Sweet Bean Paste

“[H]e could get her to just make the sweet bean paste. […] Yes, that was it—she could just stay in the kitchen and make the bean paste. […] ‘That’s right, customers don’t have to see her,’ he muttered aloud.”

This internal monologue reveals Sentaro’s decision to hire Tokue, a choice balancing his recognition of her skill with his submission to societal prejudice. By resolving to hide her from public view, he prioritizes profit and reputation over Tokue’s dignity, demonstrating The Destructive Power of Social Stigma and Prejudice. This internal conflict foreshadows the central moral dilemma that will later unfold.

“See, they’re waving their hands at you.”

Speaking of the new leaves on the cherry tree, Tokue offers an observation that characterizes her perspective on the world. Through personification, she imbues the natural world with life and agency, introducing the recurring motif of “Listening” as a form of deep, empathetic perception. This line contrasts sharply with Sentaro’s cynicism and illustrates the gentle philosophy that underpins her craft and her resilience.

“Because they came all the way from Canada. For us.”

Tokue explains her meticulous preparation of the adzuki beans with this statement that personifies the ingredient as actively traveling toward their kitchen. Her words elevate the act of cooking from a commercial transaction to a respectful relationship, reflecting the theme of Finding Dignity and Connection Through Craftsmanship. By acknowledging the beans’ journey, she models a worldview in which every element of life possesses a story worthy of imaginative empathy.

“He leaned over for a closer look. These were a far cry from his own attempts; he had to admit that the skill with which they’d been cooked was obvious. Despite all the simmering, every single bean still looked firm and taut, with no wrinkles.”

This passage marks a turning point for Sentaro, as his initial skepticism gives way to genuine admiration for Tokue’s craft. The detailed visual imagery of the perfectly cooked beans serves as tangible evidence of a process guided by care and expertise. His recognition of this quality signifies the beginning of his engagement with his own work and his slow shift from apathy toward pride.

“I just realized that your bean paste is so good, it makes the pancake seem superfluous. It’s unbalanced.”

Sentaro’s critique of his own pancakes demonstrates a development in his character, showing that he has moved from passive obligation to active participation in his craft. This newfound awareness of and concern for the flaws of his cooking shows that he has begun to internalize Tokue’s values of quality and holistic excellence, a stark contrast from his former apathy.

“But he began to sense that if he applied himself seriously now, adzuki beans might just open a door for him. While one part of him relished the novel sensation, another part was wary.”

This passage captures Sentaro’s central internal conflict as he begins to experience success. The “door” is a metaphor for a future defined by purpose and meaning, which directly clashes with his long-held desire to simply escape his debt and the shop. The narration articulates the tension between Sentaro’s burgeoning hope and his ingrained cynicism, a conflict that drives his character arc.

“Die, he thought he heard a voice whisper. By the time he returned to his flat he had wandered so long and so far he had no memory of where exactly he had been.”

Following a period of intense overwork, Sentaro experiences severe physical and mental health crises. The disembodied, whispered command “Die” is a stark manifestation of his despair, giving an externalized voice to his inner sense of worthlessness. This highlights the motif of imprisonment that runs through the novel, suggesting that Sentaro is trapped not just by his financial debt but by his own feelings of failure and lack of purpose.

“‘Fate?’ Tokue’s voice was charged. ‘What do you mean? Don’t throw around words like fate, Sentaro.’ […] ‘Young people shouldn’t talk about fate.’”

After Sentaro laments his difficult circumstances, Tokue’s sharp, corrective tone reveals a core aspect of her philosophy. Her charged reaction suggests that for someone whose life was so profoundly altered by forces beyond her control, Sentaro’s casual reference to the concept of “fate” is an abdication of personal agency. This dialogue serves as characterization, contrasting Sentaro’s passivity with Tokue’s resilience and foreshadowing her belief in finding meaning despite hardship, a central tenet of the theme of The Inherent Value of Bearing Witness.

“To Sentaro her chewing sounded like a wordless conversation between Tokue and Wakana.”

In the awkward silence after Wakana asks about Tokue’s hands, Sentaro observes this intimate moment of connection. The simile comparing the sound of chewing to “a wordless conversation” represents an unspoken understanding that transcends verbal communication. This reflects the recurring motif of Listening, suggesting that empathy and connection can be found in non-verbal forms of attention and shared experience.

“‘Did she use this cup too?’ He nodded. ‘They say it’s rarely catching…Sentaro, this is serious. What if it gets out that an eating establishment is employing a leprosy patient?’”

Upon learning of Tokue’s past, the shop owner’s fear is immediate and visceral, focused on a mundane object she believes is now contaminated. Her dialogue exemplifies the destructive power of social stigma and prejudice, where irrational fear of contagion outweighs both medical fact and human decency. The owner’s concern is not for Tokue’s well-being but for the shop’s reputation, revealing how social prejudice prioritizes in-group insularity over the individual humanity of marginalized people.

“Simply saying that, medically speaking, there was nothing to worry about, would not undo the damage done to Tokue’s fingers by the disease. And her fingers were what people saw.”

During his internal monologue after researching leprosy, Sentaro realizes the futility of using facts to combat deep-seated prejudice. This moment of insight directly addresses the power of Tokue’s hands as a symbol: This visible evidence of her past illness is more potent to the public than any rational explanation that she poses no health concerns to others. The passage underscores the destructive power of social stigma and prejudice by articulating how such stigma operates on an internalized visceral level that logic cannot easily penetrate.

“‘Once you get diagnosed that’s the end of your life. That’s how it used to be with this sickness.’ […] ‘Divine punishment, they called it. Some people even said it was punishment for sins in a previous life, you know.’”

As she prepares to resign, Tokue explains the historical context of the prejudice she has faced, providing crucial exposition. Her diction—“the end of your life,” “Divine punishment”—reveals the absolute nature of the social rejection that a diagnosis once carried, framing the stigma as a form of moral judgment. This direct address elevates the novel’s critique from a personal story to a commentary on systemic, historical injustice.

“‘Apparently they put this hedge all round to stop patients getting out.’ ‘But that was in the old days, right?’ ‘It’s still here though, isn’t it?’”

This exchange between Wakana and Sentaro establishes the sanatorium hedge as a symbol of enduring social stigma. Wakana’s pointed observation that the thorny wall is “still here though” counters Sentaro’s hopeful assumption that such prejudice is a relic of the past. This dialogue demonstrates that even after discriminatory laws are repealed, their physical and psychological manifestations persist, creating ongoing isolation of the sanatorium’s residents. The hedge thus illustrates the destructive power of social stigma and prejudice.

“I begged the nurse in tears to let me keep the blouse my mother made. But she said no, that was the rule. […] Then she told me he’d already gone, that I didn’t have family with me any more. And she said I should use a different name from now on.”

Tokue’s memory of her arrival at the sanatorium illustrates the systematic stripping of identity forced upon leprosy patients. The narrative uses a simple, declarative style to convey the methodical cruelty of the process, heightening its emotional impact. The white blouse, a symbol of maternal love, was confiscated, followed by the loss of her family connection and then her name. This moment depicts the dehumanization inherent in institutional prejudice, where individual history and identity are erased by an administrative “rule.”

“With this disease the eyesight gets weaker and sensation in the fingers and toes is gradually lost. But for some reason sensation in the tongue is the last to be affected. Can you imagine what it’s like for someone who can’t see or feel, to taste something sweet?”

Through this rhetorical question, Tokue reframes making confectionery into providing sensory pleasure for those disconnected from the world. The text details the physical losses caused by leprosy, many of which limit a patient’s ability to interact with the world. Since the one sense that endures is taste, food takes on immense significance and elevates the work of the Confectionery Group into a vital way to affirm life and offer solace, finding dignity and connection through craftsmanship.

“What were the forces that played with this life? […] But who or what would want to torment a girl of only fourteen for the rest of her life?”

Sentaro’s internal monologue during his fever dream signals a crucial development in his capacity for empathy. Moving beyond personal guilt and pity, his questions take on a philosophical dimension, challenging the cosmic or societal injustice that condemned Tokue. This dream sequence externalizes Sentaro’s internal processing, showing his perspective shifting from that of an employer to that of a witness to profound suffering. This moment marks his deep personal investment in Tokue’s story and his rejection of the prejudice that shaped it.

“It’s my belief that everything in this world has its own language. […] I pay attention to the language of things in this world that don’t use words. That’s what I call Listening, and I’ve been doing it for sixty years now.”

In her letter, Tokue provides the novel’s central philosophical statement, defining the recurring Listening motif. Her culinary craft becomes a spiritual practice of bearing witness to the world. Her expertise is both technical and perceptual, rooted in an imaginatively empathetic attention to the “language” of her ingredients. Through this personification of the natural world, she articulates a worldview where meaning is found not in action but in observation.

“And there was something else too, something far more important to Sentaro: Tokue’s sweet bean paste. He was determined to carry on making it, because if he did not, it would disappear from the world. Apart from its merits as a bean paste, Sentaro thought of it as testimony to the life of a remarkable woman called Tokue Yoshii.”

Sentaro’s work has become an act of legacy. The sweet bean paste, once a symbol of his debt and confinement, now represents Tokue’s life story and resilience. Sentaro’s motivation is no longer financial or personal freedom but a moral imperative to preserve her “testimony” in a world that tried to erase her. This shows how Sentaro has fully internalized the lessons of craftsmanship as a form of bearing witness.

“People’s lives never stay the same colour forever. There are times when the colour of life changes completely.”

In her letter to Sentaro, Tokue uses the metaphor of life having a “colour” to articulate her philosophy of hope and resilience. This figurative language suggests that circumstances, both internal and external, are impermanent. The phrase “changes completely” emphasizes the possibility of transformation, offering Sentaro a way to reframe his current struggles not as a final state but as a temporary phase in a longer journey.

“He did not know when or why his fall had begun, but he sensed the seeds of it had always been in him, ever since he was small. […] In short, Sentaro suffered because he was who he was.”

This passage of internal monologue reveals the depths of Sentaro’s despair and fatalism. The deterministic tone suggests that Sentaro’s suffering is an inescapable part of his identity. The metaphor of “seeds” of failure contrasts with the life affirmation that Tokue finds in the natural world, highlighting Sentaro’s sense of personal inadequacy before his spiritual turning point.

“No. This is cherry-blossom tea. It’s a little bit salty with a lovely smell of flowers.”

Spoken by a young Tokue in Sentaro’s dream, these lines serve as the story’s central epiphany. The sensory description combines the sweetness of confectionery, the salt representing life’s sorrow, and the ephemeral beauty of the cherry tree. This fusion of flavors provides the creative inspiration Sentaro needs, symbolizing a way to integrate joy and hardship into a single, meaningful creation and connecting directly to the theme of finding dignity and connection through craftsmanship.

“Sentaro felt as if an invisible fist of all the unseen forces in the world—wind, time and space—had suddenly struck him in the chest.”

Upon learning of Tokue’s death, Sentaro’s shock is conveyed through visceral personification and abstract imagery. The “invisible fist” gives physical form to his emotional devastation, while the multitude of “unseen forces” elevates his personal grief into an existential blow. This moment captures the overwhelming power of loss and the abruptness with which his hope for reconnection is shattered.

“I began to understand that we were born in order to see and listen to the world. And that’s all this world wants of us.”

Tokue’s posthumous letter contains the novel’s core philosophical statement, directly articulating the inherent value of bearing witness. It refutes the idea that a person’s worth is tied to societal usefulness or achievement. By framing existence as a reciprocal act of perception between the individual and the world, Tokue offers a purpose that is accessible to all, regardless of their circumstances.