Fudoki by Kij Johnson
‘Never mind,’ she said, ‘I don’t see the point of a God.’
‘And I don’t see much point in a cat.’ the Kami replied.
Fudoki is a 2003 historical fantasy novel by American writer Kij Johnson. The novel was a finalist for the 2004 World Fantasy Award but lost out to Jo Walton’s Tooth and Claw. The book is a relatively obscure one, having less than 1,000 ratings on Goodreads at the time of writing this review. This, I feel, is an utter travesty, considering that Fudoki numbers amongst the best books I’ve ever read.
The story is a dual narrative set in feudal Japan. On one level, we follow the adventures of a sapient cat named Kagaya-hime. After a fire breaks out and robs her of her home and family, our feline heroine finds herself bereft of a fudoki – the essence possessed by every being that informs them of their place in the world. So, Kagaya-hime sets off into the world to recover what she has lost, finding herself transformed into a human warrior woman, and encountering various gods and kamis along the way.
Yet Kagaya-hime’s tale is just one layer of this remarkable novel. It is a story within a story, a yarn spun by the elderly princess Harueme. Spending her entire life in the imperial court, Harueme never had the chance to live the adventures she writes about, yet her memoirs inevitably bleed into her narrative until the two are intertwined in such a way that they can no longer be separated. We learn about the princess’ life, her loves, her regrets, and her meditations – all told in a voice that reads like aged silk.
Fudoki is a quiet read. It is an exercise akin to watching a koi pond, where all of the action takes place just beneath the surface. The book is a subtle and contemplative one – one that leaves the reader with a lot to think about long after they have closed its pages. Harueme is a fascinating and compelling character, possessing an easy wisdom that is a pleasure to read. One just wishes to sit at her feet all day long and soak in her musings on life and the condition of the human heart.
The prose of Fudoki is soft and delicate, but the tone is a tragic one. Like the Japanese literature that no doubt inspired it, Fudoki carries with it a melancholic tune that is at once enchanting and haunting. Even the novel’s most light-hearted moments have an undercurrent of sorrow and transience – as though joy ill-suits the mortal plane. A book that can evoke such sadness must surely be a masterpiece.
Rating – 9/10
