would judge the man harshly, Kido is admitting that individuals not only can, but should make choices, and that it is right to judge them for those choices. These factors also come to play in Kido’s marriage. Is it human for a married man to fantasise about a life with another woman? Is it human not to? Or is being human really about sifting through the tangled feelings and desires and choosing a path.

Throughout the novel, characters are depicted as caught between their past and their future. It is no accident that Kido is middle aged, torn between working hard on his marriage or seeking happiness elsewhere. In another segment we learn that the logging industry cuts trees at fifty years old and that the wood can be expected to live another fifty years in the form of a house. Does a house represent a promotion compared to being a tree? To some, perhaps, but the cutting required to get there exacts a terrible toll. So it is with humans, so many of whom in this novel escape their past only to find the new future isn’t always greener. When we eventually track down the real Daisuke Taniguchi there is jealousy that X made a success of his identity. Projecting a feared past into the future, and taking drastic action to avoid it is as likely to lead to pain as it is to happiness.

Although this is Hirano’s first novel to be published in English, one suspects it won’t be the last. Winner of Japan’s prestigious Akutagawa prize for his debut, and widely read in Europe, Hirano’s prose is snappy, poignant and thought provoking.

A Man is an intelligent, gripping book, not spoiled by the occasional clunky passage.