About a week or ten days ago, my friend, with unapologetic stubbornness, had to pursue me for three days straight to read 'Under the Eye of the Big Bird'—a loosely connected short story collection by Hiromi Kawakami, an unknown (for me, of course) Japanese writer. Being the professional procrastinator I am, I was skeptical whether I should read it or move on to Kundera’s 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' as per my plan.
Man, oh man! Two passages in, and I was already thanking all the old gods and the new for my friend’s uncanny persuasive disorder. I haven’t read much in the last few months, but 'Under the Eye of the Big Bird' has to be one of the most imaginative and melancholic pieces of prose I have read in the last few years. I was hooked from the first story and got more intrigued with each one. I read while I was home, on the metro, during breaks from work- wherever I was, I had my laptop with the PDF open.
Miss Kawakami picked a familiar, often-discussed premise to present her own perspective on the world as we see now. How AI and the human race will coincide, collaborate, and be responsible for each other’s downfall is the core theme of the universe Kawakami envisions. While reading this dystopian speculative fiction, you may feel this is what we predict and presume about our future. You may trace the essence of the inspiration from Asimov’s 'Foundation' series.
Yet it stands out like an uncut gem. Why? What is so special about Kawakami’s stories? Because, as imaginative as they are, they are never away from their root—a vulnerable yet precious human emotion.
Throughout the book, through its loosely connected stories, you will find yourself in a continuous conversation with yourself while reading about the significant yet fleeting characters. The sense of an innate, excruciatingly painful yet mesmerizing pathos grasps your heart from the get-go and never leaves you. This profoundly intense melancholy is so inherently human that no matter how strange the ambience is or wherever the overarching plot stretches, you always relate to it on a personal level.
The wit or prosthetics—or you may say the stylized glamor of the writing—may start to feel a bit predictable. But as the stories progress and the universe unfolds gradually, it's the despondency, the poignancy that made me fall in love with the tales.
The anecdotes of a dystopian, inexorable future are so personal yet so universal, coordinating with quiet comfort that we are not alone in our fears, dismay, or even nightmares. I keep harping on about the flowing melancholy of the universe because no matter how much we try to deny it, as a species and as individuals, we are unmistakably alone in this universe. Kawakami made me perceive that in a way with such genuine conviction that I was awestruck. I was bound to question everything I believe and everything I rely on.
This interconnected world, stitched together through 14 stories, takes you in and makes you flow with the core conceptual inquiries of human existence, with beguiling intervention at perfect junctures. The characters she created are many, short-lived, yet pronounced enough to leave their imprint on you. Interestingly enough, their imprints are more on a philosophical and collective impact rather than rooted in individualism like us. At the same time, Kawakami provides a point of view that you can connect with, not just resonate to, but argue, resist, and internalize. You are in a conversation you didn’t know you wanted to sign up for. When she says:
"Words are convenient. You base your values and affect on words, but the same words are already defined according to your inclinations. Meaning that your values and affect are constructed along the lines of your preferences themselves. While you may believe that you have freely adopted your values out of the entire field of possibilities, that is hardly the case. From the beginning, your limited value systems are built up only in a single, predetermined direction."
You almost yield to the urge of conceding. And when she presents a narrative about art, saying—
"Art. You liked to use the word, but much of the art you spoke of appeared to me simply to be expressions of narrow-minded preference. Albeit that your preferences have been formed through the history you have experienced, which you are proud of, and like to honor—I’m more than aware of that."
You so want to argue viciously to refute this theory.
This, in my opinion, is the greatest impact 'Under the Eye of the Big Bird' had on me. This eerie, uncomfortable, and yet profoundly alluring universe pulls you out of your mundane, narrow shell with unbelievably subtle nuance and makes you think about who we actually are and where we might be headed as individuals and as part of the planet we call home. It inspires you to love, to laugh, to see the world in a different light, even as it lingers in your chest like a soft, unshakable ache.
That’s the most powerful thing a book can do to you. It compels you to feel. To question. And ultimately, to think.
Author bio: Sumaiya Nasrin is a Senior Copywriter at Sun Communications Limited. She writes for a living, but reads to remember who she is. Between deadlines and drafts, she chases stories that ache quietly and stay long after the last page.
BDST: 1544 HRS, April 21, 2025
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