#BookWalk | The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet | David Mitchell

Many writers suffer from imposter syndrome, partly because they have no idea what they did to get their manuscript dragged out of a publisher’s slush pile, which is why I still find it deeply unsettling when I’m asked to assess or review writing. This regularly happens at book launches, which are fun to attend, but also traditionally involve buying the book and getting it signed by the author, who almost invariably ends off with the words: “Lemme know what you think…” knowing full well that you almost certainly won’t, because it’s even more difficult to say something honest about a friend’s book, than it is to tell them the truth about their children or pets.

However, because I’m well aware how important it is to promote the work of others, I came up with the idea of the #BookWalk, which is basically ten passages excerpted from the book, accompanied by a brief note explaining how it fits into the narrative. Without further ado, let me demonstrate how this works using a book by an author I don’t know personally, but whose work I admire immensely, partly because some misguided souls have compared my work to his. The writer in question is David Mitchell and the novel I’ll be excerpting from is The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, which is set in the year 1799 on the island of Dejima in Nagasaki Harbour, where the Japanese Empire has established a highly restricted trading post populated by ambitious officials and conniving merchants, who can only do business via Japanese and Dutch interpreters. The story revolves around Jacob de Zoet, a young clerk who arrives in Dejima with the simple objective of earning enough money to win the hand of his wealthy fiancée back in Holland.

Here are ten passages from the book.

Arie Grote is plucking a bird under a canopy of pans and skillets. Oil is frying, a pile of improvised pancakes is rising up, and a well-travelled round of Edam and sour apples are divided between two mess tables. (p. 31) | Mitchell not only transports you to a kitchen on the Japanese island of Dejima, but also engages all your senses with carefully chosen, telling adjectives.

Jacob considers the power his visitor must wield to waltz into Dejima on a day turned upside down by the earthquake and mingle with foreigners, free from the usual phalanx of spies and shogunal guards. Enomoto runs his thumb along the crates, as if divining their contents.(p. 80) | The first of multiple antagonists makes his entrance. Multiple antagonists, goddammit.

“Joke is secret language” – she frowns – “inside words.” (p. 134) | Communication and cultural differences invariably present a challenge on the island.

“Girls earn a fair clip, while their looks last; the ‘Corals o’ Maruyama,’ the pimps call ‘em. But for boys, it’s harder: Thunberg Junior’s a goldfish breeder, I hear, but he’ll be a worm breeder by an’ by, an’ no mistake.” (p. 164) | Mitchell lets his characters recount historical background information in their own jargon, thus keeping the edifying aspects of the story fresh, interesting and even comical.

“The present is a battleground” – Yoshida straightens his spine as best he can – “Where rival what-ifs compete to become the future ‘what is’. How does one what-if prevail over its adversaries? The answer” – the sick man coughs – “the answer, ‘Military and political power, of course!’ is a postponement, for what is it that direct the minds of the powerful? The answer is ‘belief.’” (p. 222) | Like a superb actor playing Shakespeare, Mitchell brings characters and ideas to life, giving them a heartbeat, a cough, their very own diction.

Otane stares at him like Time itself, made human. From her sleeve, she withdraws a dogwood scroll tube. (p. 254) | Mitchell is not averse to a little cloak ‘n’ dagger ‘n’ scroll tube.

Uzaemon catches his sneeze in a paper square, which he tosses in the fire. (p. 292) | The (poor) health of the characters plays an integral part in the array of techniques that Mitchell deploys to win the reader’s empathy.

“But I discovered there are problems with owning your mind. When I am on my mind island, I am as free as any Dutchman. There, I eat capons and mango and sugared plums. There, I lie with Master van Cleef’s wife in the warm sand. There, I build boats and weave sails with my brother and my people. If I forget their names, they remind me. We speak in the tongue of Weh and drink kava and pray to our ancestors. There, I do not stitch or scrub or fetch or carry for masters.
Then I hear, ‘Are you listening to me, idle dog?’
Then I hear, ‘If you won’t move for me, here’s my whip!’
Each time I return from my mind island, I am recaptured by slavers.” (p. 345) | No historical account of atrocities can match this moving soliloquy in bringing home the horror of slavery.

Surgeon Nash examines the ankle, swollen to twice its usual size. “Steeplechases and mazurkas are, more than like, behind you now, Captain. May I recommend a stick to help you walk? I shall have Rafferty fetch one.” (p. 409) | Let’s throw in a British Man o’ War, shall we? But let’s not have a cardboard cut-out with bellowing cannons; let’s populate it with real people and take the reader on board.

“Gulls wheel through spokes of sunlight over gracious roofs and dowdy thatch, snatching entrails at the marketplace and escaping over cloistered gardens, spike-topped walls, and triple-bolted doors.” (somewhere near the end) | I'm not a great fan of lengthy descriptive passages, but Mitchell blends the lyrical with the technical, compelling the reader to take note, to join him on his journey, to see the story through the eyes of his characters, to sit beside an omniscient god.

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