[Review] Record of Yoko Sano’s 2007 Beijing Readers’ Meeting

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Yoko Sano returned to Bei­jing in May 2007 to look for her for­mer res­i­dence
 
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Remem­ber that beau­ti­ful white cat?
 
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Cov­er of The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times
 
Time: 2:00 PM — 4:00 PM, May 27, 2007
Loca­tion: Room 2305, Cap­i­tal Library, Bei­jing
Spon­sor: Relay Press, Cap­i­tal Library Red Mud Read­ing Club
Speak­ers: Yoko Sano, Tang Yam­ing
Main guests: Bai Bing, Huang Jiwei, Yang Suyin, Peng Yi, A Jia, Ikuko Ishikawa, Fumi­nori Nakan­ishi
Record­ing: Argen­tine Primera División
(Note: The fol­low­ing speech­es by Yoko Sano and Ikuko Ishikawa were trans­lat­ed and relayed by Tang Yam­ing.)
 
Yoko Sano and Tang Yam­ing recite “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times.” (Click to lis­ten, RM for­mat)

 
Yoko Sano: Bei­jing is my home­town, I am a Bei­jinger! (Said in Chi­nese)
 

Tang Yam­ing: I just intro­duced it. Ms. Sano Yoko was born and raised in Bei­jing until she was sev­en years old, so she has a deep affec­tion for the city. Eight years ago, she returned to Bei­jing for the first time in over 50 years. I accom­pa­nied her that time to look for her old house. This time, I returned to Bei­jing again to look for her old place, as well as to vis­it Shun­yi Coun­ty, where her father once worked and con­duct­ed research in the coun­try­side.
 

Sano: I’m old­er than every­one here. Bei­jing has become a brand new city, but I know the old Bei­jing of the past. In my mind, Bei­jing is the most beau­ti­ful city in the world. I was incred­i­bly hap­py to come to the new Chi­na, the brand new Bei­jing. Back then, although Bei­jing was incred­i­bly beau­ti­ful, peo­ple often froze to death and beg­gars were found out­side the Impe­r­i­al City and at the doorsteps of shops. Now, these are gone. I’m incred­i­bly hap­py. I love the new Chi­na, the new Bei­jing.

When I was a child, I lived in a court­yard house at No. 16, Koudai Hutong, Xicheng Dis­trict. Play­ing in the court­yard, I would squat on the ground and look at the sky. It was square, so my mem­o­ry of the sky has always been square. I loved Bei­jing so much that we would watch the moon on the 15th of every lunar month, and many peo­ple would gath­er at my house to watch the moon. The beau­ty of Bei­jing’s sky and moon from that time is some­thing I will nev­er for­get.

 My mem­o­ry is very clear and vivid. I remem­ber that water was very scarce in Bei­jing at the time. Every day, water sell­ers came to sell water in wood­en bar­rels, cart­ed to every house­hold. One day, when I was a child, I was play­ing on the side of the road and pulled the cork out of the bar­rel. The water spilled out. The sell­er got angry and chased me, fol­low­ing me wher­ev­er I went. I was ter­ri­fied. I remem­ber it very clear­ly.

At that time, our Chi­nese neigh­bor had a duck, and it would often chase me in the alley. The duck­’s beak was just at the height of my ear, so I was very scared when it chased me.

My child­hood mem­o­ries are all about Bei­jing, noth­ing else. Back then, my par­ents often took us to the Tem­ple of Heav­en. I remem­bered the roofs of the build­ings there as green, but lat­er, Tang Yam­ing said they weren’t, that they were blue or pur­ple. I insist­ed they were green. Why the dif­fer­ence? I final­ly under­stood. One day, we went to the Tem­ple of Heav­en, and I dis­cov­ered that the blue roofs actu­al­ly looked green from below. My world was so low then. From a child’s per­spec­tive, the roofs of the Tem­ple of Heav­en looked green. If you don’t believe me, go and see. It’s green from below, blue from above.

Tang Yam­ing told me the cor­rect col­or, thank you very much!
My father loved Chi­na dear­ly. He stud­ied Chi­nese his­to­ry in col­lege and always want­ed to vis­it. He came to Chi­na before the war. He joined the Manchuri­an Rail­way’s Research Depart­ment to learn about rur­al Chi­na, a career he devot­ed almost his entire life to. How­ev­er, he passed away short­ly after the war. For var­i­ous rea­sons, I nev­er made it to Chi­na. But I’ve always dreamed of vis­it­ing the rur­al areas of Chi­na where my father once worked.

This time, I was par­tic­u­lar­ly eager to vis­it the rur­al area of those days. We made detailed prepa­ra­tions, gath­er­ing pho­tos from that time, pic­tures of rur­al fam­i­lies, and all the infor­ma­tion on every­one we had inter­viewed. We went to Sha­jing Vil­lage in Shun­yi Coun­ty. When we arrived, it was already a sea of build­ings! But after some search­ing, we unex­pect­ed­ly found the peo­ple my father had inter­viewed. Some of them were still alive. Some­one who was 18 years old back then is now over 80 and still very much alive. We met two peo­ple who had seen my father back then, and also met an old woman with bound feet who had cooked for him back then. She was his 20-year-old daugh­ter-in-law back then. I was deeply sur­prised and delight­ed to see them.

So I have a very deep affec­tion for Chi­na, but it is a pity that I can­not speak Chi­nese. If I could speak Chi­nese, I would be Chi­nese now.
My son often says I’m very head­strong, that I always do what I want, no mat­ter what any­one says. He says that the Japan­ese have the impres­sion that Chi­nese peo­ple always act accord­ing to their own ideas. I don’t see this impres­sion as a flaw at all; I think it’s a strength, so I’ve always fol­lowed my own path and done things my way.
 

Tang: Ms. Sano has cre­at­ed numer­ous excel­lent works. She is arguably one of Japan’s most cel­e­brat­ed pic­ture book writ­ers. Besides “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times,” she has many oth­er excel­lent books. She is also one of Japan’s best-sell­ing pic­ture book authors. Let’s change the sub­ject and ask her to talk about pic­ture books and chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture. She is also an excep­tion­al prose writer and has writ­ten numer­ous books for adults.
 

Sano: I’ve done a lot of work and cre­at­ed a lot of works in my life. From now on, I don’t want to cre­ate any­more. I want to rest and sleep well. Because Japan­ese peo­ple work too much. I want to enjoy life slow­ly.
 

Peng Yi: Let me start with a more relaxed ques­tion. In Shang­hai, there was a two-year-old child who seemed bare­ly able to speak. He could only say “no, no, no,” mean­ing “no.” He had been read­ing this pic­ture book (“The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times”). One day, he turned to this page (the one with the close-up of the white cat) with his moth­er, and asked her to speak. Then he turned to the next page, and he start­ed say­ing “no, no, no, no,” (turn­ing anoth­er page), “no, no, no, no.” Do you under­stand what I mean? Look, on this page, the white cat has whiskers, but after the white cat and the black cat suc­cess­ful­ly mar­ry, the white cat los­es its whiskers. They won­dered if the white cat became gen­tler after the mar­riage and lost its whiskers? But if you look close­ly, you see, the whiskers are back! But when it dies, it’s whisker­less. I know that chil­dren are more gift­ed at read­ing pic­ture books than adults. But I’d like to ask Mr. Sano, has any­one in Japan noticed this? And what exact­ly is going on? We know that the book “Lit­tle Mouse’s Vest” had a flaw: the artist for­got to add whiskers, leav­ing the cat miss­ing from the front and back. Lat­er, this mis­take became a famous one, but I’d like to ask, why does­n’t the white cat have whiskers? Is it because after mar­riage, when white cats find love, they become more gen­tle?
 

Sano: Short­ly after the book was pub­lished in Japan, some chil­dren point­ed out the lack of a beard. But hon­est­ly, I did­n’t notice it, nor did the edi­tor, and no adults noticed. By the time any­one noticed, it was too late. This child is incred­i­bly bright and more obser­vant than adults. I believe the child I men­tioned will sure­ly become a genius. So, just as there are no per­fect peo­ple, no work is per­fect. I’m tru­ly sor­ry!
 

Peng Yi: So this has become a famous mistake—or rather, a famous act of ten­der­ness! I have anoth­er ques­tion. I often give pic­ture book pre­sen­ta­tions across the coun­try. A few days ago, when I was giv­ing a talk on this pic­ture book in Hangzhou, I told every­one: Mar­ried women, make sure your hus­band reads this book to you in front of you! I orig­i­nal­ly meant it as a joke, but there was actu­al­ly a uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sor, a very beau­ti­ful woman, who had her hus­band read the book aloud in front of her. After the read­ing, she sent me a text mes­sage say­ing, “My hus­band nev­er reads, let alone pic­ture books, but he cried after read­ing this book. He was so moved.” She said, “Pic­ture books real­ly do have such tremen­dous pow­er.” I’d like to ask, are there any mar­ried women in Japan who have their hus­bands read this book to them?
 
Sano: I’m sor­ry, I don’t know if there is (laughs)… But I heard that lovers often give each oth­er this book as a gift.
 

Ajia: I’m Ajia from Hong­ni­ba. I was so hap­py to hear you were com­ing to Bei­jing. I told my daugh­ter, who’s sev­en years old, that the artist who paint­ed “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times” is com­ing to Bei­jing. She’s here today too. She asked, “What did the artist look like?” I think many of us, after read­ing this book, are very curi­ous about this ques­tion. In my mind, Yoko Sano is a woman as beau­ti­ful as that gor­geous white cat. Isn’t that right? (Yoko Sano smiles and says, “I’m so sor­ry!”) This ques­tion con­cerns my daugh­ter. I’ve read about your life. You left Bei­jing around the age of sev­en, right? That’s about the age my daugh­ter is now. And after read­ing your work, I’ve been won­der­ing: to what extent do child­hood mem­o­ries influ­ence the cre­ation of chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture, espe­cial­ly pic­ture books? Or, for you, how much influ­ence do these child­hood mem­o­ries have on your cre­ative process? We are also here today with some Chi­nese writ­ers and painters who are cre­at­ing pic­ture books. I also hope you can intro­duce what we should do if we want to cre­ate the best works. Thank you!
 

Sano: I don’t have many bril­liant the­o­ries to share or teach oth­ers; I’m not qual­i­fied to do so. Fur­ther­more, I don’t know how or why these mem­o­ries and expe­ri­ences from my child­hood direct­ly influ­ence my work. To be hon­est, I’m not entire­ly sure. How­ev­er, I can only say that I pour every­thing in my life into my work, burn­ing with it. I believe that peo­ple don’t live to work, but work to live. You could say I had a very hap­py child­hood, or you could say I had a very unhap­py one. Both have influ­enced me. Every­one has dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ences, and life is unique. As long as you live and work with all your might and ded­i­ca­tion, it will be mean­ing­ful. No one is exact­ly the same. No mat­ter what life you find your­self in, you are dif­fer­ent, and every dif­fer­ence has val­ue.
 

A‑League: I find your mem­o­ries of your child­hood in Bei­jing so beau­ti­ful. Do you plan to express these mem­o­ries in the form of a pic­ture book? Is there an oppor­tu­ni­ty for us to enjoy such a work?
 

Sano: I’m cur­rent­ly think­ing of writ­ing what will be my final book. It’s about the square sky I saw as a child in my Bei­jing court­yard house. It’s about final­ly step­ping out of the court­yard for the first time and see­ing the out­side world. I want to cap­ture that feel­ing in pic­ture book form.
 

Ikuko Ishikawa: I’m Ishikawa from the Bei­jing office of Baiyang­she and Bei­jing Poplar Com­pa­ny. Poplar has also pub­lished books by Ms. Sano. I’ve loved her pic­ture books since I was a child, like “My Hat.” Ms. Sano’s books often fea­ture cats, but I’ve heard she says she does­n’t like cats. Is that true?
 

Sano: The book “My Hat” that Ms. Ishikawa men­tioned ear­li­er has­n’t been trans­lat­ed and pub­lished in Chi­na yet, but it’s actu­al­ly based on the child­hood mem­o­ries of my broth­er and I play­ing at the Bei­jing Zoo. Based on pho­tos from those days, it’s a very impor­tant work for me, and I hope it can be trans­lat­ed and pub­lished in Chi­na. You also asked about cats. Nowa­days, every­one calls me a cat painter, but that’s main­ly because my cat paint­ings sell well. If I had paint­ed dogs back then, every­one would have called me a dog painter. Hon­est­ly, I don’t like cats, but why do I paint them even though I don’t like them? Because I think cats are eas­i­er to draw than dogs. I’m not a good dog painter, so I just paint cats. It’s sim­ple.
 

Ishikawa: Ms. Sano’s answer just now was very humor­ous and mod­est. She may not have direct­ly addressed her sit­u­a­tion, but I real­ly like her way of speak­ing. I know her works con­tain many mes­sages for chil­dren, which can be inter­pret­ed from many per­spec­tives. She also illus­trat­ed many books about elder­ly women. Some­times these women seem a bit dom­i­neer­ing and annoy­ing, but they are also very human and inter­est­ing. After read­ing these books, I can’t let them go, and I keep think­ing about them. Both chil­dren and adults can gain deep feel­ings from them. Pic­ture book pub­lish­ing in Chi­na may be just begin­ning, and many authors are cre­at­ing excel­lent books for chil­dren. So, I’d like to ask, when you draw books, do you think about chil­dren or adults? I’d real­ly like to hear your insights from a writer’s per­spec­tive and from a cre­ative stand­point.
 

Sano: All of my chil­dren’s pic­ture books are designed for chil­dren, nev­er for adults. While many adults have been moved by them and praised them, I did­n’t cre­ate them for adults sim­ply to impress them. That’s nev­er been the case. For exam­ple, some peo­ple say that chil­dren can’t under­stand the illus­tra­tions in our work, but adults can. How­ev­er, I can say that, like read­ing Grim­m’s Fairy Tales, there are many sto­ries and plots in them that I still don’t under­stand. For exam­ple, why the frog turned into a prince, and why the princess mar­ried the frog prince—I still don’t under­stand why. Just because “chil­dren don’t under­stand” does­n’t mean it’s not a chil­dren’s book. If chil­dren don’t under­stand, adults don’t under­stand either. It does­n’t mean that books that chil­dren don’t under­stand are suit­able for adults. Chil­dren’s books should­n’t be judged by that stan­dard.
 

Bai Bing: I had a long con­ver­sa­tion with Mr. Sano the night before yes­ter­day, so I don’t have any ques­tions myself today. We have many chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture writ­ers and illus­tra­tors here today, and I’d like to ask a ques­tion on their behalf. Mr. Sano, for chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture writ­ers, if we want to cre­ate a mas­ter­piece like “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times,” what prepa­ra­tions should we make? Or, in oth­er words, what areas should we focus on? Also, could you please share a few words with young Chi­nese chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture writ­ers?
 

Sano: The era I lived in is dif­fer­ent from the present. I had my past, and today’s young peo­ple have their own. I hope Chi­nese painters don’t just repeat our work, but instead cre­ate new­er, more chal­leng­ing works. I’m a per­son of the past, and I hope young artists will cre­ate new works that will be loved by Chi­nese chil­dren.
 

Read­er 1: I have two ques­tions. I’m an ele­men­tary school teacher, and I’d like to ask a ques­tion about the book first. Teacher Peng Yi just asked about whiskers, and I just saw a ques­tion about eyes. In the book, when the cat trans­forms into a wild­cat, its eyes are green. What’s the spe­cial mean­ing of this? Every­thing else is blue, and yes, the cov­er is green.
 
Sano: Because a cat’s eye col­or changes depend­ing on the light, time, day or night.
 
Read­er 1: Chil­dren’s Day is com­ing soon. I would like to ask Mr. Sano to say a few words and give some advice to Chi­nese chil­dren.
 

Sano: I’ve had a lot of com­plaints and con­cerns about Japan­ese chil­dren in Japan. But when I see Chi­nese chil­dren on the streets and in var­i­ous sit­u­a­tions, I feel there’s noth­ing to wor­ry about. They’re very hap­py and well-edu­cat­ed, so I hope Chi­nese chil­dren can grow up health­i­er. That’s what I say.
 

Read­er 2: Hel­lo, Mr. Sano! I just fin­ished read­ing your book this after­noon. It felt like a nov­el, with vivid char­ac­ters and a rich­ly com­plex plot. I felt like there was so much to it, like watch­ing a per­son grow from child­hood to youth and then to old age. You men­tioned that your pic­ture books are writ­ten for chil­dren. I’d like to know, rough­ly what age group do you write for? Also, was there a direct inspi­ra­tion for each of these books? For exam­ple, you men­tioned that the inspi­ra­tion for “My Hat” came from see­ing a pho­to at the zoo. Was there a direct source of inspi­ra­tion for this work?
 

Sano: Let’s answer the first ques­tion first. What age group would you say this book is intend­ed for? Any­way, I think the con­cept of “designed for a cer­tain age group” is wrong. Every child is dif­fer­ent, with dif­fer­ent upbring­ings, phys­i­cal con­di­tions, and so on. They all expe­ri­ence things dif­fer­ent­ly, so I don’t think the con­cept of “designed for a cer­tain age group” is cor­rect.

 I wrote this book when my chil­dren were still young. I’d always keep a pen and paper by my pil­low, jot­ting down any inspi­ra­tion I had. Then one day, the idea of a cat that sur­vived a mil­lion attempts sud­den­ly popped into my head, and I wrote the entire sto­ry down to the end. It was a seam­less book. So, I’m a genius, too.
 

Read­er 3: Hel­lo, Mr. Sano. I’m a reporter for Pub­lish­er mag­a­zine, and I have a ques­tion for you. I read your book many years ago, and my first impres­sion was, “How won­der­ful it would be if I could find the love of my life.” I’d like to ask you, have you found love? My sec­ond ques­tion is, I’ve also read your books “Five-Year-Old Grand­ma Goes Fish­ing” and “Grand­pa’s Umbrel­la,” which depict the mind­sets of many elder­ly people—some very endear­ing, some annoy­ing, yet endear­ing. I won­der if you share the same con­fu­sion and reflec­tions on aging. Final­ly, could you briefly intro­duce the artists and schools of thought that have influ­enced your artis­tic devel­op­ment?
 

Sano: Because love is often like this: when you first fall in love, you think it’s real love, but after three years, you real­ize it’s not. In that sense, I’ve expe­ri­enced true love many times in my life. I only now under­stand that this book actu­al­ly reflects a wish of mine—a per­son­al wish.

 When I wrote the book about the grand­moth­er, I was actu­al­ly in my 30s, and it reflects my thoughts at the time. But now that I’m tru­ly elder­ly, I won­der why young peo­ple don’t under­stand the feel­ings of the elder­ly. Why are they so unrea­son­able? Why do they have such dif­fer­ent ideas? The elder­ly I cre­at­ed back then were actu­al­ly very ide­al­is­tic images of the elder­ly. But after becom­ing an elder­ly myself, I real­ized that ideals and real­i­ty are often dif­fer­ent. So, please respect the elder­ly and let them enjoy a good old age.

 (Regard­ing the third ques­tion) I can hon­est­ly say that I haven’t been influ­enced by any­one. Per­haps this state­ment might come across as arro­gance. In fact, some peo­ple have said that I don’t have the abil­i­ty to be influ­enced by oth­ers. I don’t know whether this is good or bad, but the truth is, I haven’t been influ­enced by any­one. I haven’t been influ­enced by any­one.
 
Read­er 4: I would like to ask Mr. Sano, who was your first read­er? What were his feel­ings and reac­tions?
 

Sano: My book’s first read­er was an edi­tor, who gave it a very neg­a­tive review. And ini­tial­ly, it did­n’t sell at all. (Note: The book did sell only 5,000 copies in its first 10 years, and after 10 years, it was reprint­ed in batch­es of 50,000 copies each time.)
 

Read­er 5: Hel­lo, Mr. Sano! Besides “The Cat Who Lived a Mil­lion Times,” you have many oth­er works. Do you have an over­all eval­u­a­tion of them now? Are you gen­er­al­ly sat­is­fied with them, or do you feel a lit­tle dis­sat­is­fied?
 
Sano: After I fin­ish illus­trat­ing a book, I usu­al­ly feel embar­rassed and don’t want to read it again. There­fore, I usu­al­ly don’t read the books that have been pub­lished.
 

Read­er 6: I’ve heard that chil­dren’s lit­er­a­ture writ­ers all have a child in their hearts, a child who nev­er grows up, and they cre­ate for this child. But chil­dren in real life face many chal­lenges, and in real life, they encounter many things. So, do you delib­er­ate­ly pro­tect the child in your heart, or do you let nature take its course and let things hap­pen nat­u­ral­ly?
 

Sano: I believe that peo­ple can nev­er become some­one else, or any­thing else. That’s how I feel about my own child. I’ve raised him, but I still don’t under­stand him, and I still can’t make him me. So, every­one has their own child­hood, their own child­hood, some­thing only they can under­stand and pos­sess. I’m not a kinder­garten teacher, and I don’t often observe chil­dren, but in my heart, I do have my own child, my own lit­tle child.
2007–5‑28 sort­ed
 
http://www.hongniba.com.cn/bbs/resman.aspx?action=download&uri=@@__5/1723/object/0
Tak­ing a pho­to with a hap­py lit­tle read­er