A Novel Explores Isolation Through Kodokushi and a Grandmother's Silent Past
The Czech háček—a small diacritical mark—once carried the weight of a grandmother's past. For one writer, it evoked memories of roasted groats and a life shaped by war, survival, and quiet resilience. Now, in a new novel titled Above Earth, Below Sky, the same writer explores another kind of isolation: kodokushi, the Japanese phenomenon of lonely deaths.
The story follows Suzu, a young woman who begins working for a company that clears the homes of those who die alone, often undiscovered for months or years. Her boss, Mr. Sakai, treats the belongings of the dead as sacred, bowing to the empty spaces they leave behind. The novel weaves together themes of memory, reverence, and the unseen lives of objects—ideas deeply rooted in both personal history and Japanese tradition.
The writer's own grandmother was eleven when World War II began. She joined the League of German Maidens, embracing the völkisch ideal, yet later carried her past with quiet discipline. Her home reflected this: a space of cleanliness, austerity, and silence. Among her few possessions were straw sandals, woven by a Sudeten German refugee—a rare keepsake from a time when such items held real value. Even during air raids, she was taught to 'stand tall', layering memories to endure what came next.
Her son, the writer's father, took a different path. He discarded her diaries and travel notes, erasing written traces of her life. Yet he restored the háček to the family name, reviving its sound and meaning. Years later, while clearing her house, the writer paused at the threshold, imagining her grandmother's breath before stepping inside. In Japan, *kodokushi* has become a pressing social issue since the 1990s. Bodies are sometimes found years after death, hidden in homes of the isolated elderly. The government has responded with community welfare programs, neighbourhood patrols, and public campaigns to foster connections. Municipalities improved death registration protocols, but no national law exists to prevent such deaths. Cultural attitudes play a role too: Shintoism, Japan's indigenous faith, sees objects as vessels of the divine, imbued with souls. This belief extends to everyday items, from household goods to Hello Kitty—a symbol of *kawaii* culture, where charm comes from the idea that objects are alive. In the novel, Suzu learns from Mr. Sakai to treat the deceased's belongings with reverence. He bows to the empty spaces, acknowledging the lives once tied to them. The practice mirrors Shinto traditions, where even the mundane holds spiritual weight. For Suzu, each object becomes a fragment of a story—one that, like her boss, she must honour before letting go.
The novel Above Earth, Below Sky ties personal and cultural threads together. It examines how societies confront isolation, whether through a grandmother's unspoken history or Japan's struggle with kodokushi. The háček, a restored name, and a bow to an empty room become gestures of remembrance. Both act as bridges between the living and what remains—objects, spaces, and the quiet echoes of those no longer there.
