More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop

“I could hardly distinguish one type of customer from another. But when a new customer walked into the shop, my uncle seemed to be able to tell at a glance whether they’d come to buy a book or if they had just wandered in on a stroll. He said his intuition was the result of years of experience.”

Satoru’s many years working at the Morisaki Bookshop have familiarized him with people and their intentions. He builds relationships with his customers, particularly his regulars, and is able to assume their intentions. Takako is shocked that he has the intuition to know what a customer wants and needs when they arrive at the store, demonstrating Satoru’s own ability to anticipate the needs of others. Satoru’s “intuition” functions as a quiet metaphor for emotional literacy—his ability to read people parallels Takako’s journey of learning to read her own emotions through literature.

“If you think about it, most of the authors of the books here are no longer alive. It’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Their books are still with us, and we read them to this day, and feel moved by them.”

The act of reading is important to the development of the characters, and Satoru’s reflection on the impact of novels represents this. His comment to Takako that the words of authors, even those long dead, still have a strong emotional impact on readers demonstrates the universality of the human experience and literature. Each character reads for their own personal reasons but is able to find something applicable to themselves in what they read. The reference to authors “no longer alive” reinforces the personal nature of reading by suggesting that literature transcends time, binding readers and writers across generations through shared emotion. This functions as a reflection on literary immortality.

“That’s why I only allow myself to read the book when I’m really compelled to. Because I want to hold on to the part of me that finds reading this book so moving. Whenever I read it, I always end up crying. No matter how many times I reread it, the tears always well up.”

For Takako, reading is an emotional outlet through which she can learn about love. In this excerpt, she reflects on her experiences reading The Chieko Poems, which has had a profound influence on her. No matter how many times she reads it, the book brings her to tears, demonstrating her need to read to process emotions. Repetition is used for emphasis in “No matter how many times […]  the tears always well up,” highlighting emotional consistency and the enduring power of literature to evoke catharsis.

“This was my favorite time of the whole year, the period before winter had truly arrived, the time to mourn the passing season. It made me want to stand still and stare up at the pale blue sky and its soft light.”

Yagisawa employs imagery to bring the Jimbocho neighborhood alive and connect Takako’s feelings to the world around her. In this instance, the arrival of winter, Takako’s favorite time of year, influences her to reflect on the passing of time and the end of fall. As she stares at the clear sky, its blankness reflects the beginning of a new season and a fresh start. The imagery of “mourn[ing] the passing season” aligns with the theme The Impact of Time on Healing From Grief, as Takako’s sensitivity to seasonal shifts mirrors her evolving emotional landscape.

“He really was pouting like a spoiled child. But I can be stubborn too. And I was going to make him take time off and go on that trip.”

Takako and Satoru have a unique relationship in which both often act as the adult seeking to guide the other through a difficult time. Yagisawa captures this dynamic in this excerpt by describing Satoru’s resistance to Takako’s proposed trip as “pouting like a spoiled child.” Satoru acts childish, while Takako is a voice of reason, flipping the dynamic that often defines their relationship. The contrast in tone reflects a role reversal that deepens the theme of Growth Through Friendship and Familial Relationships, showing how support can flow in both directions.

“As I steamed in the heat of the train, swaying to and from in the throng of bodies, and got carried off by the current, I must’ve screamed to myself about thirty times.”

Yagisawa uses descriptive language and imagery to capture the stress of riding on a busy train. Takako’s frustration is amplified in the description of the train’s atmosphere as being “steamed in heat,” giving it an oppressive feeling. Additionally, by describing her time on the train as being “carried off by the current,” Yagisawa further brings Takako’s feelings of not being in control to life.

“His writing was so powerful, I felt like he was right beside me, speaking to me. The book had such an irresistible pull that before I knew it, I was completely sucked in.”

In this excerpt, Takako’s experience reading a good book is amplified by descriptive language. She connects so well with the writing that she feels as though the author is alive and with her, having a conversation. The description of being pulled into the book, as though she is “completely sucked in,” demonstrates the strong connection that Takako has with the writing as well as the gravity of the author’s work.

“Once I pulled the door shut, the fierce sound of rain became a gentle whisper. The faint scent of the road wet with rain drifted into the shop, where it blended with the smell of old books.”

The Morisaki Bookshop is often treated as a unique entity within the world of the novel. It is a safe haven where the characters come to grow, and Yagisawa helps cultivate its unique atmosphere through descriptive language. In this instance, the difference in sound from the rain when the door is open and closed demonstrates how protective the walls of the shop are, keeping the noise and water at bay. This reflects Takako’s own experience in the shop, as she once came to the shop to escape a difficult period of her life. The gentle sensory shift from “fierce” to “whisper” is an auditory metaphor for emotional regulation. The bookshop becomes a symbolic space of calm, echoing the theme of growth through friendship and familial relationships.

“In that room lit only by moonlight, I revisited those sweet memories that had lain dormant behind a door within me, and it was like I was opening up one book after another, turning the pages until I finally fell asleep.”

As Takako reminisces, she feels as though she is uncovering experiences that have been locked away. By describing this feeling as though she were opening books, she solidifies the positive impact that reading has on her life. She perceives her good memories as books and revisiting them as reading, establishing her view of reading as a developmental and peaceful activity in her life. The structure of this quote uses an extended metaphor—comparing memories to books—to link Takako’s emotional recollections to her reading life, showing how both processes offer self-discovery and peace.

“There’s a richness to the writing; the sentences flow like water. Reading them, you get to savor the feeling of traveling, and as a bonus you get a glimpse of the customs and culture of the era.”

Reading is often described in creative ways in More Days at the Morisaki Bookshop, demonstrating how essential it is to the plot and character development. In this excerpt, both the act of reading and the impact that the subject matter has are discussed. By saying that “sentences flow like water,” Takako associates writing with a tempo that can be enjoyed by readers. She also describes how the book gives her a sense of traveling, even though she does not need to leave her home.

“In a mountain of thousands of old books, I was searching for a single volume, with only the slightest clue to go on. I found it surprisingly fun-like a treasure hunt.”

As Takako and Takano hunt for The Golden Dream, Takako takes pleasure in the search itself. She sees it as a challenge that brings her to her favorite places and forces her to sift through old books. Despite the difficulty of the challenge, it does not feel like it because of their purpose in finding the book as a kindness to Tomo. The phrase “like a treasure hunt” is a simile that infuses the mundane act of searching with joy and purpose, reflecting how even small efforts for others can bring meaning.

“From the other direction, the smell of sweet sauces and the aroma of grilled meat drifted to us on the breeze from Sakura Street, where the food stands were lined up.”

Once again, Yagisawa uses descriptive language to bring the Jimbocho neighborhood to life. In this instance, he describes the smells of the area, crafting a sensory experience for readers to place themselves in the position of Takako and the other characters. Yagisawa seeks to use all the senses when describing Jimbocho, truly capturing the identity of the famous neighborhood. Yagisawa employs olfactory imagery (“sweet sauces,” “grilled meat”) to heighten setting. These sensory cues root the reader in a living, breathing world, which enhances the theme of the personal nature of reading through environmental immersion.

“Or maybe after I’d made up my mind early on that she was this cheerful, good-natured girl, I never once thought to look at what lay beneath the surface.”

When Tomo reveals to Takako the reasoning behind her inability to engage in romance, Takako is taken aback by her miscalculation of Tomo. She believed that Tomo was happy and put-together but finds her to be the opposite, consumed by the guilt she feels over coveting her late sister’s boyfriend. It is in this moment that Takako realizes that she must dig deeper to know the people around her and not assume their character based on her impression of them. This moment illustrates dramatic irony—Takako’s misjudgment of Tomo calls attention to surface versus depth, reinforcing the theme of growth through friendship and familial relationships as she learns to engage more honestly with others.

“Wada’s voice still sounded exactly the same on the phone after that night. Calm and kind as always. Before, whenever I heard his voice, I felt at ease. Like I was looking out over the calm surface of a lake. But now, his voice felt awfully far away.”

In this excerpt, Yagisawa uses a simile to describe Wada’s voice as it relates to Takako’s anxiety over seeing him with his ex-girlfriend. His voice is always a calming presence in her life, and she associates it with a still lake. Though his voice still sounds the same, her anxiety makes it feel as though he is far away and there is space between them.

“Tomo wasn’t just looking for that book. Deep down, she was searching for an answer she’d never find. And it was all connected to events around her sister’s death. Or rather, she was trying to connect it to them.”

For Tomo, the search for the fictional The Golden Dream is essential to her healing from the death of her older sister. She believes that if she can find the book, there will be a change in her life like that of the character who listens to The Golden Dream being read. Despite her hopes, Takako knows it is hopeless and that the impossibility of finding the fictional novel will keep Tomo from moving on. This quote reflects psychological realism. Takako’s observation that Tomo is seeking something unfindable shows a nuanced awareness of grief as not just emotional but existential, linking to the theme of the impact of time on healing from grief.

“Because of a typhoon that swept across Western Japan, we had days of strong rain and wind. The trees on the streets lost most of their leaves. They looked a little embarrassed with their bare branches sticking up into the sky.”

In this excerpt, Yagisawa uses personification when describing the trees in the neighborhood after a bad storm. They lose their leaves, and he describes them as looking embarrassed and out of place. Trees cannot be embarrassed, and by ascribing a human emotion to them, the author crafts a specific image that amplifies their awkward appearance.

“Once I put it into words, it felt like all the pointless anxiety that had been building up in my body was suddenly released. I felt at ease. It was okay. Really. I could see that when I took a good look at Wada.”

When Takako finally opens up to Wada, she feels an immense amount of pressure lift from her. Her anxiety and the pressure she placed on herself evaporate, and she feels lighter, unburdened by her need to feel like he trusts her. This marks a turning point for her character, as she finally overcomes the pain from her past relationship that kept her from growing close to Wada. The shift from internal anxiety to peace mirrors a narrative turning point. This moment thematically underscores growth through friendship and familial relationships, as honesty leads to clarity and healing.

“The moment we were outside, we could feel the cold night air on our cheeks. A pure, unadulterated winter night. The kind of night where everything around seems quieter, and the air makes you shiver all over. Stars were shining in the black sky.”

Once again, Yagisawa uses descriptive language to capture the atmosphere around Takako and connect it to her experiences. As she and Satoru walk, the night is quiet, cold, and solitary, setting the scene for Satoru’s admission that Momoko is sick again. The night is clear, and the air is brisk, leaving no distractions around them. This sensory-rich setting enhances the mood through auditory and tactile imagery, preparing the emotional terrain for the vulnerability that Satoru is about to reveal.

“But Momoko’s complexion was good, and her skin was firm-she looked like the picture of health. She ate up all the food they brought her, and even in bed her posture was as good as always. It’s strange to say this, but there was so little change in her appearance it almost seemed anticlimactic.”

Takako struggles greatly with Momoko’s illness, as her aunt’s appearance and demeanor are antithetical to the state of her health. As Momoko’s illness worsens, Takako does not see this manifest in their interactions, as Momoko remains looking and acting healthy. This makes it difficult for Takako to accept that Momoko is dying, as if it is not even happening at all. The word “anticlimactic” creates tonal dissonance—showing how expectations of illness are often at odds with its quiet reality. This intensifies Takako’s denial and confusion.

“Death itself seemed far off in the distant future. This was Momoko—couldn’t she just laugh it off and make it go away altogether? It seemed just about possible when you looked at her.”

Despite her doctor only giving Momoko six months to live, Takako remains in denial that her aunt is dying. Not only does Momoko look healthy, but in Takako’s mind, she is also too positive to let death take her. She believes that Momoko can avoid death as long as she wants and looks at Momoko’s seemingly fine health as evidence. The rhetorical question and personification (“couldn’t she just laugh it off?”) reveal Takako’s magical thinking—a common denial response to grief, reinforcing the theme of the impact of time on healing from grief.

“The room was relatively large, but its size made it feel strangely oppressive. A great number of people had spent time in this room, in this very bed, and now they were gone. Somehow you could feel that keenly just by being in the room.”

When Momoko is admitted to the hospital for the final time and Takako visits her, finally knowing that her death is inevitable, she feels the gravity of the situation. Yagisawa describes the hospital room as a contradiction. It is large yet oppressive with the history of lives that pass through it. This atmosphere is one that Takako feels strongly, as it forces her to confront the approaching loss of Momoko.

“At least I meant to laugh, but then I felt something cold drip on the back of my hand. Before I had time to react, it was like raindrops were falling from my face onto my hands. No, I can’t, I thought, but it was already too late.”

When Takako begins crying, her tears are described as raindrops. This comparison, through the use of a simile, portrays Takako’s tears as something uncontrollable and natural. Her tears are a natural reaction to the grief she feels for Momoko. Though she does not want to cry, the tears come, and she cannot stop them.

“One season would give way to the next. The loss of a single person couldn’t change that. It should’ve been obvious, but it now felt like an outrage.”

In this excerpt, Takako faces time from a new perspective, that of grief. She realizes that the world around her and the flow of time do not change but that her relationship to them does. The loss of Momoko does not change the world, and it infuriates Takako. She cannot comprehend the world without Momoko but knows that she must adapt to it, no matter how unfair it feels. This line exemplifies cosmic irony: the world’s indifference to personal grief. It reinforces the impact of time on healing from grief by acknowledging the dissonance between inner loss and outer continuity.