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A review by jola_g
Fifty Sounds by Polly Barton
4.0
Yum-yum: the sound of Jola devouring Polly Barton's book, often feeling euphoric, albeit not liking it as much as she wished.
Too much Polly Barton and Ludwig Wittgenstein, too little Japan. This is my general impression after having read Fifty Sounds (2021). The issue I had with this book was the distance between me and Polly Barton. Sometimes she was either...
⟹ Too far, hiding behind Ludwig Wittgenstein and his theory of language, which is enthralling, but I found her fascination overwhelming, especially in the first part of the book.
⇒ Too close. I would prefer more observations on Japan to the snippets of Polly Barton's love life. I was looking forward to basking in the sounds of the Land of the Rising Sun, not necessarily eavesdropping behind the author's bedroom door.
I was not thrilled by Polly Barton's self-indulgence and her tendency to feel victimized, nonetheless there were things in Fifty Sounds which I absolutely adored. Most importantly, the creative idea behind the book which gave it a unique, poetic structure: it consists of fifty vignettes, each devoted to a different Japanese onomatopoeia. I also admire the author's erudition and her linguistic skills. Frankly speaking, I fell in love with Fifty Sounds at the stage of reading the blurb for the first time and bought the book immediately after it had been released which goes to prove how infatuated I got.
I think Fifty Sounds will appeal more to the readers who are into the philosophy of language, teaching and learning foreign languages and translation than to those keen on Japan. The hunger of the latter might not be fully satisfied. As for Japan, Polly Barton is in a love-and-hate relationship with this intriguing country which attracts and repels her at the same time. The story of her affair with Y, a Japanese teacher, encapsulates that. It constantly feels as if she were enamoured of someone distant, cold and demanding but concurrently bewitching: I am in a pseudo-romantic relationship with Japan, which is jealous, intense and full of burning, flailing ego. Her fixation is not blind though. For instance, she wonders why Japan, being such a well-off country, accepts so few asylum seekers.
Besides, I loved the author's writing style and her reflections on learning a foreign language. They are not only spot-on but also beautiful. Just a few examples:
The language learning I want to talk about is a sensory bombardment. It is a possession, a bedevilment, a physical takeover.
If language learning is anything, it is the always-bruised but ever-renewing desire to draw close: to a person, a territory, a culture, an idea, an indefinable feeling.
My body was alive with the sounds it had collected up throughout the day. When I shut my eyes in bed at night I was souped in them, sounds that hovered between known and unknown, as if comprehensibility were not in fact the currency in which my brain dealt any more, and what was being processed was rather the rhythms.
Needless to say, the best way to put Polly Barton's opinions on Japan, the Japanese and their language to the test would be to simply go there. Hopefully, I will do it in the future, provided Oscar Wild was wrong when he declared: In fact the whole of Japan is a pure invention. There is no such country, there are no such people… The Japanese people are… simply a mode of style, an exquisite fancy of art.
David Burliuk, On the Beach, Japan.
Too much Polly Barton and Ludwig Wittgenstein, too little Japan. This is my general impression after having read Fifty Sounds (2021). The issue I had with this book was the distance between me and Polly Barton. Sometimes she was either...
⟹ Too far, hiding behind Ludwig Wittgenstein and his theory of language, which is enthralling, but I found her fascination overwhelming, especially in the first part of the book.
⇒ Too close. I would prefer more observations on Japan to the snippets of Polly Barton's love life. I was looking forward to basking in the sounds of the Land of the Rising Sun, not necessarily eavesdropping behind the author's bedroom door.
I was not thrilled by Polly Barton's self-indulgence and her tendency to feel victimized, nonetheless there were things in Fifty Sounds which I absolutely adored. Most importantly, the creative idea behind the book which gave it a unique, poetic structure: it consists of fifty vignettes, each devoted to a different Japanese onomatopoeia. I also admire the author's erudition and her linguistic skills. Frankly speaking, I fell in love with Fifty Sounds at the stage of reading the blurb for the first time and bought the book immediately after it had been released which goes to prove how infatuated I got.
I think Fifty Sounds will appeal more to the readers who are into the philosophy of language, teaching and learning foreign languages and translation than to those keen on Japan. The hunger of the latter might not be fully satisfied. As for Japan, Polly Barton is in a love-and-hate relationship with this intriguing country which attracts and repels her at the same time. The story of her affair with Y, a Japanese teacher, encapsulates that. It constantly feels as if she were enamoured of someone distant, cold and demanding but concurrently bewitching: I am in a pseudo-romantic relationship with Japan, which is jealous, intense and full of burning, flailing ego. Her fixation is not blind though. For instance, she wonders why Japan, being such a well-off country, accepts so few asylum seekers.
Besides, I loved the author's writing style and her reflections on learning a foreign language. They are not only spot-on but also beautiful. Just a few examples:
The language learning I want to talk about is a sensory bombardment. It is a possession, a bedevilment, a physical takeover.
If language learning is anything, it is the always-bruised but ever-renewing desire to draw close: to a person, a territory, a culture, an idea, an indefinable feeling.
My body was alive with the sounds it had collected up throughout the day. When I shut my eyes in bed at night I was souped in them, sounds that hovered between known and unknown, as if comprehensibility were not in fact the currency in which my brain dealt any more, and what was being processed was rather the rhythms.
Needless to say, the best way to put Polly Barton's opinions on Japan, the Japanese and their language to the test would be to simply go there. Hopefully, I will do it in the future, provided Oscar Wild was wrong when he declared: In fact the whole of Japan is a pure invention. There is no such country, there are no such people… The Japanese people are… simply a mode of style, an exquisite fancy of art.
David Burliuk, On the Beach, Japan.