Set My Heart on Fire by Izumi Suzuki

Author Izumi Suzuki by Nobuyoshi Araki

Author Izumi Suzuki (from Polyester Zine)

Set My Hear On Fire book cover

Big thanks to Verso and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Izumi Suzuki’s first translated novel Set My Heart on Fire. I was so excited to learn that some of Suzuki’s books had been translated into English a few years back, and I was able to read Terminal Boredom a few years ago, and I really loved her inventive style and metaphoric use of sci-fi to explore gender inequality and sexism in 1970s Japan. I actually learned about Suzuki through her husband’s music career as an experimental Jazz saxophonist. Kaoru Abe was a kind of wild avant garde jazz saxophonist who played occasionally with guitarist Masayuki Takayangi, who I absolutely love. Abe died of a drug overdose in the 1970s, leaving Suzuki a widow who had to care for the couple’s young child. Suzuki did modeling (especially for Nabuyoshi Araki) and wrote her science fiction stories to support herself and her daughter. Although there was not much available on either Suzuki or Abe’s life and marriage in English, this translation seems to provide some insight into Izumi Suzuki’s life and marriage. Although listed as a novel, the book chronicles a young woman’s (also named Izumi) experiences in the Japanese music scene of the 1970s. Suzuki presents Izumi as both beautiful and distant, someone who both seeks pleasure and wants to become somewhat numb and anesthetized. Izumi (the character) only seeks out musicians since she claims they have more passion than anyone else, and the book’s timeline coincides with the start of the heavy psych period of Japan’s rock music (also chronicled by Julian Cope in his excellent book JapRock Sampler).  The book is narrated by Izumi, at times alternating between her conversations with friends and lovers and her inner monologue. During one monologue, Izumi explains how she was trying to quit pills, and that she didn’t like alcohol, but she craved the kind of blank state and cool detachment that the pills bring on. As she explains “I preferred drugs because they were chemical. I wanted their world of artificial, phoney intoxication.”  Other descriptions about her interactions with others and the music scene often use music metaphors, making comparisons to guitar sounds and the use of reverb and echo pedals. “As if an echo-chamber effect pedal had been plugged into time. Like the one The Happenings Four use in their ‘Alligator Boogaloo’ cover: Boogaloo-loo-loo-loo… It leaves a trembling, trailing tail and sound comes back, bit by bit. The reverb of this night in this time within this portioned space continues endlessly.” I loved this aspect of her writing, as it was apt to the scene she was documenting, yet also novel and unique. I can see how some of these events might have been amplified or heightened to make them seem clearer, more distorted, or even somewhat repetitive, especially as the nights, the bands, and the people all seem to have nothing really to offer Izumi except a brief feeling of pleasure.

Izumi’s pursuit of pleasure with musicians eventually leads her to meeting Jun, a clear stand in for Abe. Izumi’s relationship with Jun is hard to understand, and it wasn’t clear why they even got married in the first place. Izumi just seemed to agree to the marriage after only being with Jun for a short time. As Izumi described him, Jun seems completely dependent on Izumi, even having her shave him, feed him, and take care of him while he plays gigs, seeks to find new heights on his instrument, and engages in further self-destructive behavior, including drug and physical abuse. I didn’t know much about Suzuki’s own relationship with Abe, especially since he died in the late 70s, but from doing a little research, it sounded like it was not a good relationship. While Abe is recognized as an important Jazz artist who tried to play faster and louder than everyone, it also seemed like this kind of aesthetic approach to music was also his approach to life in general. I wondered if Suzuki’s candid writing in this section of the book, detailing the physical abuse and cheating that Izumi endured, was a way of not only documenting her experiences with Abe, but also trying to reclaim her own artistry from the man. Set My Heart on Fire seems to emphasize that women took a back seat to the male musicians and artists of the day, and yet Izumi (the character) has her own thoughts, emotions, and even aesthetic, that many of the other characters, especially the male characters, recognize. Although she’s not always given opportunities to grow as an artist, it’s her unique style and dress that set her apart from others. Sadly though, Izumi’s relationship with Jun takes a physical toll on her, and she becomes increasingly thin and worn out by Jun’s destructive and baby like ways. While I’m not sure this is complete auto-fiction, Suzuki’s life has a lot of parallels with Izumi the character’s.

Jun eventually dies, leaving Izumi to care for their daughter. The last few chapters detail her life after Jun’s death, and her attempts to reconnect with Joel, a band member she slept with when they were younger. “He embodied my youth. He was the symbol of a vanished time. I couldn’t let it go. The more terrifying life became, the stronger he shone within me.” It was really interesting to see Izumi in these last chapters, trying to establish herself, but also not completely letting go of the past. Joel, like a lot of the other men in the book, is pretty shallow, and only asks Izumi to come over because of their past. “Attachment to the idea that my life could’ve been different. Meeting him again only stirred up that regret. Turns out he hadn’t rejected me at all. But something else struck me, seeing how he lives now. We shouldn’t grieve over what regret can’t change.” I really liked this line at the end. It’s not necessarily a happy ending, and I wouldn’t have expected that from this book. But it does seem like Izumi walks away from her experiences and life with some insight and ideas. The book showed how challenging it was for women in Japan to become involved in these music and arts scenes, and how they often had to take a secondary place besides the men. Yet, Izumi’s own narration, thoughts, and experiences challenge this, and present a kind of struggle or fight to establish herself. Set My Heart On Fire wasn’t as exciting and innovative as Terminal Boredom’s stories, but it provided me with some more insight about the Japanese music scene of the 1970s, and Suzuki’s own life. I also really appreciated the translation. There were the descriptions of drugs and music, but also Suzuki frequently mentioned how “thick” the nights were, and I thought this was a really great word choice. I’m not sure if the translation always relied on the same word in Japanese, but it seemed to be fitting for the scene. I hope that more of Suzuki’s books are translated to English in the ensuing years.