Books Worth Reading, Vol. 1
Jovial Japanese Sanatoriums and Work Camps in Siberia
Books Worth Reading, Vol 1
Welcome to volume one of “Books Worth Reading”. The premise for this is simple but I am going to explain it anyway: every 3 weeks I will suggest some books worth reading.
As I would prefer people to be able to experience these books for themselves I will not spoil any major plot points. However, please be aware that I will summarise these books and if you’re the type of person who believes that any retelling of any element of a book is a spoiler then you might not want to read this.
Basically, I will try my best to give the best case as to why you should consider reading these books whilst still allowing you to discover the majority of the book’s contentfor yourself.
Evidently, reading a book is always going to be a better way to choose for yourself whether a book is good or not. But, unfortunately, reading takes a while, and because of this, reviews/recommendations can be valuable if you’re listening to the right person. Whether I am the right person if for you to decide.
The lists I include will fall on a wide variety of topics. Some of the books will fall under what you may deem “classic literature” (which I can only imagine the readers to expect from me) whilst others may be guides, biographies, or memoirs etc. Anything that I believe is worth reading is fair game.
I will try to keep these books relevant to what I am currently reading as it makes it easier to relay the impact that book has had on me and why I want to share it, but just bare in mind that occasionally I will look back for a recommendation or two if I haven’t read anything good in a while
That is it. For volume one I wanted to pick out two books I thin are worth your time. Both share a theme of an author’s lived experience being injected into his characters. These may seem to be a factor of all books, and in a sense it is, however, these two suggestions rely on personal experience more than most. I would argue they rely on these experience to such a degree that enjoying them within a vacuum is hardee than within the context of when they were published and what they say about the author. Regardless, here are my two recommendations.
The Flowers of Buffoonery
The Flowers of Buffoonery is an unlikely companion piece to Japanese author Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human. For those not familiar with the latter, No Longer Human was published in 1948 and tells the dark life story of Ōba Yōzō.
Told through three notebooks read to us by another man, we follow Ōba Yōzō as he reveals his inability to fit into a traditional lifestyle. Depression, substance abuse, multiple suicide attempts, and a deep and bitter loneliness continually prevent Ōba Yōzō from keeping his head above water, and as the novel progresses, the circumstances only seem to continue to test his patience with life.
No Longer Human (and the majority of Dazai’s work) is heavily autobiographical. Following the completion of the No Longer Human Dazai took his own life by throwing himself into the Tamagawa Canal on the 13th June 1948 - he was 38 years old.
When No Longer Human was released, people felt as if they were reading a long and drawn out suicide note detailing Dazai’s torment and social isolationism rather than a fictional story. Despite this, the book was immediately successful upon it’s publication, and to this day No Longer Human is one of the best selling books coming out of Japan.
If you are unfamiliar with Dazai it may be jarring to see me explain another book to you before elaborating on the book listed as one of the two books worth reading. But there is a point to it. As I said, The Flowers of Buffoonery is a companion piece to No Longer Human. And it’s a jarring one at that.
My personal reason for deciding to read The Flowers of Buffoonery came from my next video idea. The next video I plan to make is going to be on No Longer Human and I wanted to find a unique angle that nobody else seems to be taking when they talk about the famous book.
Because let’s face it: all the big boy YouTubers have already covered this book far more extensively than I could. I personally don’t believe we need another video on No Longer Human pointing out the similarities between Dazai’s lifestyle and the lifestyle of his ill-fated protagonist. We have all heard that before.
Don’t get me wrong it is an undeniable talking point when discussing No Longer Human. However, in my video I want to make note of that aspect of the book whilst finding something else to highlight so as to make the video worth watching in the first place.
Which is why, when researching further into No Longer Human, I decided I was going to read The Flowers of Buffoonery. The Flowers of Buffoonery a less spoken about (probably because it was only translated to English in the last two – three years) work of Dazai and it was written thirteen years prior to No Longer Human.
The Flowers of Buffoonery was published in 1935 and takes place within a sanatorium where our protagonist Ōba Yōzō is staying after a failed suicide attempt. Much like his (and Dazai’s) other attempts at his own life, Ōba Yōzō had thrown himself off of a cliff with a lover. She died; he did not.
Despite the immediate morbid subject matter, The Flowers of Buffoonery has a light-hearted tone. At times philosophical, others straight up hilarious, the book bounces back between the loose narrative of Ōba Yōzō in the sanatorium and the authors attempts at writing the novel itself.
In every chapter the story is interjected by the author bemoaning his inability to write. He would frequently question where the narrative is going, what he is trying to say, why he ever bothered to write in the first place, and how the fuck he was going to save this – in his eyes – worthless piece of work.
Particularly hilarious points are when he will butt in with a line that confirms his hatred of the book before continuing the narrative:
“The next morning was peaceful and clear. The sea was calm. White smoke from the volcano on Oshima, just above the horizon, drifted up into the sky. Never mind. I hate describing scenery.” – The Flowers of Buffoonery by Osamu Dazai, P. 20.
These interjections are the most entertaining part of the book in my opinion. The story itself is a bit of a nothing burger, but it does have its moments of insight and humour. In retrospect it is easier to appreciate The Flowers of Buffoonery due to its link to No Longer Human, but as a standalone piece I found it to be memorable for its uniqueness rather than its content.
The setting is memorable, the characters are memorable, the “story” is memorable, the form of the book is memorable, but the overall package is not. The Flowers of Buffoonery was a book I could only truly appreciate in context of the author’s life and masterpiece No Longer Human. Observations can be made in The Flowers of Buffoonery in 2025 that could not have been made in 1935.
For example, the general tone of the book is lighter than No Longer Human. I am not saying this is a revelatory observation by any means, but it is no doubt interesting when given the context of Dazai’s life and the downward spiral he experienced between the release of The Flowers of Buffoonery and No Longer Human.
If you have read the latter, you would be familiar with the objective bleakness of Ōba Yōzō’s world view. When reading The Flowers of Buffoonery in its jovial mood, you can’t help wonder what happened in the thirteen years between these connected works that transitioned the tone from light to dark.
Maybe it’s a shift in artistic direction, or maybe a shift in the mental health of our author? Nevertheless, it’s an intriguing thought that is hard not to disconnect from the work as a standalone piece of literature.
However, despite this jovial mood, Dazai does not concede to the fun and games of his characters. As well as the aforementioned interjections lamenting his own writing, Dazai also uses these moments to critique the character’s methods of dealing with their friend attempting suicide or with their feelings in general. He articulates the avoidance of true feelings inherent in those not fully matured - especially men:
“These boys never really argue. Ever so careful with each other’s feelings, they tiptoe from one comment to the next, taking great pains to shelter their own feelings in the process.” – The Flowers of Buffoonery by Osamu Dazai, P. 18.
Ōba Yōzō is visited by two of his close friends Hida and Kosuge who hang around the sanatorium avoiding the subject of their reason for being there. Dazai makes a meta comment on his own work through the perspective of the two friends that exposes the use of buffoonery and joking around as a defensive mechanism against the reality of the situation.
Sometimes taking the funny out of a sad situation can be beneficial to the person doing it – especially if you’ve exhausted all of your sadness on that subject/situation. However, the unserious dynamic between the three friends is a way for them to mask their true feelings and try to block out the evident issue presented in front of them via the suicide attempt of Oba Yozo.
It is this avoidance where the “buffoonery” comes in. These boys are playing the fools in a desperate attempt to cover up the glaring obvious dark subject matter staring them in the face. Dazai notes this and reveals the tragedy for what it is:
“Surely by now, dear reader, you’re disgusted wit these young men for the carefree way in which they pass the time, as if one among them had not just killed another human being, though I suspect this new development will elicit shouts of joy. Serves him right, etc. How cruel of you. What part of what you see here is carefree? If only you could understand the sadness of the ones who grow the delicate flowers of buffoonery, protecting them from but the slightest gust of wind and always on the verge of despair.” – The Flowers of Buffoonery by Osamu Dazai, P. 46.
This line comes in after 40 pages of the boys avoiding the subject, joking around, playing cards, and generally not taking anything seriously.
Dazai is also avoiding the heavy subject matter in his book by making the subject matter funny. He is aware of this, however, and will later comment on his ability to make a clown of himself in dire situations in No Longer Human. The book is quite meta in that sense. We watch the author reveal a dark part of his history in a funny novella that simultaneously critiques the act of using immature joviality to mask despair at life’s darker moments.
I particularly enjoyed this all too real dynamic (particularly between immature men not knowing how to cope with a serious situation) to be the most intriguing due to the relatability of it. I cannot speak for women, but from what I’ve seen and experienced, young men do tend to deal with unfunny situations by dragging the funny out of them and hiding their true feelings within nuggets of the jokes thrown into the conversational ring:
“As I started saying earlier, these boys didn’t debate to share ideas, so much as to improve whatever mood they happened to be in. Not a word they said was true. But if you tuned in for a moment, there were some unexpected windfalls of veracity. In the middle of a pompous speech, there would sometimes be a phrase of brutal honesty. The things we say without a thought are often how the truth comes out.” – P. 27
I think this beating-around-the-bushes method of coping is a less discussed aspect of male relationships. Once again, I cannot speak for the women, however, I can only assume they do not experience this quite to the same degree.
Sometimes men get so caught up the ironic gestures they are used to displaying to each other that they bleed into unfunny moments in life. If you are a man you can probably relate to this. It’s not so much the cliche of men bottling feelings up through silence but through noise.
Jokes become a method of drowning out the reality. You could confess a serious subject/feeling and often be met with a quip or a giggle, and it is only through adamantly holding on to the sincerity of your confession that eventually those around you will drop their guard. To do that, however, is no easy feat and requires a level of courage:
“Yozo lowered his eyelashes. All manner of forces swarmed his heart. Haughtiness. Sloth. Flattery. Guile. Vice. Fatigue. Ferocity. Murder. Despair. Fragility. Deceit. Infection. He came this close to letting them spill out. But instead, he played the role of the heartsick man and groaned.” – The Flowers of Buffoonery by Osamu Dazai, P. 27.
As I said previously the actual story of The Flowers of Buffoonery is not focused. Ōba Yōzō is visited by friends and family up until his last day in the sanatorium when he simply leaves. The interjections from Dazai continue throughout and, whilst funny and insightful at times, are simply plain honest about the narrative itself. In that, it’s not very good.
For the humour and character dynamics I believe this book is still worth a read though. If it were any longer and continued on the same path I would not recommend it. You could read this in a day if you wanted to, or if you were busy, a weekend easy. For that alone, it is worth at least giving a shot.
If you feel inspired to read The Flowers of Buffoonery off of the back of this then please make sure you have read No Longer Human first. There is a reason why everyone always refers to this book as “a companion piece”. It simply givens a bit more context to the fleshed-out life of the No Longer Human protagonist, whilst hitting us with some poetically hilarious/deep quotes within the process.
Notes From A Dead House
Notes From A Dead House is one of the less appreciated works of Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky, but in the context of his career as a writer, Notes From Underground marks the turning point that would eventually lead to Dostoevsky’s last five classic novels.
The reasoning for the book’s significance is in the autobiographical nature of it. Like The Flowers of Buffoonery, Notes From A Dead House is based entirely on the lived experience of its author.
Names are rearranged, small elements are tweaked in the author’s favour (not of himself but the government), and time periods are changed so as not to be too on the nose, but regardless, with a little context of Dostoevsky’s life, Notes From A Dead House may as well be a memoir in it’s retelling of the life of one man’s stint in a Siberian work camp.
As a young man, Dostoevsky was like any of us within our early 20s: too ignorant of the world and too assured of his own importance/competence/anything good really. He had seen a flash of success with the publication of his first novel and he had been one of many radicals hanging out in what was known as the Petrashevsky Circle.
The circle was a socialist underground political movement wherein many young artists/intellectual types would gather to talk about their contempt for the current political state of Russia. Dostoevsky was simply one of many. The group was founded by Mikhail Petrashevsky in 1845.
In April 1849 everything would come seriously crashing down for Dostoevsky. In the late night hours he would receive a knock on the door from the police who informed him he would be arrested due to his involvement in the socialist gang of the Petrashevsky circle. Specifically, he was being arrested due to the circulation of a letter written by Vissarion Belinsky, claiming that it was ‘filled with impertinent expressions against the Orthodox Church and the sovereign power.’
Other members of the group had been arrested at the same time too (including their founder Mikhail Petrashevsky) and the next time Dostoevsky would see his fellow members, it would be December 22nd, 1984, the day the boys were to be lined up before a post and executed by a firing squad per Tsar Nicholas’ request.
This evidently did not happen. What did happen, however, was the boys were sentenced to forced labour at Siberian work camps. Dostoevsky would be given his freedom back in February 1854. Once home, he began writing about his experiences in Siberia, the prison of which, he called a ‘dead house’.
Notes From A Dead House was published in 1862. The book is the first published recounting of the experiences occurring with the Siberian labour camps. It too popularised the prison memoir.
Whilst Dostoevsky was not able to write fully whilst in prison, he had been able to take notes. These notes were reworked into the narrative of this book multiple times before being finalised in 1860. There were some factors that needed to be changed though.
The crimes of the man (Aleksandr Petrovich) we follow in the book are different from Doestovsky’s own. The latter’s was a political crime whereas the former was murder. The reason being for this small change was due to the censors of the time. Essentially, if Dostoevsky had written from the perspective (and no doubt a multidimensional perspective that would include empathy, understanding, and feeling) of a political criminal, the publishers of Russia at the time would not have allowed the book to print. Therefore, Dostoevsky decided to changed the protagonists crimes to avoid this. Despite this, the thoughts were all Dostoevsky’s own":
“Though he keeps the persona of Alexander Petrovich throughout, the narrator’s thoughts, his preoccupations, and his conscience are not at all those of a man who has murdered his wife. Dostoesky’s personality does not disappear from view; he is present as the observer of the life around him, but also as the protagonist of the inner transformation that the experience of prison brings about in him.” – Richard Pevear’s Introduction in Notes From A Dead House by Fyodor Dostoevsky, P. XIII
The character we follow is Aleksandr Petrovich who has been sentenced to ten years hard labour for murdering his wife. The book is told from the perspective of his notes that have been found by a man who introduces us to the book in the beginning.
The man who finds the notes tells us of the quiet and reclusive life Aleksandr Petrovich was living prior to his sudden death. The notes this silent man leaves behind are given to us, revealing a far more broadened mind than initially thought on the outside.
To give it a neat summary, Notes From A Dead House is more about the humanity of the labour camps than simply retelling facts and experiences. Granted, some aspects of the book are to inform the reader of the conditions and routines of those sentenced to this gruelling labour, but all in all they seem beside the point. What truly matters are the people who are sentenced.
What most surprised me about Notes From A Dead House was the humour and camaraderie of the prisoners. Do not get me wrong, being sent to a labour camp in Siberia is not a fun thing to happen, however, this book is hardly One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich.
Aleksandr Petrovich often talks about those inmates that showed him kindness. When Aleksandr Petrovich first got to the prison he would walk around the barracks on his own, keeping away from everyone, and daydreaming of his freedom. That was until he was approached by a man named Petrov who would routinely strike up a conversation.
Aleksandr Petrovich was unsure of the man’s intentions and never quite understood Petrov’s devotion towards his approaches, but he appreciated the small talks – Petrov was the first break into communicating with the other prisoners.
Even when he thought he was making fun of him or moking him somehow, Aleksandr Petrovich would watch Petrov from the corner of his eyes during their back-and-forths and see no hint of irony or mockery within him. Petrov just saw what he believed to be a kind hearted man who was walking alone:
“I’m convinced that he even loved me, and that always amazed me greatly. Whether he regarded me as an immature, incomplete man, whether he felt that special sort of compassion for me that any strong creature instinctively feels for a weaker one, once he had recognised me as such… I don’t know.” – Notes From A Dead House by Fyodor Dostoevsky, P.106.
Many other inmates are given special treatment but it is the general psychological impact of imprisonment which is commented on the most. You almost feel sympathy for these prisoners in moments despite some of their crimes.
In prison everything is put into perspective and goals refrain from broading beyond the desire to leave prison. Freedom becomes the north star and all prisoners share a united discontentment with their confinement, generating a brotherhood in the process of their unique grief for their former lives:
“The hope of a an inmate, deprived of freedom, is of a completely different sort from that of a man living a real life. A free man has hopes, of course (for instance, for a change in his lot, for success in some undertaking), but he lives, he acts; the whirl of real life carries him away entirely.” - Notes From A Dead House by Fyodor Dostoevsky, P.96.
One of my favourite moments of the book comes in the final chapters of part one in which a theatre play takes place between the inmates. The occasion surrounding this brings a sense of relief to the depressing conditions these men were living in.
Additionally, Aleksandr Petrovich notes the men’s arguments and jealousies surrounding the performance that at times are simply quite humorous. He highlights how serious this performance is taken due to it being one of the small forms of escapism any of them had.
Some prisoners wanted to use this opportunity to showcase their acting abilities, to tell the others that yes they were in prison but they had more to give than the life of a criminal. Others, like Aleksandr Petrovich, sat amongst newfound acquaintances and enjoyed the play, pretending as if he were a freeman for the few hours the performance took place:
“With that the theatre ends, until the next evening. Our people all go their ways, cheerful, pleased, praising the actors, thanking the sergeant. No quarrels are heard. Everybody is somehow unusually pleased, even as if happy, and they fall asleep not as habitually, but almost with a peace of mind – and why so, you wonder? And yet it’s not a figment of my imagination. It’s true, real. These poor men were allowed to live in their own way for a little while, to have fun like other people, to spend if only an hour of unprisonlike time – and they were morally changed, even if only for those few minutes… But now it’s already deep night.” – Notes From A Dead House by Fyodor Dostoevsky, P. 163.
Whilst the experiences of Aleksandr Petrovich were less depressing than expected there are plenty of miserable moments in this book. These usually come from the gruesome retelling of other prisoner’s crimes, the tortuous punishments inflicted on those who broke the prison rules, or in the labour itself.
So don’t get me wrong, this book is not feel good. What it is is transformative. It is a – as I said in the beginning – a turning point both for our author and protagonist.
Dostoevsky’s experiences in prison gave him the content for his next book as well as experiences that would find themselves in his following work, particularly Crime and Punishment.
You can enjoy this book in a vacuum, but like (although not quite to the same degree) The Flowers of Buffoonery, Notes From A Dead House can better be consumed within the context of the person who wrote it.
It is not necessary though – I want to stress this. If you are simply interested in the goings on in a 1840s – 1850s Siberian work camp, this book is also for you. If you want to read an early day’s prisoner memoir to compare it to the multitude of prison memoirs written nowadays, this book is for you. If you’re the type who seeks out the good in any situation and who can be philosophical about anything, this book is for you. Go ahead and read it.
But, in my opinion (and honestly this is more than likely a flaw than not), books for me are more enjoyable within the context of it’s history and the author’s life. Unfortunately that is how I operate, and because of this, reading Notes From A Dead House was a much more enjoyable experience knowing what it influenced and how it changed Dostoevsky, undeniably, for the better.