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The book, as the title says, is about Autumn and the autumns in life. About the natural periods of change in life and how they are met and change, as they do, over time. It’s about family. It’s about Japan and where he lives and his love of it. And his love for his wife. It’s about their day to day living. Nothing special and yet there is a sense of a deep natural beauty in the moments of it, that make it special. PI seems present for it all. And he sees it all in such a matter of fact way that both accepts and appreciates the mundane and universal nature of things and the absurd and whimsy. And also the feelings that arise within it.
In this book, Pico Iyer finds himself undertaking such a walk, under the light-heavy shadows of autumn. She seems to be lit up while he seems to be a kind of witness to events--the divorce, so long ago, has had the unintended consequences that the older brother will not speak to anyone in the family?!?! This breaks Hiroko's mother's heart. And again, Iyer speaks like a witness, when in fact he had a part to play... even the Dalai Lama (who the author follows around, despite declaring he is not a Buddhist) tells him to reach out to the brother. It's like this huge event happened but no one will discuss it directly and then Iyer writes a book about it....
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In the process, the author discusses more on the aspects of his life and people around him, the death of his father in law and his wife. There’s not much plot to speak of here. There is one quote that I love so much. “A little like Japan itself in its post-war decades, we'd stumbled out of the lives we planned, with nothing definite to step into." To me this quote is quite relatable and it can be applied to everyone who have gone through life changing event or to everyone who are not knowing where to go next. If your kids are looking forward to Halloween they will love a visit one of English Heritage’s creepy castles that will be open in October. A mix of prose and haiku, The Records of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton is slippery to classify (the Japanese call it haibun, but we have no such genre), and Autumn Light is similarly ambiguous. Meandering like a river, it flows along with a steady pace of rumination, only to abruptly plunge off a profound waterfall. At other times, it stagnates in an eddy of banality, treading water, barely flowing at all — as in the many sections when Iyer plays ping-pong with elderly acquaintances at the local health club. It is a mysteriously affecting book, but some readers might be frustrated by its swirling structure. Even Iyer’s Japanese wife Hiroko feels perplexed by it. “Your book, nothing happening?” she asks, and she’s kind of right.
Want to know where to catch the best woodland colours? The stunning weeping acer trees in Holland Park’s Kyoto Garden should put it on the top of your list of places to visit in autumn in London, while the Isabella Plantation in Richmond Park bursts into an array of golden hues. More often, though, this is a poignant and thought-provoking look at just how ephemeral life is. It is a point that is put forward again and again, in different ways, some so subtle that they might just pass by without being noticed. The Dalai Lama’s consoling of the people who lost their homes and families at Ishinomaki, months after a tsunami devastated the area. The cinema of Yasujiro Ozu, who dwelt repeatedly on the themes of farewells, families separating and breaking up, drifting their own way. Real life, with old people being left to the care of nursing homes while their offspring struggle with their own lives. Death, quietly and inexorably going its way, claiming its own. Autumn is a season of change, of the beginning of decay - a season when the earth takes on a different hue for a little while before embracing the slumber of icy winter days. A season when the otherwise hurried life seems to slow down.
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Bright though they are in color, blossoms fall,” Iyer hears schoolchildren singing. “Which of us escapes the world of change?” This moving work reinforces the importance of finding beauty before disaster strikes.
This book is beautiful in its melancholy even when it feels morbid as it reminds you of the fact that everyone you love with die and all you can do is be with them and enjoy every moment and relive those moments as memories. Pico Iyer is a British-born essayist and novelist of Indian descent. As an acclaimed travel writer, he began his career documenting a neglected aspect of travel -- the sometimes surreal disconnect between local tradition and imported global pop culture. Since then, he has written ten books, exploring also the cultural consequences of isolation, whether writing about the exiled spiritual leaders of Tibet or the embargoed society of Cuba. During winter there is not enough light for photosynthesis to occur, so as the days shorten throughout autumn, the trees begin to close down their food production systems and reduce the amount of chlorophyll in their leaves. 3. The chemistry of colourIs Autumn really the end? Do we have to feel bad when the leaves change color and fall off, my mother always says -it feels sad to know that all these beautiful colors will go away. Or do we think of it as prequel to the beautiful and vibrant spring?
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