Yoko Tawada: The Emissary

On his youth, Yoshiro had prided himself of always having an answer ready when someone asked who his favorite composer or designer was, or what kind of wine he preferred. Confident in his good taste, he had poured time and money into surrounding himself with things that would show it off. Now he no longer felt any need to use taste as the bricks and mortar fora structure called «individuality».


Adults arrogantly talked about whether food tasted good or not, as if a gourmet sensibility put you in a superior class of people. Poison often had no taste at all, so no matter how finely honed your palate, your taste buds weren’t going to save your life.


Being able to see the end of anything gave him a tremendous sense of relief. As a child he had assumed the goal of medicine was to keep bodies alive forever; he had never considered the pain of not being able to die.