'Autumn Bridge' far more than it seems to be

By Wanda A. Adams
Advertiser Books Editor

"There was always more to everything than anyone said there was."

— The Rev. Abbess Jintoku, Mushindo Abbey, Meiji 15 (1882)

AUTUMN BRIDGE by Takashi Matsuoka; Delacorte, hardcover, $25.

But this second novel by Honolulu resident Matsuoka, which might be called a "pre-sequel" to his well-received "Cloud of Sparrows" (Delacorte, 2002), rewards attention with its intertwined story threads, like multicolored mizuhiki cording, and its well-realized and memorable characters.

Or perhaps more fittingly, given the Zen thread here, the book rewards acceptance. Greet it as a Zen master might, with a smile of amusement and a humble "thank you" in the face of seemingly circular plotlines and characters who literally dissolve into thin air.

The threads will come undone, or perhaps tie themselves up, if you breathe deeply and keep reading. I read the book twice, back to back, and watched with satisfaction as my confusion cleared, like clouds blown out over Cape Muroto from the Akaoka clan's castle perched high on the cliffs.

"Autumn Bridge," which concerns many of the same characters readers met in "Cloud of Sparrows," leaps back and forth across the span of 600 years, from 1281 to 1882. This is hardly unusual in the "sweeping saga" school of fiction, and easy enough to follow with the aid of time signatures that tell you where you are and what year it is as each scene begins.

What can be confusing is that the characters, too, traverse time, by means of visions that, for example, place the wife of the first Great Lord of Akaoka, who reigned from 1281-1311, in the company of a quite different Great Lord in 1860.

Here is what you must do: Pay very close attention to the first chapter, "Lord Kiyori's Ghost."

As Lady Shizuka and Lord Kiyori converse in a high tower of Cloud of Sparrows Castle, the novel's complex and unique linchpin is laid out: Lady Shizuka, a witch of Mongol descent born with a gift of prophecy that she will bequeath to generations of Akaoka rulers, is having a vision. In her vision, she is visiting Lord Kiyori. In the same room hundreds of years later, Kiyori is having the same vision.

The world around them, however, remains true to time for each: Out the window, Shizuka sees heavy fog, and the camp fires of the enemy who, she knows, will soon attack the castle and kill her. Out the same window, Kiyori, who will also die that night but not in battle, sees clear skies and rough seas.

With her greater gifts and experience, Shizuka knows that she is not actually there.

Kiyori, however, knows only that he sees her before him, as he has done many times before. That he ages, but she does not. That she seems real but is actually ethereal — he feels a chill when they accidentally touch. He is smitten by her, and deeply ashamed of it.

Like others of his family, Lord Kiyori would give anything not to have to experience, or pass on, the gift of prophecy. But as a ruler responsible for the safety and well-being of his clan, he cannot afford to turn down the advantages afforded by the visions of the future that Shizuka brings. And, in any case, the visions choose their time and place; he is powerless to stop them.

There is much to absorb here — not just the names of the characters, the mechanism of the visions, the events of the two times, but also the idea of prophecy.

Later, the conundrum of foreknowledge, and its lesson, will become clear: "Knowing the future was like knowing the past. Events could not be controlled or altered, only one's attitude toward them. Like the earth itself, the heart had directions. Bitterness, anguish, fear and hatred lay one way; equanimity, gratitude, kindness and love another. The ability to choose the heart's direction was the true power of the prophet, which was no more than the only true power of every human being."

On the surface, the book is the story of a powerful family that is both aided and bedeviled by the supernatural entering through odd chance into their bloodline. It is the story of men and women who delight and defy and confuse each other in equal measure. It is about political intrigue and the difficult interface between Japan and the Western world.

It is as sexy as a silk scarf drawn slowly across bare skin, as violent as any old-style Toyo Theater samurai flick and as romantic as a rose left on a lover's pillow (American Beauty roses figure into the plot).

Matsuoka is particularly adept at delicately nuanced dialog. A wife manipulates her husband into doing just what she wants by agreeing with him so skillfully that he can refuse her nothing. A clever lord who pretends to be a weakling meets a geisha whose entire life is a pretense, and their word-play is like two people playing table tennis with soap bubbles. A monk and a little girl have a conversation that reads like a series of Zen koans (riddles designed to instruct by confusing). And a simpleton says nothing throughout the book but his own name and one other — and somehow you know just what he means.

It is always, to paraphrase one of the characters, about more than it seems to be.

And if there are questions left unanswered — guess what? Matsuoka is working on a third book to bring the tale of Akaoka forward.