Tokyo Ueno Station

“I did not live with intent, I only lived. But that’s all over now.”

This is the first indication that Kazu is telling the story from beyond the end of his life. This comment is also the first hint of poverty, as it suggests a way of life that was limited to the bare essentials; plans for the future, goals, and ambition are all things that eluded Kazu while he was alive.

“Fifty years had passed; parents and siblings had died, and the family homes we should have returned to had disappeared for those of us who passed our days in this park.”

The five-decade span of time Kazu mentions here alludes to the period after World War II, when many people moved to the cities—particularly Tokyo—to find work. Like Kazu, these folks left their rural homes out of necessity. However, this meant that resources were diverted away from rural communities and into urban centers, making it difficult for the people in those communities to survive. Once the immediate postwar jobs dried up, the workers in Tokyo had nowhere to go.

“I never carried any photos with me, but I was always surrounded by people, places, and times gone by. And as I retreated into the future, the only thing I could ever see was the past. It was nothing as sweet as nostalgia or a longing for bygone days, just a constant absence from the present, an anger toward the future.”

Kazu’s inability to keep himself grounded in the present impacts his emotional state of being. He fluctuates between past and future and skips the present where some form of happiness could possibly be found. This shows The Influence of Poverty on Mental Health. When one is constantly working to make ends meet, as Kazu was for much of his life, one must always have some view toward the future in order to secure the basic necessities of life. The future has real consequences that must be managed ahead of time when at all possible, preventing impoverished people from being able to stop and enjoy the moment.

“I’d left it hanging from the ceiling of my tent, but obviously someone must’ve taken it—after I disappeared.”

This passage offers another clue as to the fact that Kazu is dead. It also represents the theme Invisible Classism as it shows how unceremonious the deaths of unhoused people can be. The object alluded to in the passage is a jacket that belonged to Kazu when he was alive. The fact that another unhoused man took Kazu’s jacket right from Kazu’s hut shows that necessity supersedes ceremony.

“If I don’t exist, I can’t disappear either.”

Aside from the obvious metaphysical implications of this passage, Kazu’s comment further builds the theme of Invisible Classism through an exploration of Kazu’s current mental state. He talks about how certain sights made him feel lonely while he was alive but mentions that he’s losing a general concept of sensation, as if he might disappear should he try to touch something. However, the idea that Kazu “doesn’t exist” relates to the invisibility of unhoused people in the eyes of the general populace; this idea is further supported later in the story.

“I was relieved that he left, of course, but at the same time I thought what a thing of sin poverty was, that there could be nothing more sinful than forcing a small child to lie. The wages of that sin were poverty, a wage that one could not endure, leading one to sin again, and as long as one could not pull oneself out of poverty, the cycle would repeat until death.”

Kazu is recalling times when he was forced to lie to debt collectors on behalf of his father, an example of the theme of The Influence of Poverty on Mental Health. Kazu expresses the negative feedback loop that is a hallmark of generational poverty. At the heart of this passage is powerlessness; this scene also gives context to Kazu’s later decision to leave Mari’s house, as he refuses to be a burden to a young family member.

“The Statue of Times Forgotten depicts a woman carrying a baby boy in her right arm while her left hand rests on the shoulder of a little girl. The little girl is looking up and pointing at the sky to the right, and the baby looks up to the right, too, but the mother faces straight ahead.”

The statue commemorates the firebombing of Tokyo in World War II, one of many historical events referenced in the book. The symbolism in the statue is apparent in where the figures are looking. The mother looking straight ahead suggests a seeking of shelter and protection for her children, while the children looking up are likely drawn to the sound of approaching airplanes.

“The grandfather clock chimed, telling me that yet another hour had passed, but I couldn’t make myself feel as though time were actually passing.”

Kazu is explaining his state of mind during the initial days after his son Koichi’s death, showcasing The Impact of Grief. That he cannot force himself to feel that time is passing indicates a sense of disconnect. In this scene, Kazu himself describes being wrapped up in sorrow, anger, and shock, and he is consumed by the regretful realization that his beloved son barely knew him.

“I stood alone in the darkness. Light does not illuminate. It only looks for things to illuminate. And I had never been found by the light. I would always be in darkness.”

Later in the same scene, Kazu forces himself to remember that Koichi is dead forever. This passage shows how Kazu sees himself and further explains his mental state. That he feels he is always in darkness suggests not only a deep grief but also the idea that he has been cursed to live a life of utter anonymity, even with his own son.

“Is death where time stops and the self is left all alone in this space? Is death where space and the self are erased and only time continues?”

Kazu asks these questions as he is processing the death of his son. Kazu sees three separate aspects of existence: the self, time, and space. These ideas remain directly intertwined throughout the novel, though they are continuously unbalanced and nonlinear to the point of incomprehensibility, particularly in relation to Kazu himself.

“The notion that Kōichi could not hear it seemed odd to me as I watched the movement of the brass pendulum. When the last chime had faded, the house became as silent as if it were underwater, and I could not help but think that he was listening to this silence, that Kōichi was listening.”

This is an example of the motif of noise, which is linked to time. The grandfather clock chiming during Koichi’s wake signals that to the living, time continues. The silence that follows in the house suggests that the living realize their own mortality when they hear the chimes. That Kazu thinks Koichi hears it, and that he cannot help but think it, shows his belief that the self is immortal.

“Then something swept into the corner of my eye—it was the bird, the one I’d seen on my way to my neighbor’s house in the morning, the white-breasted bird, it really was Kōichi after all—but those thoughts might have come to me only after people poured me a few glasses of sake and I was quite drunk.”

Birds are a recurring symbol in the story, and this moment is a major example. Seeing the bird at first convinces Kazu that Koichi is perhaps reincarnated as the bird. This shows Kazu trying to process his grief and trying to find hope. He also realizes that he is drunk and uses this as a means of undermining himself. He wants to believe that Koichi is the bird, but he sabotages himself.

“Humanity’s worst impulse is to imagine those final moments. […] The judgment as to what kinds of deaths are good or bad is entirely our own.”

This is spoken by the priest at Koichi’s funeral service. The priest gives various examples to illustrate that a “good” or “bad” death is a matter of perspective, one that is purely human instinct, not objective truth. The living, who are left behind, get caught up in regrets. This leads people to fixate on “what if”s in their grief. However, ultimately, the ideas of “good” and “bad” deaths are entirely personal.

“Before, I used to wake up, think about where I was, what I was doing, what day it was, then open my eyes, but afterward I was woken up by one fact alone: Kōichi was dead.”

This scene follows the previous quote and continues the theme of The Impact of Grief. This is Kazu’s new reality, one that all mourners must suffer. Kazu’s vulnerability here shows how processing grief also comes with learning how to go forward in life in the absence of the loved one.

“Around here, when a son is born, we congratulate the parents by telling them that now they have someone to carry their funeral tablet. ‘What, this kid?’ people say, laughing in response.

I had lost my tablet carrier.

I was the one who carried his tablet.”

Kazu makes a cultural reference here, speaking about the religious views of those in his community. The terrible irony of his situation—that his son, who was meant to carry his funeral tablet, has died—creates a tone of immense heartbreak as he realizes this detail.

“Before, we had families. We had houses. Nobody starts off life in a hovel made of cardboard and tarps, and nobody becomes homeless because they want to be.”

Returning to Ueno Park, Kazu presents an observation on the circumstances of a typical unhoused person’s life. Kazu’s words here tie together the themes of poverty and invisible classism. Kazu claims that external forces often create challenges that lead one from a home to a life without one. His defense of unhoused people also speaks to the lack of support and respect they receive; rather than being viewed as individuals who could benefit from aid, they are treated as a monolith and blamed for their own circumstances.

“If you fall into a pit, you can climb out, but once you slip from a sheer cliff, you cannot step firmly into a new life again. The only thing that can stop you from falling is the moment of your death.”

The metaphor of falling off the cliff provides a stark image for how improbable it is for one to climb out of their poverty. There is only downward movement as suggested by the falling; in this case, poverty is a force like gravity, and it cannot be overcome by simply stepping out of it. There is no escaping it with effort alone.

“To speak is to stumble, to hesitate, to detour and hit dead ends. To listen is straightforward. You can always just listen.”

This comment occurs in between flashbacks of conversations with Shige, while Kazu is listening to the various sounds of the park: conversation, birds and cicadas, and landscaping machines. Here, Kazu points out that listening is better than speaking as it prevents one from making mistakes. Listening opens the door to greater awareness; it is also one of the only things Kazu, as a ghost, is capable of doing, as he can no longer interact with the living.

“The memories of the past that I could not get rid of were all contained in a box. And time had sealed the lid. A box whose lid is sealed by time should not be opened. Were it opened, I would be plunged at once into the past.”

Kazu again uses metaphor to describe emotional compartmentalization. Kazu also suggests that one should not willingly go rooting around in the hidden recesses. Instead, one should leave the past where it is.

“I could not alleviate the weight of my memories of those who were absent by speaking of them.”

This quote ties back to Quote 19, when Kazu stresses listening over speaking. The “weight of memories” suggests that memories of dead loved ones do not provide relief; instead, Kazu implies that the memories are a burden. Acknowledging them grants no relief, so it is better to put them aside—in a box, as per Quote 20.

“Opening the storage vault under the tombstone at the family grave, I shifted my father’s and mother’s remains to one side and placed Setsuko’s remains next to Kōichi’s, and at that moment the keening of a cicada somewhere in the pine trees above me rang out.”

In these moments when Kazu experiences the grief from a loved one’s passing, he sees signs in nature that hint there is something on the other side that awaits them. The cicadas parallel the bird that Kazu fixated on after Koichi died. They are also a direct reference to Setsuko’s comment, in which she implied she knew she was dying soon. The sound of cicadas adds to Kazu’s grief and guilt.

“I was not afraid of ghosts. Nor was I afraid of death or dying. I was afraid of living this life not knowing when it might end.”

Kazu expresses his approach to living, which includes existential anxiety. The uncertainty revealed here is Kazu’s inability to determine with any accuracy when his life will end. It is the not knowing that causes him fear, rather than death itself.

“To be homeless is to be ignored when people walk past while still being in full view of everyone.”

Kazu makes another broad observation about how unhoused people are perceived by society at large, referencing the theme Invisible Classism in Japan. Ignoring unhoused people in the sense of the passage hints at a larger criticism of Japanese society since it is implied that this is representative of how the housing problem is handled.