Author Lynne Kutsukake with her new novel, The Art of Vanishing, during the book’s launch at Ben McNally Books in Toronto on June 18. Photo credit: Kelly Fleck. The cover of Lynne Kutsukake’s new novel, The Art of Vanishing. Photo courtesy: Knopf Canada.
TORONTO — Who decides what makes great art and the artists worth remembering throughout history? What are the lines you draw and the lines you cross for the sake of creating great art? Author Lynne Kutsukake’s new novel The Art of Vanishing asks, what would you be willing to do—and willing to lose—to achieve your dreams?
Kutsukake dives into the bustling and avant-garde art world of 1970s Tokyo. The story follows Akemi, who craves independence and a future other than marriage. Her artistic abilities offer a way out of her small town, and she moves to a rooming house in Tokyo to study medical illustration. Life brightens when she is befriended by her passionate and rebellious roommate, Sayako, and a tender friendship blossoms.
But after a devastating betrayal, Sayako disappears, and to find her, Akemi must first face herself. What follows is a delicate yet explosive story about friendship, loyalty, and authenticity between two young women struggling to see and be seen.
Kutsukake celebrated the release of her second novel during a packed book launch event at Ben McNally Books in Toronto on June 18. The Sansei writer, translator, and former librarian’s debut novel, The Translation of Love, won the Canada-Japan Literary Award and Kobo Emerging Writer Prize for Literary Fiction, and her short stories have been published in various magazines and publications.
Inspiration for the novel took shape during the pandemic lockdown when art institutions opened parts of their collections online, and people were looking for ways to be creative to pass the time.
“Through visual art, or conceptual art, or performance art, I thought I could raise topics about creativity. What does it mean to be a creative person? What does it mean to want to be an “artist?” Who gets to be an artist, and who gets to call themselves an artist?” Kutsukake tells Nikkei Voice in an interview.
Kutsukake explores themes of creativity and misogyny through her two young characters, each who wants to be an artist but who couldn’t be more different. Akemi is timid and pragmatic. Her art style is careful, detailed, and realistic, which reflects her upbringing. She chooses a practical art style that will lead to a career in graphic design. She can’t afford lofty aspirations like Sayako, who dreams of becoming a great artist and feels her wealthy parents are holding her back with their expectations of her.
While Akemi and Sayako differ in their art styles, personalities, and backgrounds, they need each other. Akemi agrees to model for hours at a time for Sayako to practice painting portraits but also enjoys feeling seen after feeling invisible and lonely in Tokyo. At university and away from home for the first time, they are on the cusp of adulthood.
“They both want independence. But I don’t think they [know] exactly what that entails,” says Kutsukake.
A feeling of authenticity carries through Kutsukake’s settings—she lived and worked in Japan in the late 70s. As a Sansei who never spoke Japanese at home, knowing only words for food, living in Japan was a culture shock. The language, culture, and history were all new to her, and because she looked Japanese, people expected her to speak Japanese.
“That experience changed my life because while I was there, I decided to really try to study Japanese. It’s the sort of lament that I think many Sansei share. We grew up with very little Japanese, so mastering it always seemed like kind of an impossibility,” says Kutsukake.
Being immersed in the language and culture helped her learn, and she later returned to Japan on a research scholarship to study Japanese literature.
Kutsukake found inspiration in the cultural and artistic movement brewing in Japan during the 60s and 70s. Japan had re-emerged after being a war-torn country following the Second World War. Like in North America, there was a growing student movement. University students were protesting the authoritarian university structure, the Vietnam War and American occupation, and Japan’s complicity with the American government. Japan was an incubator for revolutionary art—think the birth of butoh dance and artists like Yayoi Kusama, Okamoto Taro, and Yoko Ono.
“It was like a fervent period, and Japanese art in the 1960s was really adventurous and avant-garde,” says Kutsukake. “That sort of adventurous spirit was still ongoing—it’s still ongoing. Japan has a very lively and daring art community.”
In the aftermath of student protests, groups splintered, and factions became more extreme, leading to a boom in cults and new religions led by so-called gurus. Some groups became increasingly competitive and violent, leading to various factional disputes, conflicts, and arrests.
Kutsukake was curious about the psychology of cults, particularly from a victim’s perspective. What would make them join a cult? Why would some give away all of their life savings, leave their friends and family, or, in extreme cases, resort to violence, following the leadership of someone else?
Maybe if the group offered you something you really wanted, your deepest desires, says Kutsukake. Maybe a charismatic and charming person with a group of loyal disciples says they see your true talent and know how to nurture and bring it out of you.
“It doesn’t take that much. If you want to believe, you will believe. So it’s just a question of what you would be willing to give up and how much you want and how much you need to believe because of your desires,” says Kutsukake.
When Akemi and Sayako meet the charming, attractive, and thrilling Nezu and Kaori, who invite them to “happenings” with fellow artists and a promise to unlock their true artistic potential, their story takes a turn.
Nezu and Kaori’s promises are not a far cry from examples in the current day. Of course, there are still cults in North America, Japan, and the world, but there are even closer everyday life examples. We are constantly being sold things that promise a quick fix, and we believe it because it’s what we want to hear.
But to make great art, or any art at all? It’s a process, says Kutsukake. Try, and try again. She quotes famous playwright Samuel Beckett in his 1983 prose Worstward Ho, “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”
“That’s all it is. It’s just the process that matters. It’s doing it again and again,” says Kutsukake. “It’s the process of making the art that is the important thing. And that it will never be perfect. But if you are an artist, then you will just keep trying. You have to keep trying. You have to keep going.”
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The Art of Vanishing by Lynne Kutsukake is now available at independent and major bookstores.