The Hindu Lit for Life 2026 | In conversation with Japanese author Satoshi Yagisawa

In the two-part Morisaki Bookshop series, it feels like you are paying homage to the authors who have inspired you or shaped your life. Could you tell us more?

I deeply love modern Japanese literature, and my life as a reader has been profoundly shaped by it. The fact that Morisaki Bookshop specialises in antiquarian books of modern literature comes from this affection.

What struck me most when reading the works of great writers from the past was the realisation that no matter how much times and circumstances change, the essence of human emotions — the worries and pain people carry — remains constant. The heartache I was experiencing in my own life was vividly portrayed in the words of people who had lived decades before me. This discovery was a great salvation for me. That is why, when writing my own novels, I came to strongly desire to depict universal human emotions that transcend any particular culture or era.

While there are heavy-duty themes in your novels — rejection, grief, love, sexuality, taking control of oneself — they are manoeuvred carefully, with lightness. How do you achieve this without compromising on readability?

I’m truly happy that you read it that way! This is precisely the aspect I put the most care into when writing. If I simply portray heavy themes in a heavy manner, readers might close the door before those themes even reach their hearts. ‘How to conceal life’s weight within lightness?’ — this requires an extremely delicate sense of balance and technical effort to achieve as a story. I always hope to create works where readers can move through the story comfortably, yet when they pause for a moment, a deep resonance or question lingers in their hearts.

Be it the Morisaki Bookshop series or the first instalment of Torunka Café, the setting is a closed space encapsulating the world. Could you reflect on the purposefulness of this choice?

I think this reflects my stance as a writer — my desire to be an ‘observer’. Setting the stage in ‘closed spaces’ like bookshops or cafés is like installing a fixed camera. By anchoring the location, the changes in the people who visit, and the movements of their hearts emerge more vividly. Moreover, such places serve as “safe zones” where people are temporarily freed from their social titles and roles. It’s precisely because these spaces are enclosed that people can remove their armour and return to their honest selves.

How has it been partnering with Eric Ozawa who has translated all your books?

Regarding translation, I never give Eric any instructions or requests whatsoever. That said, the fact that my work has been read by so many people in the English-speaking world is undoubtedly thanks to his excellent translations. Personally, I also very much like him as a person, and I can only feel grateful to have been blessed with such a wonderful partner.

Given the recent popularity of Japanese fiction, is there anything readers should do to avoid ignoring the wealth of Japanese literature out there?

Society, if left unchecked, will impose upon us “what we should do” and “what we should read”. That is why I hope readers will cultivate the power to trust their own antennae. There is no need to be swayed by the voices of the world. What matters is simply this: whether your heart is moved, whether your life becomes richer.