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I really wanted to like this book, as I'm a fan of Japanese fiction, and have recently gotten back to reading it. However, I just couldn't.

I've read really lovely reviews by very knowledgeable readers, citing chapter and verse, analyzing the central character's musings, her stream of consciousness coming to terms with life as a young schoolgirl on the precipice of womanhoods in prewar Japan. I certainly appreciate those takes on this tale.

And yes, there are poetic passages ... a bit purple for my taste, but that's youth. And there are the typical back and forth wanderings of a young mind trying to discover what it truly believes about itself, others, and life.

But, I didn't like her, the narrator. And she didn't ring true for me as a young female. My dislike formed early in the narrative, when she is responding to two dogs eager for her attention. Jappy she likes, Poo is a stray with a bad leg, and he is desperate for some show of kindness from her, kindness she doesn't extend. Instead she thinks, "Hurry, Poo, go up into the mountains! No one's going to take care of you, so you may as well die."

I do remember my own young girlhood. I remember thinking mostly about other kids, boys and girls. I remember thinking about school, my studies, my teachers, the activity night coming up. This narrator doesn't think very much about typical kid things. I also don't remember the kind of misogyny threading through my thinking that crops up in hers multiple times, but maybe that's because I'm female and not an adult man trying to imagine the thinking of a young girl. There's something off in Dazai's understanding of the female mind, and I can't say that's true of all male writers trying to portray female characters ... Molly Bloom comes to mind.

It's a quick read that I spread out over many days because I kept wanting to give it time to mellow in my thinking. It never did. I just did not like the narrative voice.