The Memory Police, a Japanese Dystopian Orwellian novel was published in 1994. Â Finally, it has been translated into English and available. I read about the novel in the ‘Briefly Noted’ section in the 9.9.2019 The New Yorker. Â The Memory Police fits in well with the just released “The Testaments” by Margaret Atwood.Â
This is the premise of Yoko Ogawaâs quietly devastating novel, âThe Memory Police.â The setting is an unnamed island controlled by a faceless authoritarian government. Our narrator and chief protagonist is a never-named female novelist who is struggling to complete her latest manuscript.
Her parents are dead. She lives alone in the house where she grew up. Her social circle is small, consisting of a handful of neighbors, an old man who lives on a decaying ferryboat and her editor, known only as R. âThe island is run by men who are determined to see things disappear,â R tells her. âFrom their point of view, anything that fails to vanish when they say it should is inconceivable. So they force it to disappear.â
It is the job of this novelâs titular organization to ensure these disappearances take place. The officers of the Memory Police, in their âdark green uniforms, with heavy belts and black bootsâ operate âefficiently, thoroughly, systematically, and without any trace of emotion.â If they find a toaster hidden in your house, you will be arrested and interrogated. You may also find yourself disappeared.
Itâs a grim existence, a fascism of forgetting. But not everyone succumbs to the mass amnesia. A handful of people are able to retain memories of the vanished objects. Some of them become fugitives, hiding in a network of underground safe houses. The narratorâs mother, a sculptor, was one such exception. She kept a cache of disappeared objects in her studio until the Memory Police arrested her. The narrator recalls, âher body came back to us a week later, along with her death certificate.â The editor, R, is another exception. Fearing for his life, he takes up residence in a secret room in the narratorâs house. Keeping him safe from the Memory Police becomes the focus of her life for the remainder of the novel.
Ogawa writes with a direct, understated style that enhances the uncanniness of the events she describes. Her flat tone matches the passivity of most of the islandâs inhabitants, which in turn suggests a capitulation to deeply buried personal and societal trauma. âThe disappearances are beyond our control,â a character says to the narrator. âThey have nothing to do with us. Weâre all going to die anyway .â.â. so whatâs the difference?â The lack of names and other proper nouns gives the book the quality of a supernatural parable. When calendars disappear, the island becomes stuck in an endless winter. As the losses mount, life there becomes increasingly unbearable.
Fortunately, Ogawaâs wry humor keeps âThe Memory Policeâ from drowning in its own gloom. Consider, for example, how many writers would jump at the chance to keep their editors locked up in a secret room!
Excerpts from the narratorâs work in progress are spliced into the bookâs main text, providing a welcome change of pace. The novel-within-the-novel is a gothic tale about the relationship between a typing teacher and one of his students, a young woman who loses her voice. It starts out romantic but soon turns sinister. She winds up his captive, locked in a tower with a roomful of broken typewriters. On one level, itâs a funny nightmare about writerâs block; on another, itâs a horror story that harmonizes with the novelâs major motifs â control, captivity and loss of self.
âThe Memory Policeâ alludes to a host of storied works of dystopian fiction, positioning itself in the lineage of George Orwellâs â1984â and Ray Bradburyâs âFahrenheit 451.â It also calls to mind Anne Frankâs âDiary of a Young Girl.â Yet Ogawa finds new ways to express old anxieties about authoritarianism, environmental depredation and humanityâs willingness to be complicit in its own demise.
Late in the book, R desperately tries to convince the narrator that she still has access to the memories of all those disappeared objects. âI can never remember anything that can satisfy you,â she says. âItâs not about satisfying me,â he replies. âItâs about waking up your sleeping soul.â To which the narrator responds, âI wish it were just sleeping, instead of completely gone.â
Jon Michaudâis the author of the novel âWhen Tito Loved Clara.â
The Memory Police
By Yoko Ogawa
Pantheon. 288 pp. $25.95






















