Sweet Bean Paste

The Tenshoen National Sanatorium is a setting that confronts both the characters and the reader with the tangible legacy of social prejudice. The impenetrable holly hedge that borders the sanatorium is a historical artifact of forced segregation, a “green demarcating line without end” that physically manifests the societal fear surrounding leprosy (99). The hedge’s thorns are contrasted with the smooth wall of Sentaro’s prison cell. While his confinement was not intended to inflict bodily harm, the hedge threatens people who have leprosy with more than scratches: the infection’s assault on nerve endings makes any injuries potentially fatal because they go unnoticed and untreated. Wakana’s pointed observation that, despite changes in the law, the hedge “is still here” underscores that the physical and psychological architecture of prejudice has long outlasted the policies that created it (99). Sentaro’s initial trepidation, his instinctual urge to scrutinize the faces of residents for symptoms of disease, and his anxiety upon seeing workers in outdated protective gear reveal the insidious nature of internalized stigma. While all around him are details that point to the fact that Tenshoen residents are normal people, like the man on the bicycle or the group of laughing friends, his discomfort overrides the evidence of his senses, demonstrating a deeply ingrained fear of the “other” that must be unlearned through direct human encounter.

Within this space of confinement, the narrative explores The Inherent Value of Bearing Witness. The residents of Tenshoen, stripped of their names, families, and freedom, exemplify a mode of existence defined not by societal utility but by resilience and profound presence. Tokue’s account of her arrival at 14—being forced to discard her belongings, adopt a new name, and accept a life sentence of isolation—establishes the brutal reality of systematic dehumanization. Yet the narrative counters this loss with examples of powerful human endurance. The museum photograph of a blind patient reading Braille with his tongue is a testament to lives lived with dignity under unimaginable duress. Sentaro’s fever dream, in which he witnesses the young Tokue’s arrival but feels powerless to help, is a literary device that externalizes his guilt about the historical injustice he has just learned about. His finite prison sentence is contrasted with the residents’ lifelong, undeserved confinement, shifting his perspective from self-pity to empathy.

The Confectionery Group exemplifies Finding Dignity and Connection Through Craftsmanship, elevating skill from a personal pursuit to a communal act of survival and love. Tokue’s mastery of sweet bean paste was not learned in a professional kitchen but perfected with fellow outcasts who used their craft to bring joy to people experiencing pain and sensory deprivation. Tokue explains the group’s profound purpose with the question, “Can you imagine what it’s like for someone who can’t see or feel, to taste something sweet?” (124). The Group’s confectionery was more than food; it was a vital conduit for human connection and a means of affirming life when the body itself became a sort of prison. By sharing the Group’s specialty of sweet bean soup with salty kombu with Sentaro, Tokue and Miss Moriyama pass on a legacy born of shared hardship. Tokue’s suggestion that Sentaro create a salty dorayaki is therefore not just a business idea but a philosophical directive to create something authentic that reflects his identity.

The exchange of letters allows for Sentaro’s character development and articulates the novel’s core philosophy of “Listening.” His decision to confess his criminal past to Tokue forges a bond between two individuals marginalized by society for different reasons. Their shared status as outsiders in turn prompts Tokue to share her wisdom. In her letter, Tokue defines “Listening” a state of empathetic attention to “the language of things in this world that don’t use words” (134). This concept, based in part in Shinto beliefs, provides the spiritual and practical framework for Sentaro’s ability to move beyond mere imitation of her technique toward genuine craftsmanship. Tokue’s guidance encourages him to trust his own senses and experiences, empowering him to find his own dorayaki flavor. This philosophy directly contrasts with the purely transactional worldview of the shop’s owner, whose ultimatum and focus on profits represent the societal pressures that devalue individual purpose.

The structure of these chapters mirrors the dismantling of prejudice by moving the reader through successive layers of understanding. The progression begins with the physical symbol of the holly hedge, then to the historical and personal testimony of Tokue and the museum, and finally into the psychological and philosophical depths of Sentaro’s dream and Tokue’s letters. This structure mirrors the process of overcoming stigma: The reader is urged to pass the external barrier, listen to the human story, and finally integrate its lessons into their consciousness. The author critiques a society that isolates and forgets, arguing for a more humane world built on empathy. By the end of this section, Sentaro’s struggle is no longer just about paying a debt or saving a shop; it has become a quest for personal redemption and a mission to honor Tokue’s legacy.