Today, Feathered Quill reviewer Tripti Kandari is talking with Michael Pronko, author of Tokyo Tempos.

FQ: Did the writing process of Tokyo Tempos evolve your prior perspective on Tokyo’s identity?

PRONKO: Absolutely. It’s an ongoing process of reevaluating. I’m constantly changing my ideas about Tokyo. “Ha! Wrong again!” I think—or worse, half-wrong. Identity is tricky to pin down. I think I can see Tokyo from more different angles now. It’s like a Japanese garden—you can’t see all of it from any one vantage point, either in space or time, so when you move, you see it altogether differently. So, I try to keep moving, keep looking, keep evolving. Tokyo changes, and I change, so the writing changes.

FQ: How did you ensure that the cultural nuances of Tokyo are portrayed authentically in the book? Were there any challenges you faced in this regard?

PRONKO: There are huge challenges in doing that, especially when you’re not ‘from’ a place. Still, I’ve lived here a long time. Longer than my students, I often remind them. I’m not trying to gaijin-splain Japan, nor am I doing an academic analysis, but rather, I want to respond to Tokyo authentically as myself. With narrative, vignette, or observation, you’re freer than writing a history or academic analysis. Of course, I try to “get it right,” but if I miss something, that forms part of the process of understanding through writing. I can’t look at Tokyo like a Japanese person can, but I can write about my experiences in Tokyo.

FQ: What measures will you suggest to an author writing about a city and culture that they have been a part of but not immersed in deeply to ensure authenticity in their portrayal?

PRONKO: I think one can always write from one’s point of view if one is honest about it. Fascinating books have been written by people who only visited a city or country once. The standpoint matters, and being upfront about it is key. Saying something like, “The first time I went to Paris, I…” positions you as a first-time observer, though in hindsight or years later, after more visits, you might have changed your mind. A writer can write authentically by making sure the internal response and the external experience connect. Having a good sense of oneself, one’s position, and one’s voice, not to mention a sense of humor, all help.

FQ: Tokyo Tempos is in the form of discursive essays. Which one of these did you enjoy writing the most and why?

PRONKO: Some come easily, so that makes the writing enjoyable in that sense. I loved writing about the change of tatami mats in my home, for example, because I was standing right there, out of the way, as they worked to redo the mats. I was amazed at the whole process. Some hit me like lightning, so it’s enjoyable to have them arrive fully formed in my mind, like the essay on fireworks. But I also like to work through them slowly, like the essay about riding trains. That essay took decades of train riding, but it’s also one of the most enjoyable to finally finish. Stopping to think about ordinary experiences always brings me joy because the writing adds meaning or uncovers deeper layers of meaning. So, it's enjoyable whenever I discover a deeper meaning to things, like toads in my backyard.

FQ: Was there any more challenging or demanding essay to write than others? If yes, what made it so?

PRONKO: I found it hard to write about my student’s death. No surprise there. I wrote about undergoing surgery. Ugh. Some topics seem easy at first but end up being a pain to figure out. I’ll jot down an idea, confident I’ve got a winner. But then, as I work on it, it’s just a giant knot, and I can’t get the words to work. I abandon some essay topics. My folders are chock full of ideas, notes, and beginning paragraphs, seeds that didn’t sprout. Some are embarrassing, like being nervous about giving a wedding speech in Japanese. And it’s often inverse—if the experience is easy, the writing is hard, and vice versa.

FQ: Tokyo Tempos touches on aspects of Japanese culture. How do you expect the Japanese readership to react and interpret the themes in the book?

PRONKO: The Japanese readership was quite welcoming when I wrote for Newsweek Japan and for the Japan Times. “I never noticed that,” was the usual response. My editors were Japanese, so they would help sift through my topic suggestions, so I internalized their filter. Japanese are fairly receptive to misunderstandings, up to a point. So, I try to think of things that no Japanese person has said to me or about things they might not have seen themselves. In an earlier book, I wrote about Japanese wall menus. Looking at the menus on the wall was like being immersed in culinary poetry. Japanese usually welcome that kind of comment from “outsiders.”

FQ: When you reread your essays, do they feel different from what they did when you wrote them initially?

PRONKO: Sometimes, I feel the same, but often, my perspective has shifted, so topics gather new meanings that I didn’t have at first. If I took any one of the pieces now and went back into it, I’m sure I’d add more or emphasize something differently. We too often read for hard and fast answers instead of searching for questions that keep us thinking. I hope the essays are worth re-reading for new feelings.

FQ: I find Tokyo Tempos part of a broad conversation around cultural change and preservation. How do you hope your readers contribute to that conversation after engaging with the work?

PRONKO: I hope it is part of a broader conversation. I’ve had readers write to me from all over, saying they want to start writing about their own country, Korea, India, Germany, or wherever. I think it’s great if readers develop their own processes of observation and expression. I hope readers start to observe that in their own lives, wherever they live. We are at a point in world history where there is a rich storehouse of traditional ways of thinking and living that deserve preservation. But there are also a lot of changes that remain to be made. Cross-cultural comparisons are one way to enhance that conversation.

Read the Review