I rather like the opening of this novel, by Natsume Soseki: “if one lives by the intellect, one grows harsh. If one lives by one’s feelings, one is swept away, and by pride, one is confined, in any case, it is not easy to live in the human world.”

I read it in English, but maybe I should have stretched and tried the Japanese: “智に働けば角が立つ。情に棹させば流される。意地を通せば窮屈だ。とかくに人の世は住みにくい。

I expected the rest of the novel to be an illustration of this, but unfortunately (okay, not really), it’s mostly a meditation about aesthetics, in which the narrator (a painter wandering around in the Japanese countryside) stays at a hot springs inn near a temple and a village in 1906; the Japanese-Russo War is in the background. He converses frequently with the strange and individual daughter of the landlord. The narrator insists that art must remain objective, and praises the objectivity of nature (so this reminded me of Doi’s Anatomy of Dependence, in that the charm of nature is located partially in its inhumanity), which interested me because I was reading something about John Gardner, who insists that literature where we don’t enter in the feelings of the characters suffers from the flaw of frigidity. Indeed, although the narrator insists that the novel is a low form because it’s gossipy and concerned with the self-interests of the characters, there’s nothing like that for getting people interested in reading a story. Anyway, this book probably isn’t a good way to start out Soseki, as it is largely devoid of incident, although quite well-written, and filled with outstanding natural descriptions; I suggest Kokoro if you want to be depressed, and Botchan, if you want to be somewhat more amused.