R yoko Sekiguchi (Tokyo, 1970), translator, food critic and author of several books dedicated to the relationship between literature and cuisine, asks if it is normal the heat in recent days in Barcelona, where she has come to participate in the Liternatura festival . Long ago, when summer didn't last forever, by now we should be emotionally immersed in the heart of what unfolds along Nagori. , hybrid of historical-cultural essay, spiritual reflection and ode to the senses, with a little memorialistic salt, all this condensed into just over a hundred beautiful pages: Nagori is a polysemic Japanese term linked to the idea of the end of something and of the imprint left by the memory and, therefore, strongly imbued with nostalgia.
Sekiguchi - all sympathy and with a preference for cheerful colors in terms of clothing - composes an ode to the seasons without ceasing to remind us that they do not respond to the order and limits of our imagination (the traditional Japanese calendar foresees between twenty-four and seventy-two) nor to address the profound conflict that human beings face when they live existence in a single direction while the cycles of nature endlessly renew themselves.
But haven't we lost perception and sensitivity towards the seasons due to the combined effect of climate change, after the pre-trial detention that entailed confinement and submission to the screens? "I don't think so, no! Maybe we should pay more attention to them, but we are still very attached to them and they condition us enormously. But we must not think of them in terms of long periods of time, because only one day can contain several seasons and bring us promises of change and renewal”.
The author, who grew up between the stoves of her mother's cooking school in Tokyo, uses the most varied fruits and vegetables to illustrate her arguments, so that for once she justifies that we use the delicious adjective for a book full of almost poems, which calls our attention to the way in which tastes are a reflection of social trends and which even includes an appendix with a dazzling menu (to say opípar would be to put it down a mere appetizer) that he offered to the colleagues of a literary residence in Rome.
It should be noted that we are not dealing with a fundamentalist foodie, since in the book she even praises canning and shows respect for industrial food. "Canning was a wonderful invention, which extended the life and variety of food", he points out. "And, with regard to the second, it irritates me to hear those whose mouths are filled when they defend the exclusive consumption of local foods or fresh foods. Don't they know that there are many people who don't have access, either because of physical distance or lack of financial resources?"
In the book, Sekiguchi dares to shoot at Japan's literary institution par excellence: the haiku. "A complete sacrilege. It is a problematic genre because it is insensitive to drama and suffering, focuses on renewal and excludes time from the wound that remains. A haiku that wanted to address the recent earthquake in Morocco would talk about the flowers that sprout between the cracks."
Read Nagori and you will never see a chestnut tree or a ficus tree with the same eyes again.
