Reading Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell's third novel, several years ago, I was impressed by how he wove together post-modern elements to form a thoroughly believable story arc spanning thousands of years. Cloud Atlas is technically a series of six linked stories that begins in the eighteenth century and ends at some unknown future civilization. The main character of each story finds the memoirs by the main character of a previous story, so that each story is revealed to be hidden in another story. Together, these tales form a sweeping meditation on humanity's failings and hopes.Since Cloud Atlas, Mitchell has reverted to more traditional story-telling. His Black Swan Green is a semi-autobiographical novel of a boy growing up in England in the 1970's. Though not a thrilling story, Mitchell captures the tweenage boy's voice perfectly.
Mitchell's latest novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, reprises the straightforward approach to tell the story of a Dutch clerk falling in love with a Japanese mid-wife while uncovering corruption in 1799 Dejima, Japan. Jacob de Zoet is trying to make his fortune in a five year stint before returning to Holland to marry his sweetheart, Anna. Of course, the moment we read of Jacob's plans, we know things are probably not going to turn out quite the way he hopes. A fish out of water, his first mistake is to announce to some of his colleagues that he's there to help the chief root out corruption. His second mistake is to be too trusting of his superiors. His third is to fall in love with Orito, a disfigured Japanese mid-wife. Meanwhile, the war back in Europe between Holland and England brews, stirring up consequences for the small army of traders on Dejima.
All of these story lines are evoked with remarkable detail. Like in Black Swan Green, Mitchell is able to get into the minds of his characters and describe what they see convincingly. When first arriving in Japan, Jacob notices the “gnarled old women, pocked monks, unmarried girls with blackened teeth." These details are something that a Dutchman could believably pick up without having any insight into Japanese culture.
At the same time, this historical novel can not escape typical historical flourishes. The accents are awkward at times. The Dutch speak like Eighteenth Century Englishmen. When the Japanese speak Dutch, their sentences come out in stereotypically incorrect English. But when the Japanese speak to each other, presumably in Japanese, the sentences come out in stereotypically formal and stiff.
Though following a traditional approach, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is also a meditation on the art of storytelling itself. The plot of the novel is nearly entirely driven by minor characters' revelations through orally communicated stories. When most authors do this, the revelation comes as a convenient plot device, explaining away mysteries neatly with a bow on top. Most of the time, it's pretty fake though sometimes entertaining. Mitchell's stories feel real because he has explained the motivations behind why characters would keep their stories, and only reveal them at necessary moments. For example, an ex-convict doesn't reveal his secret past until he might get killed for not revealing it. In addition, Mitchell doesn't rely on story-as-revelation as his only method of revelation. An important revelation about paternity is discovered through the father's own eyes as he sets sights on his son.
Moreover, there are so many of these discrete anecdotes that they become a fact of life. It's as if everyone on Dejima sits around telling stories, so the reader never knows when one story in particular will be important. Early on, some of the traders sit around drinking. One tells the story of how another one pretended to be wealthy to get a wealthy wife, only to find that he had been tricked in the same way:
“On Mr Grote’s last trip home,” obliges Ouwehand, “he wooed a promising young heiress at her town house in Roomolenstraat who told him how her heirless, ailing papa yearned to see his dairy farm in the hands of a gentleman son-in-law, yet everywhere, she lamented, were thieving rascals posing as eligible bachelors. Mr Grote agreed that the Sea of Courtship seethes with sharks and spoke of the prejudice endured by the young colonial parvenu, as if the annual fortunes yielded by his plantations in Sumatra were less worthy than old monies. The turtledoves were wedded within a week. The day after their nuptials, the taverner presented the bill and each says to the other, ‘Settle the account, my heart’s music.’ But to their genuine horror, neither could, for bride and groom alike had spent their last beans on wooing the other! Mr Grote’s Sumatran plantations evaporated; the Roomolenstraat house reverted to a co-conspirator’s stage prop; the ailing father-in-law turned out to be a beer porter in rude health, not heirless but hairless.” This anecdote isn't particularly useful except to say what types of desperate situations drive people to come to Dejima. But it is a funny story with lots of attention to detail. Such details make Thousand Autumns a vivid, satisfying read.
