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time to time, but she could tell that the young mothers from the danchi thought it presumptuous of her to write on subjects she knew nothing about. “John” was a great believer in positive thinking, though. He had taken an American course in it. He believed that if she concentrated on positive thoughts of maternity, she would get pregnant, so he had forbidden her to write about anything else. His meat campaign to fatten her up and restore her periods was part of the same training. Positive Thinking leads to Positive Action which leads to Success.
    But it wasn’t working. Akiko had a hard time with positive thoughts. After dinner, when the washing up was done, she would go to the bathroom, stand in front of the mirror, and stare at her reflection. Then, after only a moment, she’d start to feel the meat. It began in her stomach, like an animal alive, and would climb its way back up her gullet, until it burst from the back of her throat. She could not contain it. She could not keep any life down inside her. But she knew always to flush while she was vomiting, so “John” wouldn’t hear. She also knew that she felt a small flutter in her stomach, which she identified as success, every night when it was over.
     
     
    Things That Give a Clean Feeling
    An earthen cup. A new metal bowl.
    A rush mat.
    The play of the light on water as one pours it into a vessel. A new wooden chest.
     
     
    Things That Give an Unclean Feeling
    A rat’s nest.
    Someone who is late in washing his hands in the morning. White snivel, and children who sniffle as they walk. The containers used for oil.
    Little sparrows.
    A person who does not bathe for a long time even though the weather is hot.
    All faded clothes give me an unclean feeling, especially those that have glossy colors.
     
    The effete somnambulance of Heian court aesthetics was reassuring to Akiko, late at night in a dim pool of light, lying next to “John,” who was snoring with his back to her. She turned the pages of The Pillow Book with exquisite care so as not to wake him. Shōnagon was so sure of herself and her prescriptions, and Akiko found that it comforted her to read them.
     
     
    Oxen should have very small foreheads.
    Small children and babies ought to be plump.
    On the fifth of the Fifth Month, I prefer a cloudy sky.
    A preacher ought to be good-looking.
    To meet one’s lover, summer is indeed the right season.
     
     
    Akiko could not imagine what such certainty would feel like. She never felt at all sure of anything, even of her likes and dislikes. She had bought a pillow book of her own, a small locked diary that she kept under the futon, and from time to time she tried to make some lists like Shonagon’s: “Splendid Things” and “Things That Arouse a Fond Memory of the Past.”
    “Snow,” she wrote, trying to recall Hokkaido in her mind. “Cows. Countryside. Farmhouse.” But then her mind would stray and she would see instead the dour face of the aunt who’d raised her, and the leer of her uncle, drunk and lurking by the outhouse. A car accident had killed her parents and her younger brother. She had been in the car too, thrown safe, but she had seen the rivers of blood, seen their bodies....
    These were not fond memories at all and Akiko wondered if perhaps they ought not to be listed under “Regrettable Things” instead. In the end, she found that she couldn’t really get past Shonagon’s headings. She did a bit better with more concrete topics, like “Clouds.” Maybe her choice of categories was wrong, she thought. Too lackluster. She picked up a pencil and flipped through Shonagon’s lists, looking for a topic with more gusto.
     
     
    Squalid Things
    The back of a piece of embroidery.
The inside of a cat’s ear.
A swarm of mice, who still have no fur, when they come
wriggling out of their nest.
The seams of a fur robe that has not yet been lined.
    The problem with Shōnagon, Akiko thought, is that she was hard to improve on. Even if the